Jack sprinted through the pandemonium of the camp, passing three different fighters before reaching the two spellcasters. Of the pair, only the man was still looking at the woods where Eliza had sprung her ambush. The woman showed sharper instincts and turned to see if there were more prongs to the attack, her eyes going wide when she saw Jack sprinting directly at her. Ideally she would have been the closer spellcaster, but since that wasn’t the case, Jack took the opportunity to smash his wyvern-bone club into the side of the other spellcaster’s head on the way past, black shadows flashing for an instant before the man crumpled to the ground unconscious. The action took only a moment, but it slowed Jack down a half-step, giving the woman just enough time to raise her hands before he stepped within arm’s reach.

The next thing Jack knew, he was flying across the campsite.

Mark focussed, thinking back to that moment on the dirt road to Palmyre when he’d reached out in desperate need and discovered a sea of possibilities waiting for him. He thought about Cara’s words back in the orphanage. About the threads of fate and how they represented what was and what might be. He searched within for a way back to those threads.

Only this time, he did it without the kid gloves of fear.

And somehow, deep inside, an Ability unlocked.

New Ability Acquired: விதியைப் பார்ப்பவர்

???

Requirements: ???

Rainbow lines traced their way across Mark’s sclera, exposing an uncountable legion of threads that spanned the horizon, moving towards him in a tangled, shifting sea. These were the threads of what might be, and he watched as a portion of those threads wove together, binding themselves into a golden tapestral road that ran beneath his feet and extended eternally behind him, into the past. The other threads, the ones who missed their chance at reality, were then annihilated by the present as it consumed the future, victims of the passage of time. For this was the place where opportunities gained became opportunities lost. The place where Order and Chaos fought their unceasing battle under the never-ending dictates of Time.

As that woven road bound itself together, Mark noticed that not all threads were identical. Some were thick and immobile, nearly cable-like in their sturdiness, while others were like a strand of spider silk blowing in the wind. Despite that, the gauge of the threads had little to do with their incorporation into the tapestry. Those threads close to the tapestry’s path were woven into the fabric regardless of weight, while those on the periphery were more ephemeral, their inclusion dictated by little more than random chance touching them to the fabric at some critical moment. Yet those were the most intriguing threads, because every thread was connected to the others in a myriad of unseen ways, and the inclusion of one thread into the tapestry could pull thousands of others along with it…or push an equal number into the realm of the unlikely. Such were the vagaries of Chance.

On some level, Mark knew this wasn’t how the intersection of time and fate looked. Not really. This was simply his mind forcing an analogous vision onto something unknowable; inspired perhaps by Cara’s description of the threads. Which was all well and good for Cara, but for Mark to do anything with what he was seeing, he needed to strip away some of that analogy and see past the vision. To seek awareness of what those threads truly represented.

Mark focused, opening his mind as he tried to understand the nature of those threads.

The colour of the sky, the sea’s tide, the grain of a rock. Those threads sat near the middle of the path. Thick. Immutable. Unmovable.

A flame where none existed, the spontaneous shattering of a stone, a sail billowing on a windless sea. Those threads sat near the tapestry’s path but apart from it. Distant. Unnatural. Impossible. Wholly reliant on other threads to bring them into being.

A turn of the head, the path of a falling tree, the choice of a dance partner. These were the threads that hovered right on the path’s periphery. These were the threads that altered fate, and to be included in that woven road was to cause roiling motions in the threads ahead, twisting and contorting the probabilities as seemingly inconsequential moments in the present generated shockwaves into the future.

A spark landing on tinder—creating a flame that lights up a room or burns down a city.

A hammer shattering a stone—earning a man a day’s pay or sending a shard into his eye, blinding him for life.

A wind billowing a ship’s sails—delivering a precious cargo or bringing a plague down upon a city.

It was there, in that group of flexible, future-changing threads at the periphery of the tapestry’s path that Mark’s power could affect the most change—if only he could work out the what and the how of those changes. Of the how, he had an idea, and if it didn’t work, this was all for naught. As for the what…well, it was probably best to tackle “how” first and cross that bridge when he got there.

Unfortunately, the “how” of his magic meant dealing with the devil.

Mark breathed in…

There were over fifty seizures trapped within his staff at this point. He could sense their resonance lurking within the wood. A living echo of the ever-present potential for chaos that lurked within his brain.

A force that could be tapped if he was willing.

…and breathed out.

Mark had let himself believe a happy lie. The one about how he could push the seizures away and stop them from being a part of himself. But deep down, he knew it wasn’t true. The staff wasn’t a prison for his seizures. It was a thundercloud. A place where a charge could build to incredible levels, but would always be searching for release. And Mark was the only way out.

Placing his hand at the edge of his rune circle, Mark stretched out his awareness, reaching across the gap to the reservoir of his staff. Then he looked down at his hand, waiting.

Slowly, the rainbow lines began tracing their way across his flesh. Glancing at his sister, Mark nodded to himself.

Then he dropped his barriers.

The resonance arrived in a torrent. It flooded into Mark’s brain like it had with the nimh, only this time he was ready for it, the rush of chaotic power slowing in its tracks with only a few loose strands managing to shudder their way through his brain, the sounds of the room slurring as the resonance found purchase as a reborn seizure. He couldn’t let it distract him, though. While he couldn’t speak during a seizure, he could think. That was everything right now.

Mark’s eyes whipped across the ocean of threads, searching for anything that might make a difference. He flew on instinct, embracing the Chaos within him, because only a chaotic mind could make sense of the chaos stretching before him.

There.

One strand. One terrifying strand. He could feel the effect it would have on the other threads. Repercussions that would echo in a way that wouldn’t just change his great-grandfather’s fate, but their own, Palmyre’s…possibly the fate of the world itself. There was something utterly alien about that thread. Like it was forged steel, unbending and relentless. He would never have dreamed of trying to move it if it didn’t already sit right at the periphery of the weaving—a 50/50 chance that could possibly, just maybe, be tipped in his favour.

Steeling himself, Mark hit that black thread with everything he had; the entirety of his stockpiled resonance lashing out like whips that coiled around that strand and pulled it towards the path of time. There was a pain in his head and sweat in his eyes, and Tome notices flew past as he bent his will against that thread. The resonance bled out of his system, but somehow he dug deeper, into a hidden reservoir that let him keep going. Slowly, that thread crept down until finally, with the last of Mark’s will, it bent just enough to make contact with the weaving.

And like that, possibility became reality.

As Nochd watched Jack fly through the air, he decided that maybe he would let the man’s family have a peek at the proceedings. Really, he was the one blocking Jack’s location to begin with, and given the efforts they were going to, they might as well be rewarded for their tenacity.

Besides, what difference could it make?

It took everything Mark had not to collapse as the woven road disappeared and the rainbow lines that had crawled across his skin and eyes faded into nothing. Utter exhaustion washed over him as a wave of post-ictal confusion shredded his mind, brought on by the massive bolus of resonance he’d forced through his body. Yet even through his stupor, he could pick up on the agitation in the room. Naomi had climbed back to her feet, her energy renewed. She was speaking, but it sounded to Mark’s ear like gibberish, so he turned his attention to the page that had appeared in his hand. He couldn’t actually read the contents—one of the odder symptoms of his seizures was how it made visual and auditory input synch up, as though Naomi was reading the words off the page—but he could tell that a lot had happened simply by the quantity of text. And when his seizure cleared, he could see he was correct:

Class Quest: “Unlock Your Magic?” Part 1 Completed!

WHAT ARE YOU DOING! How, just…what…I mean…WHAT WERE YOU THINKING! Setting aside the fact that none of us know what you just did, how do you know you weren’t about to tear a hole in reality? You’ve seen the Kaos Dimma; you know what happens when magic is misused.

You know what? Maybe this is my fault. It’s not like I 100%, absolutely, without question, emphasized that safety was paramount in this endeavour. What’s that? I did say that? Oh well, let’s go back to THAT plan then, shall we? In the meantime…

Reward for “Success:” 2,000 XP, Baseline control of your magic A comically vague level of control over your magic

Class Quest: “Unlock Your Magic” Part 2

Please, PLEASE, try and be more careful. I’m not joking when I say we don’t know what you did. The threads of fate aren’t something we created. They’re a fundamental part of how the universe works, and playing around with them makes all of us nervous. Unfortunately, we can’t just…err, I mean, fortunately, we can’t just kill you to make the problem go away, so we need you to respect what you’re doing before you cause some serious damage. Not just to yourself, but to those around you as well.

Quest Completion Criteria: Learn how to safely discharge your magic once it’s accumulated in your staff.*

Reward for success: Enough XP that it could easily be considered me bribing you to take it slow with this stuff.

Penalty for failure: I don’t even want to think about it.

*Is this the exact same definition I used for Part 1? Yes. Yes, it is. Because you didn’t follow the instructions. Do that again and I will lock you in advancement hell. Or I would, but maybe I can’t even do that? Who knows? After all, it’s not like I’m the one who just progressed your class.

Nothing makes sense anymore.

QUEST AUTOMATICALLY ACCEPTED

Altered his class?

Mark surreptitiously looked at his status page. Sure enough, his class was no longer listed as மாற்றம். Instead, it had changed to விதி, which was equally confusing. He couldn’t even say for sure that becoming a “veedee” was better than his old class of “martum.” For all he knew, he’d gotten a demotion.

He shook his head. No wonder his Tome guide was pissed at him. He was terrified as well, which at least meant they agreed on the best path forward. Sure, it was a vague, scary, and unpredictable path, but it was a path nonetheless.

A sudden clarity came to Naomi’s words as Mark’s seizure ended. It took him a moment, but when he realized what she was saying, his head snapped up, and he grinned.

He could think about his magic later. This? This, he didn’t want to miss.