Barry went back to the campsite, his brush with death leaving him exhausted and with more questions than before. What was that wellspring of power? It felt so vast and immense, and yet hidden away from me. Just like my Shadow was before.

Seeing the stone-faced elder, Barry sat down opposite him at the fire. The silence had been comfortably filled with the crackling of wood, neither men seeing any reason to pollute it with the sound of talk. The first cold-blue rays of light appeared between the branches, signaling dawn.

Barry closed his eyes, drawing back into his mind. Beneath his misty feet of black and starlight, greyish still-water laid. Everything appeared as it usually did, except the vortex that stood a good twenty steps away.

Vortex was an overstatement; it was merely a hole where there was no murky grey water. The place where Barry stood was a place of pure thought. Simply thinking of being near the vortex pulled him towards it in a blink. No, there was no blink. In one moment, he was twenty steps away, and in the other, he was peering down the maw of the multi-colored abyss. No transition whatsoever.

The gullet stretched out into darkness tinged with the blood of light. Down the vortex, there was starlight of every color Barry knew and did not. It was so familiar and kindred, resonating with the very fabric of him. He felt if he could only touch it, he would become whole. He would become what he was destined to be.

Barry reached out towards the lights, his mental form’s arm dimming, the light dying and turning into a black mirror. His arm reflected the stars of the well. The well reflected back, a hand made of light reaching back towards him. A hair-width before the finger-tips of light and darkness could touch, Barry was pulled out of his mental refuge.

Barry opened his eyes to cold sunlight, the left side of his face stinging. Randy had a hand out and ready to slap him again.

The knife-thrower flinched, his eyes meeting Barry’s. The mage's eyes shone black, the color of burning night. His iris had turned entirely to shadow, his schlera’s veins darkening.

“What is it?” Said Barry, his tone monotone as he struggled to not tear the man’s throat out. His Shadow limbs turned feral, midnight leather being ripped apart as dark spikes and crawling tendrils erupted from beneath. His finger-tips morphed into talons.

“W-we’re going back again on the road.” Said Randy, his voice shaking ever so slightly. “We tried calling you and shaking, but nothing seemed to wake you up. We’ve been trying for the better part of the morning.”

Barry gave him a nod, reining his Shadow back into control. The crawling tendrils relaxed, and midnight-blue cloth took their place. Shadow retreated from Barry’s eyes, returning them to their everyday shade of dark green.

Barry walked along with the group, the family giving him a wide berth. The mage felt silly and embarrassed for losing control. He never let his emotions cloud his judgment—Stregor had taught him that. Anger was good for starting fights, but cold, shrewd cruelty ended them. Unconstrained anger served to quickly land a sellsword hung on his neck or impaled upon sharp steel.

Being whisked away from the wellspring had been jarring, to say the least. There, everything felt right. It was downright addictive like scarlet resin or doomlust extract. Barry would return there again come night. He had to. It called to him.

Barry focused on his surroundings, feeling the ambient essence that floated through the air and that stood stalwart beneath his feet. Underneath shadows lived the stuff that made his upper limbs. In the air, there was wind and water essence. Below his feet was housed the essence of stone and earth. Everything had a spirit of sorts, essence permeating it like a tunic soaked in sweat. Barry could barely restrain himself from wringing the ground beneath his feet dry from its essence. It was so tempting but dangerous. He would try when at night, far away from the group. Looking back at the day before, he had been stupid in siphoning essence so close to camp.

Throughout the trek, the sun grew stronger and warmer. Barry could feel it pressing against his Shadow, causing him discomfort. The skin of his spirit- no, aura. That’s what Emi called it, aura - hung close to his actual skin. The warmth seemed anathema to his Aura, burning it away like a candle. How can the sun damage my aura, but I can absorb the essence of fire so easily?

Barry focused his awareness upon his dark spirit. He could feel it squirming under the sun’s rays. No, it was not the sun. It was the essence of it—Barry was still absorbing the essence of it as he walked, just not consciously. My spirit is almost filled to the bursting with this essence. I need to shed this.

The mage jogged towards Randy.

“Hey,” said Barry, still embarrassed for his outburst, “I need to go take a piss. You can go on. I’ll eventually catch up.”

“Yeah, sure.” Answered Randy.

“Oh, and Randy?” Said Barry.

“Yeah?”

“Sorry for this morning.” Said Barry. “And, let me make this clear. Don’t ever slap me again. Leave me be if you can’t wake me.” As he spoke, his tone darkened.

“We good?” Asked Barry.

“Yeah, We’re square.” Answered Randy with a hint of trepidation.

Barry went back toward the other night’s campsite. It hadn’t been a long run, though he wished his legs were made of the same stuff of shadow as his arms. A quarter of the way to the camp, he had a spark of recollection. That vision, didn’t that person use the same magic as me to jump from house to house? I could do the same again like last night. Just have to be more careful.

Barry recanted the words for his magic out loud, not believing himself apt to resist the temptation of the vortex inside his mind.

“From a trunk comes splitting tendrils. Above and below. One is of the darkness and the other the light. Reach for the sun, and shadow shall follow. Grasping Darkness.”

Barry aimed his arms for the sturdy branches forward and above. His arms darkened, the midnight leather being devoured from the black beneath. And from them was born a black like the void of the blackmoon, darker even than the night sky. Tendrils of darkness shot forward, grappling branches above and pulling Barry forward like an arrow.

Barry’s shoulders almost fell out of their sockets as he flew through the air. His Shadow burned as the seeds of solar essence inside him festered like maggots hungry upon a carcass. They writhed, burning him from the inside out. The cold air from without and welling heat from within mixed with Barry’s exhilaration as his hair was swept away by the brisk wind.

He was high above the ground, soaring like an eagle.

Barry drew upon the seeds of the sun in his spirit, burning the veins of his Shadow as they passed like coals. A burning mantle of fire erupted from his skin, quickly turning into dark ash that glided him down to the earth. The descent had still been too fast for Barry’s liking. I’ll sprain an ankle like this, and I’ve no reflexes for rolling at this speed.

Barry drew upon the dredges of the sun’s power for last, evoking a torrent of fire beneath his feet as he braced for the impact. The touch of ground felt no more jarring than jumping a fence, leaving behind scorched earth and a darkened imprint of his soles.

Barry let out a whoop of exhilaration. I could get used to that. Though I need some way to sustain it. I can barely walk as is right now, and my spirit feels spent. Guess that solves needing to expend that excess essence- no, mana. I think that’s what it’s called. I have to read those books and journals from Emi… Gotta get back first, though.

“Ughhhhh! I feel so tired. Bloody magic.”

Barry’s legs had almost given out during his way back. magic expended not only mana but also his stamina. I need some way to store mana. Using my Shadow limbs and chantless magic is like putting a greedy leech on my stamina. I can barely walk now. Evoking doesn’t seem to cost too much when it’s just star-fire or void-flame. Or does it? What is the source of those otherworldly flames?

The shadow mage focused on the feeling of the invisible tide with his aura. He could feel the trail of Randy’s family like a breeze upon the air. Their trek left behind residual life essence like clouds. Though he could not “see” the essence with his eyes closed, he could feel them. The mana felt “alive,” like echoes of the people they once used to make up. Barry closed his eyes, drawing back to his mind. The essence he focused upon came into his domain, appearing like a human silhouette made of red vapor. Walking around the scarlet shape, he could almost make out distinct features upon its blurry face. Randy.

Barry drew back into the day. As he followed the vermillion echoes, he pulled at their trail of essence, sucking it up through his Center. Better not to leave a trail like this. After absorbing a few echoes’ worth, Barry felt his stamina return, his muscles losing their tension and his mind clearing away the fog that once resided there. Interesting, this scarlet essence returns me my stamina. Does ambient mana do the same?

Barry pulled at the mana in his vicinity, using his Center and testing each one’s reactions. Most essence that came into the darkest part of his Shadow was absorbed and turned into the same shadowy stuff that made up his spirit. When he focused upon it, he saw tiny roots of red amid the black ocean of his Shadow. The more “solid” the essence he devoured, the longer it took to break down. The more the essence moved, the easier it was to break down. No matter what mana Barry consumed, it eventually turned red, flowing through the channels of his dark spirit.

Again, I can better break down essence that is “chaotic.” Fire, wind, anything that moves really. The slower the essence, the harder it is for me to break down. Blood and shadow mana are the easiest to both pull in and integrate. I can’t really see how I break down mana, though. I’ll check that out at camp.

Barry got back to the group by the orange afternoon. His pace was steady and fast, surprising even himself. More energy was upon his muscles, his stamina being seemingly endless as he devoured the group’s echoes of vitality. When he met up with them, Barry ceased his devouring of their untended essence.

They made camp once more, eating their rations of hard bread, cheese, dried meats, and simple yet refreshing water to wash it all down. Randy took the first watch, leaving Barry to chase the wellspring of power once more.

He withdrew back into his mind, standing in front of the wellspring. Barry reached out once more, and the arm made of black water and starlight reached back. Barry grasped the starlight arm with his.

The wellspring pulled him in. And he fell.

Barry felt like he was falling and flying as the colors of countless and infinite stars and nebulas passed by his head. He flew through a passageway roughly circular. The speed seemed to quicken every instant, mixing together the blood of stars in his sight.

Like the heavenly bridge. Bifrost.

In one moment, he was speeding through a passage made of starlight, and in the other, he was back in the greyed forest of his first dream since awakening. It felt like home.

There was no color amidst the trees. Even their leaves had been drained of green. And yet, it felt familiar and safe. This place was his, and no one else’s. Barry looked at his body, and he saw that he was a silhouette made of darkness. His skin and form were solid but mostly ambiguous grey-dark with a hint of light that made his edges and details distinguishable. It was as if he was made of the same waters of his mind.

There was no sun and no moons. The sky was pure black, and yet Barry could still see. He walked through the hollow forest, being drawn towards something. It was like a beacon in the night and yet was not visible to sight. The feeling guided him like a lodestone, its pull being inexorable.

Barry reached a break in the trees, a small clearing in the midst of the grey. There was no wind at all in the hollow forest. The grey grass stood eerily still, and so did the leaves.

Barry finally saw what drew him towards the clearing, a floating orb of black. Its surface squirmed, ebbed, and flowed like a liquid. A line of dark water came from the sky. The black firmament melting like wax and flowing down into the orb of darkness.

Barry reached out, touching the surface of the undulating mass of darkness. It resonated with his Center, the darkest part of his spirit. Both spherical shapes seemed to come to an accord, pulsating in rhythm. A splitting headache came upon Barry, branding an image upon his mind’s eye. A black ring or a dark circle with no middle. The sigil was his powers incarnate. Hollowness made manifest, such was their nature.

Barry came to from the branding of knowledge, the cold spikes receding from his psyche. He drew upon the essence of shadow, etching a ring of dark upon the air with a finger-tip. What is darkness, but hollowness made for light? What is black, but the canvas from which light is painted upon? Darkness does not consume. It contains.

The thoughts that danced in his head felt alien and yet familiar. The voice was his, but the inflection and tone were uttered by one without practice for spoken language.

The orb of darkness thinned, its contents being unhidden from sight. Two distinct flames floated in its center without mixing. A citrine and ivory conflagration made from the blood of stars. And a dark and black fire made from the caustic ichor of the space in between the light.

The flames that floated inside the orb seemed to tear at their confines, scratching at the walls with their licks of incandescence and blinding blackness. Barry didn’t need the whispers in the dark to tell him that the orb was a prison. He felt both fire’s agony, their will to be free. They needed an out. But, the sorcerer could not let them go. Theirs was a will to eat and burn and spread.

The orb was a prison, holding the blood of all that moved. And those that wish to spread beyond and heed to their devouring plight.

Barry thought of dismissing the orb, and it vanished, being sucked back into the black sky. So this is the soul-palace that Emi spoke of. It’s quite… strange. And the wellspring led here. That must’ve been a ‘gate.’

Barry’s memories became clear like spring water. The veil over most of his past came undone, and his head lightened. Upon focusing on a memory, it came into his reality, twisting the landscape around it. Echoes of the past were made of grey and black mist similar to ambient essence. He could barely make out their features, but his familiarity with them was more than enough. Barry watched his memories, forming from the grey fog and twisting the landscape to fit the narrative.

Childhood scrapes, climbing up trees, and general day to day life were mimed inside the hollow forest of Barry’s soul. Soon came other memories. He did not make them into echoes of fog and mist, for their contents were too agonizing to relive in the flesh of the soul. His memory was painfully clear. They burned through his psyche like a brand to the throat. Barry cradled his head in both hands as a wave of guilt passed overhead.

I can’t. I just can’t. I can’t go back. I can’t get vengeance for them. What’s there to look for? The contract was supposed to be simple. Simple. Kill a few bandits that were holed up in an old and broken keep, and done. Simple.

A veil of obfuscation knit itself back over Barry’s memories, shutting them off. The pain faded to the background, and in its place came anger. Slow, building volatility. Seething hatred tempered his building temper as his face morphed into a snarl of disgust, his lips asymmetrically lifting in loathing. The image in his face was set in stone. It would be the Deity he prayed to at night, but not for blessings. It would be a wellspring, but not for power.

The Man Clad in Black’s silhouette enshrouded in ash would be his to renew the hatred. A font of mordant water to renew his acerbic chase.

Barry would not kill the Man Clad in Black. It would be too lenient a sentence.

Barry recalled the wellspring, stepping off into the colorful worm-hole.

He opened his eyes to dawn, though, he felt no fatigue. The fumes of hatred were caustic but effective in renewing his energy. Randy’s family had been packing back up and loading the cart. Barry joined them, retying ropes and tightening coils around the family’s belongings.

They made their way through the lowlands of the Four Corners. The trek had been easy enough with it being just a really long slope downwards, lessening the burden upon their legs. One more day of travel, and we’ll be at the Inn at the Crossroads. I wonder if Ashara or Harriet are still there. Last I saw of them was half a winter ago.

As the day passed, Barry felt the building of sunlight upon his Shadow, burdening him with its incandescent weight of heat. The sunlight built like water drops on blades of grass until his Shadow now resembled a bed of black embers with the last dying flickers of flame. The color of scarlet wrought from a wound and the light of the sun were weaved into his spirit.

Why does my Shadow take so much from the sun? Why doesn’t Star-fire infest my spirit, but this solar essence does?

Barry focused upon his Shadow. He pulled at the essence that splintered and prickled at the edge of his spirit, calling it with the lodestone known as his Center. The once-mercenary quickly quit his calling as the fiery essence seeped in deeper upon his spirit. Why in the Nine Hells can’t I submerge this essence like all the others? By the Blind Mother’s tits, why is it so bloody difficult?

Barry told the group to head on without him once more, going further back to investigate his solar blight. Time to find out. After walking far enough away, Barry Evoked some Star-fire, being sure to watch over the movement inside his spirit.

The void at the base of his navel reached out. A tendril of darkest dark made its way towards the base of his skull, his Gate. At his Gate, a flicker of Star-fire made its way out. The Star-fire was wreathed inside a layer of the dark substance that his Center was made of. The imprisoned citrine-white flame was transported through the veins and channels of his spirit to his hand by use of the dark substance. A path of darkest dark was left stained on his Shadow. A slow trickle of rainbow essence made its way through the dark connection. The essence was the same as the light in the wellspring.

So, my Center is what keeps the Starfire from harming me. Can I wrap myself in that same substance? Wait, that’s what Dark Mirror does…

Barry mentally berated himself for forgetting about the Dark Mirror incantation. In hindsight, it seemed tremendously stupid to not use the Spell.

Barry chanted his Spell, focusing his awareness on his spirit. It would be dense to not take the opportunity to discover more of his magic.

Take upon the luminous pinpricks that dwell in the void, and shadows shall come. Dark Mirror.

His Center reached out with thousands of tendrils, coating the channels of his Shadow in darkest dark. The essence bled out onto his Shadow Limbs, covering them in the color of the Blackmoon against the night sky.

As the wave of black made its wave over his spirit, a shroud of darkness came over Barry in tandem. The burden of heat was washed out from the influx of dark, viscous essence. The festering sunlight was contained and taken to both his Center and Gate. Will this give me another flame from which to call upon? Or strengthen my Star-fire? I can find that out later. Too tired.

Barry tracked the echoes of Randy and his family, feeling them through his Aura, the skin of his spirit. Barry realized he could not “see” the scarlet of the echoes with his eyes opened. He would have to close his eyes and venture into his mind to experience the essence of life and blood in its entirety.

The second helping of vermillion echoes left Barry more lethargic than he was before as his spirit struggled to break-down the essence. When the mage focused on his Shadow, his heart skipped a beat, and his mouth let out poison that would leave a sailor bewildered.

Nine bloody Hells. The red essence had infected portions of his spirit near his Center, eating away at his Shadow like thousands of minuscule locusts. The vermillion infestation caused Barry’s skin to crawl, and his face constricted into disgust and horror. The foreign mana felt wrong—felt Other.

Barry quickly chanted the words for Dark Mirror, coating his spirit with a wave of darkest dark.

Whispers from the wellspring came into Barry’s consciousness. The voice was a twisted semblance of himself.

Darkness contains. Darkness takes that which is and encases substance in what is not. What is a mirror but darkness without a lid? Reflecting back what it cannot hold onto. Darkness does not recoil at the light but instead weaves luminosity through itself, warming its hollowness and lack of substance. The Dark Mirror is not true darkness. It is the offspring of darkness and fear of the light. Hold onto the fear of the light, and reflect back that which haunts thyself.

An icy hand spread through Barry’s head, bathing him in a headache of winter white and stabbing at the soft, grayish mass sitting inside his skull. Barry’s skin turned black as a wave of viscous black liquid spread out from his arms and navel. Vermillion pinpricks made their way onto his skin. Their red shined like the last dying breath of a star. The stars were a scarlet so vibrant and intoxicating that they could compel a man to murder.

The scarlet glow faded as blood bled from the stars etched onto the mage’s skin. The blood evaporated before hitting the ground, dispersing through the air in a cloud of red until it disappeared from normal sight. For it was not blood, but the essence of blood.

The black tar crawled through Barry’s skin, disappearing through his navel and arms, and returning to its home at his Center.

Barry slowly made his way back to the group. His steps were uneven and lethargic. Though, he still helped them set up camp. That night he took the first watch. When his vigil ended, he passed out as soon as his head hit a straw pillow. Fortunately for the emerald-eyed Barry, Elina put a blanket around his snoring and exhausted frame.

Unfortunately for the once-mercenary, his sleep was branded by echoes of slaughter. Of shadow and blood, there is no escape.