Laurence closed the book and noticed immediately that something was different. The front of the book was no longer plain red leather, instead it had a hammer embossed on its cover. This hammer was exactly the same as the one on Laurence's palm. It looked like an odd mix between a war hammer and a smith’s hammer, with its thick hammer-head and long shaft. Laurence was shocked. Had he done this? His making of the map seemed to have triggered the change in some way, but how he had no idea.

He opened up the book again, looking at the pages after the map. No longer were they blank and clean, instead they were covered in a spidery cursive script. The first half of the book was some sort of guide entitled «The Art of Making» while the second half was full of pages and pages of schematics dictating the method and process of making a myriad of artefacts, all under the title of «Godly Machinations». Almost all of the book went over Laurence's head but his boundless curiosity would not let him leave it. He had to understand the contents of that book, so he pushed back his long brown fringe and began at the beginning.

This book contains the acts and processes of understanding a dimension of «The World's Form» the young boy read. A lot of the words Laurence had never come across before, but for some reason he still understood. It was as if the process of reading the book instructed him in a way beyond words. It was instructing his entire being, not just his mind.

Laurence continued reading the book, sometimes having difficulty with the words but never the concepts. Eventually he had to go to bed, but the moment he woke up the next day he began reading again. He did this every day, learning everything that he could from the book. He learnt how to smith and how to fletch, how to sculpt and how to build, how to craft and even how to sew. In the space of a year the boy learned not only how to produce any sort of tool or object, but he also began learning how to refine his odd power with the use of runes and glyphs. From the book Laurence found out that the glyphs on any magic object didn't have to mean something, they just had to represent their intention to the maker. The standardisation of the glyphic concepts was simply a formality to help artificers at a later date work out what was going on with any object in question.

It was the day before Laurence's seventh birthday when he finished the final page. He put down the book and felt a warm sensation all over his body. It was a tingling sensation like he had been dipped in water that was slightly too warm, but not painfully so. Laurence just lay in his small bed feeling the sensation for about ten minutes before it went away. He felt completely refreshed and invigorated, so he got out of bed, put his book in his bag and decided to get dressed. As he stuck on his trousers he noticed that they were coming a bit too far up, but that wasn't really news. He had been growing quite quickly over recent months and now he seemed to have broken 1.3 meters. He grinned and thought "I'm going to have to make myself some new trousers. I can show mother how good I am at craftsmanship that way!" but that was a game for another day. It was the day before his birthday and he felt incredible, he had finished reading and comprehending the red book, he had even kept up with his medicine and fighting lessons that his father gave him.

Laurence loved the lessons with his father as he always learnt something new. More and more he was realising how a lot of forms of self-defence just applied his medicinal knowledge but in reverse, and that meant he had even more fun working out which pieces of knowledge connected together. The boy was insatiable, but his thirst for learning was the pride and joy of his father. He would often be bragged about by his parents in town council meetings, how he was learning the art of medicine and battle from his father while he seemed to be picking up his artistic flair from his mother. In their eyes Laurence could literally do no wrong.

He walked downstairs into the kitchen and ran into his father holding a box full of things from around the time Laurence was born. "Daddy, can we do some fighting today? I feel really active before my birthday!" He idolised his father, the strongest and smartest man in the village. It was everything the young boy sort after, and adding to the fact that the man was over two meters in height he often seemed like a giant from some fairy tale. Laurence knew that if he could even become one tenth of the man his father was then he would be happy.

"Of course, Law, I'm just putting some of the baby things in the attic and we will begin. Get yourself ready in the courtyard okay?" His father and mother would often refer to Laurence as Law when they were busy. As his father walked upstairs one of the books that Laurence had read to him when he was a baby fell down the stairs, so the boy put it in his bag of holding to give to his father later.

He walked to the courtyard mulling over his bag of holding, on the outside it was barely 20 cm across. Now, thanks to the descriptions in the red book Laurence had stabilised the dimension inside the bag and it was a solid 25 meter cube of space that he could store his belongings in. He did not think that such a distance was big, but then he had nothing to compare the bag to. The red book only told him how to make the bag, not how common the sizes of bags actually were, but if he had spoken to his father about it, he would have been shocked to discover that his bag was quite rare. The fact that the bag was stable was not enough for Laurence though. He wanted to turn the bag into an even smaller object so it did not seem like he was carrying anything on him at all, but the book said that it would take a large amount of «Mana» to do so. Unfortunately Laurence still had no real way to regulate his mana, or even the knowledge of what mana really was.

The boy was lost in his thoughts when he noticed a kind of pulsating feeling coming from behind him. He could feel the sensation coming from the altar in the main hall of the church and he wanted to know what could cause it, but he resisted the urge, his sparring with his father was more important to him for the moment. He had a new creation in his bag that he had to show his father, it was his first proper piece since the map and he was proud of it beyond belief.

Eventually his father arrived and they put on their padded armour so they were unlikely to really hurt each other picked up staves. Laurence’s father insisted in teaching Laurence the staff. He claimed it was the most versatile tool in combat and that its myriad of styles could be applied to most melee range weapons.

Over the last three months Laurence had been shown three forms of combat as his father called them. The first was an attacking style called «Orion’s Chest» Which involved striking the meridian line of the enemy from various angles. The second was a defensive style called «Orion’s Belt» which involved striking from the meridian line to force the enemy weapons away from your body. The third and final form was a movement style called «Orion's Feet» which was formed from a series of straight line movements to attack and defend. The three styles were extremely simple in concept, and worked perfectly together as a form known as «Orion’s Hunt». The form was simple enough for Laurence to understand, and succinct enough for him to pick up easily. Because of this he had moved on to sparring with his father, and today was their tenth day of spars.

They met in the middle and Laurence dove straight for a strike to the chin. The rules were if Laurence could either land a strike once or defend properly for thirty seconds he would win. If neither happened then he would lose. As the pole came towards his father’s face, the man struck the side of Laurence’s weapon diverting it just enough to miss. He then swung his pole down towards the top of Laurence’s head. Laurence jumped backwards and tapped the pole above his head out of the way. He had learnt early on that it was easier to move the tip of a weapon than the base. His father smiled and they shifted back to their starting position.

Their second round of attacks was slightly quicker. Laurence went for a strike to the abdomen, but just as he was about to be blocked he thrust up at an angle. The two staves collided and the pole almost struck Laurence’s father throat. Laurence’s father leapt in the air and struck towards Laurence’s feet. The boy realised what was happening a fraction of a second too late and his legs became tangled round the pole, causing him to fall over.

And with that the fight was over. Laurence had lasted less than ten seconds with his father, but he was dripping in sweat. He stood up, bowed and then began taking off his gear.

“You did well,” Laurence’s father began, “But you stopped watching my hands. You can tell where someone is going to move and how they are going to strike based on just their shoulders and hands." He began putting the tools away. "Eyes can lie, but the body cannot. Other than that, you did well. Your form was good and your attacks sharp, I was really impressed with the way you forced me to move your stave into another weak point."

"Thank you father. I have another thing I want to show you." Laurence said, barely able to hide his grin. Today he would blow his father away in shock with his skill. "I made this over the last year. What do you think?" He pulled out a thin bronze sword bound with strips of cloth and leather at the hilt. The sword could only just be described as a short-sword, as the entire thing was less than a meter in length with an edge on either side of the blade. The sword was stunning, the brass gave it an incredible colour, and the form of the sword itself was beautiful in its simplicity. It was Laurence's pride and joy.

"You made this?" Laurence's father was astonished. "This looks like a weapon made by a master smith! How?"

"You haven't seen the best part yet daddy!" Laurence said handing the sword to his father. "Strike something with the sword as hard as you can."

Laurence's father shrugged and swung the sword against the side of the house watching it shatter in dismay. "Oh no! I'm so sorry Laurence!" He said turning round to see his son's beaming face.

"It's okay daddy! Just hold the sword in the sunlight." Laurence replied, grinning ear to ear. His father held the sword in the air and watched the blade re-form itself from the break upwards. Within seconds the sword was completely reformed, and even tougher than before.

Laurence's father truly did not know whether to laugh or cry. The young boy in front of him had created an incredible artefact and it could only mean one thing.

"Laurence how did you learn to make this?"

Laurence answered immediately, his father sounded scared and Laurence had never seen his father scared before. To Laurence fear was for other people's parents, not his. "My red book showed me. I have been learning «The Art of Making» for the last year. This is my final product that I constructed just before finishing the book." His father's jaw dropped. "I finished reading the book this morning, I really enjoyed it. I learned a lot!"

Laurence's father couldn't believe it. A seven year old child had completed the first step on his own, and not only that but within a year. His son was easily equivalent to a golden child of the great clans. This was bad. “Laurence, please listen very carefully.” His father bent down and looked him in the eye. “You cannot tell anyone about the fact that you made this, and you should never mention your red book. If you make something else and anyone other than me asks where you got it, you must say that as a golden child of the Absolution clan you earned it.” He paused. “Have you got that Laurence?”

“Yes daddy.” Laurence thought for a moment and said, “Daddy, is that why our last name is Absolution? Because we’re from that clan?”

“Yes, I am a member of the clan, so my wife and child are too.”

And with that they both went inside. Laurence gave his father the sword to keep and began thinking about his next project. It was hard as since he first noticed it the throbbing sensation coming from the altar had become stronger. It didn't happen constantly but it was becoming more regular. The throbbing bothered Laurence all through dinner and the evening. It kept him awake until long after his parents had both gone to bed. Finally at around one in the morning Laurence broke. He walked into the rectory with his bag and inspected the altar. The throbbing was coming from behind the great black stele, what Laurence finally realised was a door. He opened the door, revealing an endless abyss beyond and walked in.