“Well,” the man had said, “Took you long enough.”

He could hear! (Not important, focus on the matter at hand.) The crystal took a longer look at the person who had just spoken.

The man was younger than the robe and staff would suggest. The crystal pegged his age at around thirty, maybe mid-twenties. He had shoulder-length brown hair and a beard of the same color that extended a few inches below his chin. The robes he wore were a mixture of purples and blues, swirling like a darker version of the aurora borealis (lights caused by collisions between electrically charged particles released from the sun that enter the atmosphere and collide with gases such as oxygen and nitrogen). They served well to hide his hands and frame.

The staff was another interesting detail. A length of white wood, topped with a translucent violet orb. The base was shod (past participle of verb to shoe, to fit with a shoe or shoes) in an orange metal the crystal tentatively identified as bronze. The bronze provided some sort of cover for the bottom of the staff, most likely to protect the wood from environmental damages. The crystal could also suppose that smacking someone with the bronze-shod side would hurt a great deal more than using ordinary wood. This particular item did not seem to be constructed with violence in mind.

While the crystal had been observing the human male he had moved into the stone chamber. The gem noted with interest that he seemed to be avoiding coming within arm's reach of the bubble, instead muttering to himself and examining the diagram on the floor. At the moment whatever the man was saying was inaudible, and that simply would not do.

With an effort, owing to his diminished status, the crystal focused on the mumbling man more intensely than previous. He needed to know what this human was saying. The sensation of loss came once again, nearly imperceptible. The memory sent shivers up his metaphorical spine, but the feeling passed quickly. Were it not for the effect of the drain this time he may have not thought it had occurred at all.

“...at can't be good,” the man said, the crystal's perception of his volume having increased. “A two layer binding with containment, cut off from external Resonance (the quality in a sound of being deep, full, and reverberating? The reinforcement or prolongation of sound by reflection from a surface or by the synchronous vibration of a neighboring object? Context clues indicate these are not the answer. Investigate.), and an experiment to boot,” the man took a moment to scratch his beard, “And the floating thing still managed to set off the site wards.”

The human looked up at the floating crystal, still encapsulated in the transparent bubble.

“Well, what do you have to say for yourself?”

It seemed the man expected him to respond. Assumed, even. If that was truly the case, then it would stand to reason (another idiom) that he could, in fact, speak. Now he just had to go about figuring out how to do that. Most of his experimentation had occurred while not under an immediate need.

What had he discovered so far? Hearing, sight, movement. All of these instances happening through will. Perhaps, he mused, speaking was simply a matter of willing the words. But how to do that? Right, simplest methods first, he thought. Once more, he summoned up his will. It seemed...lesser than the last time he used it, when he had moved. Potentially this was due to the dimming of his internal light.

Casting those worries aside, the crystal attempted to project his thoughts at the man. He wasn't sure entirely how he'd accomplish this, but he had to try. It seemed to be the only way to be able to leave this room. Captivity, while good for amplifying one's thoughts, was not a desired goal.

“I APOLOGIZE”, the mental projection thundered through the crystal's mind. It came out significantly louder than he was expecting. The sensation of the thought/speak was akin to standing next to a peal of thunder. It temporarily reduced the floating crystal to a sort of mental static, quickly recovered from. There was clearly some work on volume control that needed to be done.

The effect on the human was both startling and immediate. He bowled over backwards, clutching his head as if in great pain. The staff clattered to the floor as he fell in a heap of limbs and fabric. A hand stuck out of the pile and reached over to the staff, grabbing it. The human then used the length of wood to upright himself, smoothing over fabric where needed. His initial flustered look gave way to a chuckle that seemed self-deprecating.

“The Silent Speech, why was I not expecting that?” The question seemed rhetorical (a question asked in order to produce an effect or to make a statement rather than to elicit information). It was almost as if the human was displeased with himself for not considering that a floating gemstone would lack the capacity to speak as a human does, by slapping it's meat together to vibrate air.

He looked up at his erstwhile captive. “Care to try that again, preferably quieter?” Analysis of the human's facial features suggested a wry (sarcastic or distorted) smile.

The crystal focused, trying to narrow the scope of his thoughts to more manageable levels. It was hard to verbalize, many actions lacking a descriptor in whatever language he was thinking in. Too many of his purely mental processes did not appear to conform to the standards of living beings. Yet another thing to investigate in the future, he supposed. For now, he attempted to think at a normal speaking volume; an action appreciably harder said than done.

“How is this?” The volume that came through, more sensed than heard, was much closer to how the man was speaking. The crystal aimed for slightly quieter, in fact. No reason to be impolite.

Now the crystal could hear his own voice. It lacked any specific gender signifier, maintaining an even timber without being monotone. The voice sounded professional, but in an impersonal way. This threw into doubt all of the times that he had referred to himself as, well, him, but that was a discussion that could be had another day. It wasn't like he was going to begin calling himself it.

The man blinked. “Yeah, that's far better,” he said with a nod of his head, “Had to make sure you could understand me. Thank you.”

“You are welcome.” After hearing the response, the man chuckled. It made the skin at the edges of his eyes crinkle, adding warmth and a sense of age to his face.

“My, but you're a polite one, aren't you?” Another rhetorical question. The man stood straight, squaring his shoulders and brandishing his staff to the front of him. He loudly cleared his throat, and began to speak. His voice changed, sounding more practiced, closer to a stage performer than it had but a moment ago.

“Hear me and take heed! I am Oriandus Hajdu, Greatest Magus of All Time! Slayer of the Berserker Army of the Unliving Dream! He who banished Yal'boroth the Hungerer! Keeper of The Divine Language! The only living Grandmaster of the Rune Writers! I am your Creator!! HEAR ME AND OBEY!” On the final word he slammed his staff onto the stone floor, the metal-shod base strangely making a noise not unlike a series of church (a public house of worship) bells echo throughout the room.

The crystal was silent. The man with him, ostensibly his creator, surely sounded very impressive, the only problem being that he had little idea what any of that meant. Since he did not want to embarrass himself in his first conversation with something other than, well, himself, the gem ravaged his knowledge to see if context clues and a healthy amount of guessing would fill in the blanks. Data resorted itself in his mindspace, throwing synonyms and antonyms at each word in Oriandus' statement to attempt to glean meaning from it. If this was truly the being that began his existence he needed to understand exactly whom this Magus (a sorcerer) was.

Wait, what? That was hardly a definition at all. Definitions weren't supposed to be that short, or at least he thought that they weren't. That didn't even make sense. What was the point of having a definition if all it was was another word that needed a definition?! What even was a sorcerer? (a person who claims or is believed to have magic powers)

There was a moment of absolute mental silence.

Run that one by me again?

(a person who claims or is believed to have magic powers)

Oh. Magic is a thing? The crystal's knowledge remained silent. Magic was one of the words he had figured out when trying to piece together how he had come to be, but it had been dismissed from a lack of evidence. 'Magic' was simply too nebulous a term, covering too many things. It was similar to saying, “Non-Natural Processes.”

The crystal weighed it's options for response, and decided to stick with politeness. It stood to reason to be polite to any being which could potentially end one's existence. Besides, it was good having someone to talk to.

“Greetings, Greatest Magus Oriandus Hajdu (surprisingly easy to pronounce without vocal cords). How may I assist you?” Oriandus was not seemingly prepared for a response like that. His stern, regal look broke almost immediately, melting into something undefined. The crystal scrutinized the Magus' face and came away with 'apprehensive confusion'. The reason behind this change was unknown, so he stayed silent.

Oriandus gestured with his free hand. “That's it?” he said, “No threats, no railing against my existence, no demands that I free you or you will tear down the foundations of this place around me?” With that he leaned on the staff, holding the free hand out (presumably) waiting for a response.

“By your own word you are my Creator,” the gem said, “It would be impolite, as well as pointless, for me to threaten you, constrained as I am. Also, lacking an outside source of information, my lexicon of appropriate threats is lacking. My apologies.”

The Magus stared at me, eyes wide and mouth slightly open. “Um, yes,” he said, in a quieter voice than before, “It would be impolite and pointless.” He seemed to gather himself up, regaining some of his previous air of authority. “As I said, I am your Creator. You are the only one of your kind, an artificial Magic Core. I have created you to,” a small snort, “assist me in probably the most daring, audacious undertaking ever attempted by a Grandmaster of any of the Schools.”

“You.”

…

There was a response there, the crystal knew it. He just couldn't form a coherent one.

“Me?” Luckily, Oriandus seemed to accept that, as he nodded.

“I have in my mind and my libraries the greatest concentration of magical knowledge in this country, and one of the greatest on the continent. My studies have begun to meld together multiple schools into a new type of teaching, one of singular power.” The Magus' eyes grew distant as he tightened his jaw. The crystal's knowledge clicked on, calling this look 'staring into the middle distance.' It was a facial expression used when one was thinking back on memories. The clenching of the jaw indicated that they were not pleasant memories.

For an instant the crystal felt a twinge of an unfamiliar emotion. He mentally 'grabbed' it and dissected it, feeding the feeling into his knowledge. He didn't do this with all new emotions, but this was a special circumstance. He had a notion that becoming distracted by emotions in this conversation would end poorly for him and his burgeoning existence. Faster than expected, his understanding grew as the information gave him it's analysis.

Sympathy. The sharing of unhappiness or suffering. The crystal felt bad for this man he had never encountered before. Why did he do that? This man, this Mr. Hajdu, was his captor. He'd put the bubble around him that had caused that pain that he did not wish to think about. When we witness someone in pain, we suffer in resonance with his or her suffering. The words didn't make sense. They weren't his. They came from the knowledge.

What did that mean? Was there another person inside of him? He scanned himself mentally. No, he was the only other presence in the crystal. The knowledge did not offer up any following thoughts, either. It was almost like the definitions, but not quite. Someone clearly had said that. It just wasn't him.

He absorbed the stray thoughts as something chimed deep inside of him. What sort of being am I going to be? He thought, glad that his internal processes were happening at a fast enough rate that the Magus wasn't noticing. For the briefest of moments I felt bad for him. Why? Because no one should have to be in pain? He put me in pain. Well, no, that wasn't precisely correct. He put me in a position where I could put myself in pain. So where does that put me?

Convinced that this would be part of a longer discussion with himself, the crystal compartmentalized those thoughts and shunted them off to an empty part of his awareness. Luckily, he brought his focus back to the conversation at about the same time Oriandus did.

The Grandmaster continued, “I was unable to find an apprentice who was trustworthy, someone who would bind themselves to me and obey my commands. Someone whom I could know for a fact wasn't a spy from the Guilds, eager to tear down anyone who may bring a sledge to the balancing act they've been playing at for centuries.” He pointed to the crystal with his staff. “That is why I created you. In you, I will pour the magical knowledge of my and others' lifetimes. In you I will have a tireless assistant, knowledgeable in all things magic, relegating my libraries to the dustbin of history.”

“Magical Core, do you accept these terms?” Oriandus narrowed his eyes, a hint of menace in his voice. “Will you accept my word as law and act as my attendant in all things, in exchange for an understanding of Resonance beyond that of even my fellow Grandmasters?”

The crystal mulled it over for not even the space between breaths.

“I accept.”