Barry woke up in an unfamiliar room. His body on top of a rag covered table. Supposedly a healer’s room with all the metal tools around the room and a bucket of bloody water on the floor.

“These tools belong in a torturer’s chamber, not a healer’s.” Thought Barry with a smile he so often hid behind in times of crisis.

The walls of the room were made of stone, and a window stood in front of his feet. The slightly rusted, iron-barred window hinted at the outside of the building. Barry was thankful for the open shutters as the morning sunlight warmed his legs. Wooden carvings of the Vitaen pantheon and gilded reliquary were intersped throughout the room. Candles and incense made the room smoky and Barry’s throat dry. Though the strong smells slightly overcame his senses, Barry was glad for their presence. For without them, it would otherwise smell of impending death.

Barry let out a cough as the smoke dried his throat and watered his eyes. He was surprised when his chest didn’t hurt. He tried lifting a hand towards his chest to inspect the bandages, but it was done in vain.

He had no arms.

Barry looked down at his stumps. They were cauterized, and yet there was no pain. He moved his shoulders and found that they were in perfect condition if that could be said of an armless cripple.

Barry grasped at the knowledge he gained in his dreams. It was fleeting, but instead of disappearing into nothingness, it coalesced into his intuition. He could not recall it, but could now instead use it.

He willed his shadow limbs to unravel from inside his spirit. Shadows poured out from his stumps, coalescing into arms and hands. They were blurry and insubstantial to the sight. Barry tugged at his shadow limbs, willing them to merge with his Shadow, his incorporeal body. His limbs melted back into his stumps. Good. I can still summon them and dismiss them at will.

Barry resummoned his shadow limbs, checking his bandaged chest. It felt normal. There was no pain or soreness, but… He felt weak. It was as if his energy was being sucked from him. Barry got down from the stained-rag covered table. Shadowy essence coiled around his legs, lightening his descent.

“That’s useful.” Said Barry in a sarcastic tone. “Might even try falling from a tree to see how effective it is.”

Barry heard a slight chuckle, his head swerving to the origin of the sound. His face lit up in slight embarrassment when he realized he wasn’t alone. The priestess of the Crone, Mana, that had saved him was standing at the doorway. He hadn’t realized she was there, observing him. Her white robes had a dark-blue tree etched onto its front. Her sleeves were spacious and baggy as the rest of her attire. She walked with a small cane, cleric’s chimes wrapped around the tar-covered stick. The tied bells chimed methodically as the priestess approached Barry. The priestess had a crooked posture, making her much shorter than she actually was. Her spine is so curved you could tie a string on either end and call it a bow... The priestess had ashen hair with strands of white. Her face turned into a happy rictus of wrinkles when Barry looked up at her green eyes; the same color as his own.

“Sorry I didn’t announce my presence. You were just having too much fun with your magic” Said the priestess. She brought forward a hand in a casual invitation for a handshake “My name’s Emilia, but I insist you call me Emi. What’s your name lad?” Her voice reminded Barry of his gram. It was a voice he could hear a smile in even with his eyes closed.

She’s not scared of my hands? I mean, if she can berate that fire-flinging idiot of a priest, guess she’s not gonna be scared of me.

Barry shook her hand lightly with his shadow hand. He was nervous. It could’ve ended badly if his hand transformed into the more powerful visage that could disperse air with a punch. Barry felt slight feedback from the handshake. The air around him tightened in apprehension like a worm trying to wiggle its way into his spirit. Barry’s hand turned into smoke, quickly retracting away from the priestess. Barry could swear he saw a hint of mischief in the priestess's eyes.

“Com’ on, lad.” Said Emilia the priestess, her voice innocent. “I told ya my name. It would be a lack of manners to leave a lady unanswered.”

Do all old people naturally become masters of deflection?

“Oh, sorry. The name’s Barry. Just Barry.”

At the mention of his name, Emilia, the priestess, burst out into laughter. Her back contorted much more in the throes of belly-aching laughter.

“Gods above” Said Emilia “Sorry, lad. It’s just that-” She erupted into laughter once more.

After calming down enough she continued “Sorry, I didn’t expect your name to be so… Ordinary? It’s just so down to earth for the lad that had starlight arms that eat fire.”

Gods, not this again. I already had a hard enough time with there being four Barrys (Berries?) in the caravan. Someone called my name every single waking moment.

“Anyways,” Emilia continued, “Your condition is stable.” Emilia tapped Barry’s bandaged chest. “We healed the best we could, but be cautious. Your magic will be weakened until enough time has passed for your body to heal.”

“What do you mean? Not that I’m not thankful. Thank you for saving my life. I’m just curious, why would my magic be weaker than normal?” Barry quickly dismissed the weird feeling from the handshake, his voice sincere.

“Huh, you really were telling the truth about being recently Awakened weren’t you?” Said Emilia “Or you’re just a really good actor. In any event, there are a lot of different types of magic that essentially accomplish the same thing. The most common type of healing magic involves making flesh out of mana and then waiting for normal flesh to take its place slowly. Your spirit uses mana to sustain the fake flesh until it is totally supplanted by the real stuff. Though there’s always a small amount that’s always going to be made of mana, so it's like a scar. It’ll permanently limit your mana by a tiny fraction unless you can find an alchemist.”

“Uh-huh?” Barry answered. He nodded with a confused expression on his face. Trying and failing to convince Emilia that he knew what she was talking about.

“Gods, you really don’t know anything about magic, do you?”

“No, not really no.”

“Good.”

“Good?” Asked Barry, confused.

“Yes, it means I get to have a pupil for the first time in two decades.”

“Oh”

…

“Oh,” Said Barry “Thanks. It would help tremendously if I actually understood what was happening to me. I probably wouldn’t get to enter an academy, so thank you. When do we begin? And what was it that thing the other priest was talking about? The thing about the battlefield.”

“You’re safe, lad,” Said Emilia “Follow me to the porch. We can get you some sunlight, and I’ll answer your questions.”

Barry followed Emilia to the porch. The room he was in was, in fact, the infirmary. It was a small offshoot of the town’s church. It had a small porch that had just enough space for the two of them. The priestess laid back into a rocking chair, tea in hand. Lifting her cup towards Barry, she offered him some tea.

Where'd she get that tea?

“Thanks, I’m good.”

“No worries, lad.” Said Emilia “Now, the priest of Oriath you saw yesterday was concerned with the location of the battle.” Emilia put up a hand, forestalling Barry from speaking.

“We already found the location and did the purifying rituals. It was surprisingly fine when we got there. But, we still did the rituals just in case. There were no undead and the feeling of wrongness in the air was long gone. It was like a wall of undead and spirits simply vanished… In a battlefield with enough scorched earth to reckon Solaria kissed Terra.” Emilia lifted up an eyebrow, questioning Barry if he had any idea about how events transpired.

“Well, you see, I was in a band,” Said Barry “It all started when…”

After telling Emilia, or Emi as she preferred, about yesterday’s events, Barry laid back in the second rocking chair on the porch.

“I see, lad. Must’ve been hard on you seeing your comrades being cut down… Anyhow, times a’ wasting. It’ll be better for you to work a little bit to not get stuck in your head. I’ll grab some texts about magic from the archives. Can you help me? My back isn’t what it used to be.”

“Uhhh. I can’t... read…” Barry self consciously rubbed at the back of his neck. Only the Elders knew how to read in his village.

“That’s okay, lad. In two days I can teach you the very basics. I’ll also shed some light on your magic. Come now, let’s not waste sunlight. You won’t like reading by the candle.”

Eiden slowly woke up, his eyelids slowly opening. He was still on the same small cliffside he fell asleep at. The air was surprisingly warm and comforting. Eiden realized his head was propped up on Fin’s right shoulder. The Exorcist himself was cross-legged like Eiden with his back to the stone wall. Eiden surreptitiously unpropped his head from Fin’s shoulder. The Exorcist’s eyes were closed, and breath steady, likely in meditation. A small smile crept up on Fin’s lips.

“Finally awake?” Said Fin

“How long were we here for?” Asked Eiden, rubbing the sleep out of his eyes and letting out a yawn.

“Just until the sun came up” Answered Fin, “I thought about taking you back into the inn, but I saw that you replenished your mana surprisingly fast. Nice instincts you have, lad. You drew in mana from the surroundings.”

“I did what now?”

Fin rolled his eyes, grumbling something about “damned naturals and their lack of conscious understanding” under his breath.

“Sit down cross-legged in front of me. I’ll do my best to explain what you did.”

Eiden complied, sitting in front of Fin.

“Now, you see. Usually, you’d slowly recover your mana by yourself. Beings with souls like us humans generate small amounts of mana naturally. You instead drew in mana from the environment. Something that’s usually difficult to do since it's poisonous. It’s like trying to drink seawater without filtering out the salt. Sure it looks good, but it’ll do more harm than good.”

Eiden’s face palled

“I am going to die?”

“No.”

“Really?”

“Probably.”

“What?”

“It’s just a jest, you’ll be fine.”

Eiden punched Fin’s shoulder. The Exorcist showed no signs of pain or discomfort, but Eiden’s fist hurt like he just hit a wall.

“Gods, what are you made of?”

“Depends on who’s asking.” Answered Fin with a wry grin “Anyhow. It’s time to tell you some basic information about your… Circumstances. Like we established before, if you can manipulate mana, you’re a mage. Though specifically, you’re a soulcerer.”

“Don’t you mean sorcerer?” Asked Eiden.

“They are both the same thing. Like mage and magician. One’s just a more common name. But, continuing…” Said Fin with an annoyed voice.

“All mages are technically soulcerers, since without a soul or at least the very basic parts of one, you can’t practice magic. But even then, there are some exceptions and a whole lot of grey.

"Humans aren’t born mages. We, and most other beings made of flesh, need to awaken their souls. There are two major ways of Awakening. Deliberate and necessary. With both of them being either magical or mundane. Yours was an Awakening of Necessity through magical means. This gives you a special set of advantages and disadvantages.”

Eiden felt himself drifting with all the information being regurgitated from Fin’s mouth. Though it was interesting, there were too many terms and names to remember. Lisa had always chastised him for his short attention span when teaching him to read.

“...You are probably a mageborne of some sort. Though I can’t tell if you’re specifically a beastborne variant or not.”

“A what now? I don’t have beast’s blood in my veins.” Said Eiden defensively.

“You didn’t pay attention.” Said Fin. “Mageborne are mages born of magic as the name suggests. It means you’ve probably taken some of the powers from the vampire that attacked you.”

Eiden’s eyes bulged. He thought back to the nightmares trapped in the skin of a monster, the memories brought a shiver to his spine. Those memories cascaded into others, bringing back that painful night into Eiden’s mind. Gods, the blood… So much blood...

“I’m a vampire?” Asked Eiden, his voice panicked and eyes darting to the nearest exit.

“No. You weren’t possessed or infected or dead. You probably experienced spirit resonance. Your spirit reconstructed some of the vampire’s magic to the best of its ability to survive. That’s my main guess. Your right soul-mark with the twin serpents has a peculiar signature. One that’s common in Lilith vampires. The specific strain that we collected the bounty for.” Fin's voice bothered Eiden. The Exorcist was surprisingly casual about the vampire remark.

Gods. It was all an act to lure me into feeling safe just so he can collect a fat bounty.

“Are you going to kill me?” Asked Eiden, his eyes narrowing. Eiden felt pressure on his fingertips. The pressure reminded him of safety and power. Things he barely ever had, fleeting commodities in the life of a tunneler. Looking down blood-stained claws made of black dust formed onto Eiden’s fingertips.

“No. But we will have to address that” Said Fin, pointing at Eiden’s claws.

“You Awakened through necessity. It means that your powers are going to be instinctual, and powerful. But hard to control. It’s an Awakening that’s supposed to help you survive and fight back.

"Don’t worry, lad. We’ll figure this out” Fin gave Eiden a pat on his shoulder, a smile, and stood up.

“Oh…” Said Eiden, feeling his anger seep away. The iron dust slowly made its way back under his fingernails, though it caused him no discomfort other than the sight of it happening.

“Truth be told,” Said Fin, stretching his arms “I have no clue where we should start. I, myself, Awakened deliberately. So my powers started weak but easy to control. There are a lot of factors that we need to go through before deciding on the best way for you to train…”

“Like what?”

“Well, we need to figure out your other magic. soul-marks show one’s magic. You've got two of them.”

“Oh,” Said Eiden “This one feels different than the other one… It’s like it was always a part of me.”

“Interesting. It’s an affinity type then. Most mages have a type of magic that is natural to them. Your second type, the vampiric one is an acquired type… Let’s go back into the inn and get some breakfast. I’ll get you some tomes that’ll shed some light on the basics before you try and practice anything.”

Eiden and Fin went back to the inn. Along the walk back, Eiden again felt overwhelmed.

He felt once again lost. The way Fin casually said that Eiden had the powers of a monster was just… strange. For an Exorcist, an itinerant mage that hunted vampires and other undead, to not hate him for his corruption was strange. Even though Fin had yet to show any signs of hostility, Eiden remained vigilant. It was a habit not easily lost after living as a tunnel rat. A life where one could be shivved in the gut left him wary.

“You can leave the tunnels, but the tunnels don’t leave you,” Thought Eiden with a rueful chuckle.

Arriving at the inn, Fin took a vacant table and ordered for the both of them. A full stomach seemed like the best thing for Eiden’s current mood. He ate until he could barely fit one more grain of rice into his belly. Southeastern Kedweni cuisine was heavy on the spices imported from the seas, leaving Eiden wanting more.

The wooden door to the inn room closed with a dull, careless thud.

“I’ll get the tomes.” Said Fin.

Eiden sat on his bed fidgeting with his nails while Fin rummaged through his bags.

“Ah” Said Fin “Here it is”

Fin showed Eiden the tome. The Path of the Soulcerer by Malphas Eventide.

It was old, Its cover a dull green turning grey. The cover had a flowy, delicate script and a beautiful, faded image. A hand holding a blue flame with a seven-pointed star in the background.

It’s soo... Pretty. I always wanted to learn how to do art.

Eiden thought back to his calligraphy lessons with Bert at his side and Lisa as the teacher. He had practiced so much to make his writing eligible and elegant. Stealing candles and using leftover coals from the fire to practice. It gave his days structure and routine. Scavenge, get home, write. He practiced writing many different sentences. But he always found himself pulled towards a specific one. The letters blended so seamlessly in beautiful cursive.

“Repetition is the mother of learning, the father of action, which makes it the architect of accomplishment.” Said Eiden outloud.

Though Eiden couldn't tell, with his face burried in the book, Fin had a grin on his face.