The Wandsmith [LitRPG, Isekai, Harem]

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Awareness came suddenly and all at once. She did not yet remember who she was or where she had come from, but fragments stirred, echoes of a death that was clean and complete. Not merely the end of breath, but the shattering of the soul.

She was barely a wisp, a shadow of thought and spirit, hovering at the edge of a colossal caldera. It stretched out in all directions: a stark white, barren landscape pockmarked by ancient impacts, craters and pits as far as the eye could see. There were no clouds, no dawn or dusk, only a night strewn with cold, distant lights. A sky like the void: black, silent, mirrored by a lifeless horizon.

She shivered.

At the caldera's base, a soft glow beckoned. A warm, pulsing crystal. A stick, no, a wand, familiar and true. Beside it lay a fishing line, a net of tangled gossamer, and a vast hole that swallowed the world around it. An ethereal abyss. She knew, without knowing how, that it was from here her soul had been fished, fragment by delicate fragment. And still, it called to her, offering sleep, stillness, forgetting.

She almost answered.

What was left to fight for? Life had given her loss, fear, and hollow duty. She owed nothing to kingdom, bloodline, or fate. To no one, save herself.

Even in this fractured form, she remembered enough. Her dream was to escape the suffocating politics of a minor noble house, to grow beyond the constraints of provincial expectation. She had wanted to learn, to explore and perhaps, to love. That dream had once carried her far and drove her, even now.

And so she reached, past the promise of pain, past endings. Guided by the prismatic crystal's light, she gathered what remained of her soul and pulled.

Then she remembered everything.

She was Lady Seraphine of House Searilian, sister to Cordelia, second daughter to Lady Lavine and Lord Thamior of House Searilian. Born, raised, and fallen in the city of Astor, capital of Astoria, realm of Aerilis upon the Elemental Demiplane, she had lived a life shaped by tradition in a land that venerated the Seraphim, celestial beings for whom she had been named.

Initially trained as a courtly clerk, Seraphine had navigated the intricate circles of noble politics with irreverence. She had planned to become a Yellow Magi of the Chromatic Order, studying under her father. But fate, embodied by the dread lich Eltitus, had changed everything.

Her father, a Sovereign-ranked Yellow Magi, fell to Eltitus in battle, fracturing their family and altering her life's trajectory. Her elder sister Cordelia assumed their father's mantle with steadfast duty, mastering barrier magic to guard their house. Meanwhile, Lady Lavine, a White Magi skilled in life magic, became Seraphine's new mentor. She guided her along a different path, one crafted in defiance against a foe whose true darkness Seraphine had begun to understand more clearly than anyone else.

With a newfound perspective, she embarked upon something daring: a summoning that risked her life, her family's fate, and the survival of a nation teetering on the brink of annihilation. Thus, Ori had come. Diligent, unassuming, young and inexperienced, yet remarkably talented and impossibly determined. He was a perfect student, a vessel absorbing her teachings without limit.

As Awareness returned she drifted above a strange, ethereal landscape. She realised at once this place belonged to Ori. He had drawn forth fragments of her soul from the ethereal realm, piece by delicate piece. The wand nearby, their wand, yet different, radiated a warmth she recognised, calling her home.

Joy blossomed within her, profound and indescribable, tempered only by wonder. If not truly alive, she was at least whole, capable again of thought, feeling, and discovery. Countless questions surged within her. What had happened to Astoria? Where was Ori now? And how long had it been?

With excitement tempered by caution, she extended her spirit towards the wand. Her soul settled comfortably inside with a resonance that was familiar and right. From within, she perceived the fate clearly. Ori stood in a vibrant forest beside a creature, a vast bird of unfamiliar origin, strong in Light affinity, and another figure, a woman. A fae perhaps. A lover?

Intrigued, Seraphine relaxed, content for the moment to watch and glean knowledge from this new situation, already smiling in anticipation of Ori's reaction to her return. Would he remember her fondly, or at all? Had much time passed? And what would her future hold, entwined with his?

Seraphine giggled softly, luxuriating in the anticipation and the gentle thrill of new possibilities as she settled into this new strange, wondrous unlife.

The National Hospital for Neurology and Neurosurgery, London, Earth, Outside of Fate

"Don't these things give you cancer?"

Dr Zara El-Masri looked up from the monitor, she was a Consultant Neurologist, her dark curls were tied back in a loose knot, and a thin silver Star of David rested at the base of her throat. She had a clean, academic look: button-down blouse, charcoal eyeshadow framing almond eyes, the only concession to an otherwise flawless, "no makeup" look. There was little decorative about her, but something in the way she carried herself made people stop talking when she entered the room.

Raven remembered the first time she'd seen her. Three years ago, not long after the crash, the one that had all but ended her life. She'd been half-drugged, half-broken, staring at ceiling tiles and wondering how many vertebrae had gone the way of her future. Then the door had opened, and in walked Dr Zara El-Masri, a consultant neurologist. A doctor not in a rush or reading off a clipboard, but present and truly seeing her as a person, despite also being a patient.

She'd explained the extent of the injury clearly, laid out the rehabilitation options, and answered every bitter, sarcastic question Raven threw at her without blinking. Her advice had been practical, her words pragmatic but not unkind, truth delivered with just enough empathy for a sixteen-year-old girl to bear. And for Raven, that had meant far more than false comfort ever could.

And now, here she was again.

Raven liked the neatness of it, the storyline symmetry of returning to someone who'd seen her at her worst and hadn't flinched. Now, after the miracle of walking again, she found Zara unchanged. Still unflappable. Still professional. Still grounded in that steady, empathic way that didn't sugar-coat anything. But now there was something else too: a quiet wonder in her questions, a curiosity that gave the moment an edge of satisfaction Raven hadn't expected.

Zara had been sharp and real in a sea of doctors who either pitied her or treated her like a chart to be stabilised, processed, and forgotten. She'd never done that. And now, Raven found it oddly gratifying to repay that care, if just a little, by letting her examine what happened when magic rewrote a body that medicine had given up on.

It might have also been because she was hot.

Raven wasn't into women, not really. Or at least, she hadn't been. But she remembered gulping the first time Zara entered the room, with sharp eyes, loose curls, and that cool voice that made her feel like someone was actually listening.

Now, seeing her again, clean white coat, same calm tone, same steady presence, Raven felt a deep satisfaction in being here now, whole again, and far more than she was, all of it disguised, of course, behind a smirk.

"That's CT scans. This is an MRI. No ionising radiation. Still very loud, though and you'll need to remove your piercings… all of them."

Raven raised an eyebrow. "Even the ones you can't see?"

Zara arched hers back. "Especially those."

With a sigh that was more theatrical than reluctant, Raven began unlooping rings and studs decorating her ears, nose and… other places.

Zara was already flipping through scan layers on the console by the time Raven had dressed, each frame pulsing with silent magnetic echoes. Raven watched the flickering axial cross-sections of her own spine rotate like a medical flipbook.

"Your L1 to T12 trauma shows ossification patterns consistent with a ten-year healed fracture. But here—" Zara pointed, "—your posterior ligament complex is pristine. Regenerated with no scarring. Rich in CD34+ stem cell markers. That shouldn't be possible."

"Magic… remember?" Raven waved her hands in a half-hearted poof gesture.

Zara didn't flinch. "You're part of what we're calling the PMR Cohort—Post-Magical Regeneration, unofficially. There's no consensus on naming yet, but it refers to those rescued from… well, the demon-zone. Many of you share a history of significant trauma. Old scarring, structural damage, or in some cases, injuries that appear to have healed through multiple, distinct biological pathways. Some areas look ten years healed. Others show unblemished, near-foetal tissue profiles."

Raven leaned forward, feigning interest. "So, what you're saying is, I was healed in strange and mysterious ways?"

"Not mysterious beyond the mechanism. The 'how' is unclear. But the 'what' is measurable. It looks like they used two... modalities—"

"AKA, spells," Raven cut in. "Two different spells."

Zara gave her a sideways glance but nodded. "Yes. That's one interpretation. It's as if different systems were targeted in different ways. One spell accelerating repair, the other regenerating from a more primitive cellular state. It's… coordinated. And unlike anything we've seen before."

Raven smirked. "All thanks to Ori's white magic. You two would probably get on well." She chewed her lip, thoughtful.

Zara didn't look away from the screen. "Tell me more about him."

Raven shrugged. "Ori? Or his magic?"

"Both."

"Well… He uses spells from a class, White Magi. That gives him spells, healing mostly, but I'm not sure on the details. He's still kind of a beginner. I get the sense healing regular people, mortals, I guess, is easier for him. Less energy cost or something. Anyway, I don't really know much about how it works."

She pulled out her phone and scrolled through her gallery. "That's him," she said, holding it up. "Freya's the tiny pixie on his shoulder. Ruenne'del is the tall one with pink hair, wings, definitely a fairy. Karanno's the angel in the back, massive wings, halo and everything, very biblical. And Lysara's the glowing ball of lightning. She's an elemental, she talks."

This book's true home is on another platform. Check it out there for the real experience.

Raven snorted at the look on Zara's face.

"A living ball of lightning?" Zara repeated, eyebrows knitting.

"It's a whole thing."

Zara leaned in, intrigued.

Raven, distracted, swiped, and immediately winced as the next photo slid into view. She and Ori, mid-kiss. Tongue very much involved.

"Oh, for—" She thumbed the screen off. "That wasn't supposed to, never mind."

Zara's brow lifted, just a touch. "You and him?"

"He's fit, strong and knows magic," Raven said, tucking the phone away. "And yeah you saw those abs yeah? There's a lot about him I can't say. But he's planning to come back here one day. Maybe you two can talk magical medicine then."

Zara hesitated. "I'd… like that. Though I imagine if he ever did return, there'd be... complications."

Raven gave her a knowing look. "You've no idea."

There was a lull. Raven stared at the MRI screen, the soft glow bouncing off her lashes.

"If you could pick one person," she said suddenly, "someone terminally ill, someone who deserves a miracle, who would it be?"

Zara stiffened slightly. "I don't like that question. It implies I'd play god. That I could weigh lives and make the right call. I wouldn't want that responsibility."

Raven gave a one-shouldered shrug, disappointment tucked behind nonchalance. "Yeah, But when the alternative to not choosing is that they'd all die anyway."

Then she pulled something from what looked like empty air.

A wand, a simple stick of ivory, sleek, silver-veined, and humming faintly with light. Zara jolted upright at the display.

"Ori gave me this. A Greater Wand of White Magic. Said it was made by an angel. He gave it to me to heal his dad's cancer."

"You're responsible for that?"

Raven shrugged, unwilling to go into further details. She held the wand out. "Here. Hold it, see if it speaks to you."

Zara hesitated, then took it delicately.

A tremor passed through her fingers.

"I can feel it." Zara gasped, eyes wide.

Raven smiled. "That's the wand spirit. According to Ori, it knows more about healing than he does. I think it's only got one good miracle left. Something big. Like pulling someone from the brink."

Zara stared at her. "Why are you showing me this?"

"Because I can? Because I want to? Because I might be going soon and it'd be nice to do one good thing before I go? Because you've been great to me, and I want to give you the chance of performing a miracle."

"Going where?" Zara asked with concern.

"Back to his side. Across fate." Raven chuckled, her voice softer now. "And no, it's not a euphemism. I know it sounds a bit culty, but I'm not about to off myself. I'll probably be back but maybe not for a while."

"Do your parents know?"

"Ah… well, that's a whole 'nother thing." Raven sighed.

Zara hesitated, before shaking her head and returning it. Raven gently pushed the wand back. "Take it, heal someone, then bring it back. It doesn't belong to me, and Ori's only borrowing it from someone else."

"An angel?" Zara asked.

Raven nodded.

"There's a paediatric patient, a boy aged eight, scouted for Arsenal's academy just before he was diagnosed with osteosarcoma. It started in his lower spine and tore through the vertebrae fast, compressing the cord, collapsing the bone. Stage four by the time we caught it, but he never cried. Called himself the 'Human Noodle,' due to the missing parts of his spine, and renamed his chemo 'Dragon Juice,' kept the entire ward laughing, even the staff. He asked if his bones would fossilise and end up in a museum. I told him I hoped not, people should know how funny he was." Zara glanced at her, quieter now. "Thank you, Chloe."

Luinilathar Palace, Lunaesidhe, Elemental Demiplane, Fate

"Please, remind me why we're embarking on this endeavour, again? Should you advance again, the calls for you to follow protocol and abdicate to the Guardian Spirits will become deafening," Poppy said.

Harriet snorted. "Where were those voices when Rufus plotted against us, both openly and in shadow? When he discarded protocol and insulted our Taurna'diem? No. I'll do the same and ignore the voices. I have no interest in becoming a Guardian Spirit, and no power in Fate can compel one to abdicate before their time, if they do not wish it."

Poppy gave a slight nod. "Very well. Everything is prepared."

It hadn't taken many dreams for Ori to explain what he had discovered about Aether, that strange, primordial force underlying the other paracausal energies of Fate. In many ways, Queen Harriet Anoriel Thalionwen Luinilthar already knew far more than he did. Her knowledge spanned history, tradition, and even errors embedded in the oldest texts. Through their shared lessons in the dreaming, and the memories and talents exchanged via his Class and their Soulcraft, she had reached the point where natural talent and shared comprehension gave way to true affinity. She had awakened to Aether in full, earned entirely on her own.

And the purpose for this was clear.

Rufus Terradi'del Osson had not been idle since her ascension. After centuries of cold conflict, assassination attempts, covert sabotage, and political destabilisation, matters had once again escalated. Now, only four out of twelve houses stood in open resistance to his rise, five if one counted Poppy's still-undeclared line. With House Tóraí capitulating, and with them the entire Solerial faction of high-elven society, Rufus's bid for the title of Overlord had never been closer to fruition.

Lunaesidhe and the Silvan now stood nearly alone.

Though Harriet had spent the last seven hundred years advancing to the apex of the Immortal realm, she knew that her strength, and Poppy's, would not be enough. Not without a decisive advantage, one she now intended to create.

Poppy offered her hand. Harriet took it without hesitation, and together they stepped into the void.

Before them pulsed one of the largest and most dangerous rifts in all of Lunaesidhe. Untamed until now, the desolate landscape was strewn with the carcasses of Aether-warped leviathans, their twisted, city-sized remains a testament to the anomaly's raw, unchecked power. The sapphire glow pressed against Harriet's skin, warm and thrumming with latent energy. It was welcoming, yet unmistakably a warning, a silent alarm radiating what Ori had once described as Aether's "radioactive" nature.

Harriet nodded to Poppy, her best friend, her sister, her confidante and she returned her nod with a serious expression, before she stepped away, unable to remain long beneath the gathering pressure of the aetheric light.

Then Harriet stepped forward, close enough to reach out, to touch, to begin.

Her first true act of Aethermancy: the formation of her Aetheric Core.

There was no explosion, no storm. Only stillness, as the raw lattice of Aether bent towards her. It did not resist. It recognised her as sovereign and by her will, her song, and her command, she shaped it into something new. A core, not a heart, but it's equal. An organ of order, of song, of sovereignty, bound to the fate of Lunaesidhe and to the lives she held dear.

When it was done, her body pulsed with quiet, steady power.

She had become more than Immortal. And with Ori and Poppy's aid, perhaps enough to secure her family's line and end the looming spectre of Rufus's ascension once and for all.

Hark!

Let it be proclaimed throughout the Briar Lands and beyond: the High Queen has risen once more.

By awakening her Aetheric Core and mastering the sacred art of Aethermancy, Harriet, Anoriel Thalionwen Luinilthar, has ascended to the Pinnacle Rank, surpassing the Immortal threshold. Through rightful mastery of the primordial affinity to the level of Integration, and by rising one whole rank above her peers, she stands unmatched among her kind.

From this day forth, let her be recognised and revered once more, as High Queen Harriet the First, sovereign of the Lunaesidhe, Prodigy of the Briar Queens.

Blessed be her name.
May her reign endure beyond time.

Long live the High Queen.

Outside of Redharrow, Twilight, Elemental Demiplane, Fate

"I am Ori Suba, the High Human Progenitor, Duælist, White Mage, High Redeemer, Bondweaver… and I'm also a Wandsmith."

Meaningless waffle.

He had heard plenty of titles in his time, most from would-be warlords who barely lasted a moonrise. This one, soaked in blood, was now listing them like an overly long dinner menu.

The owl watched him carefully, talons buried in wet earth, wings aching. Ori's skin gleamed with sweat. No armour, just a jacket and so much raw arrogance dressed up as confidence. It would've been funny if he weren't so effective.

He had stalked dragons, real ones. He'd outpaced Immortal Condors across continents using only thermals and shredded Sovereign-ranked eagles in mid-flight. His mind was sharper than most swords, and he'd waited centuries to hunt prey worth the patience. This boy shouldn't have survived the first day, let alone become someone others whispered about with that peculiar blend of fear and hope. Redeemer. And yet, here he was.

He had watched from the trees, from the cloud banks, from above the sky. Watched as he carved through warped creatures, slavers and entire nests of ghosts like someone taking a swim through a lake on a whim. And then he'd gone on to heal the wounded with the same hands, laughing and chatting as if none of it touched him. Infuriating.

He had finally decided to commit to hunting this creature. Not out of respect for the nature of his prey, but because there was no other path forward. Sovereign rank was a plateau, his graveyard, and he had hit it hard. Not much of his prodigious lifespan remained, perhaps a few years, and this boy, he knew deep down, was his last chance. Except the chance came, just not in the way he expected.

To become his familiar, the word made his feathers twitch.

It meant servant. It meant chaining your will to align with another's. It meant that instead of the freedom to be lost or lead, you'd always follow. Except, through the tendrils of connection he felt with this lad's soul, he saw another path.

The magic forming around Ori didn't feel like subjugation. It felt like resonance, a partnership, a chance for union and transformation and that was a different prospect entirely.

"Lucas," Ori said.

The spell formed, and the name settled into him, becoming him, and he it. It felt right, like a purpose or new beginning, as power and comprehension flooded through a bridge between their souls. The magic was precise, old, and patient. And with a Word, one that swelled the air with Peritia and rewrote his page in the Library of Fate, they experienced flashes of each other's soul.

So young… Lucas thought in wonder. He may have stalked dragons, but this boy had killed a god.

And that was that. The spell clicked into place and everything had changed.

He was now Lucas, an Immortal Rank familiar to a human boy. What a strange end to a frustrating hunt. He looked at Ori again, this odd, bony nightmare of a boy, and allowed himself the smallest sigh.

"To transcendence, eh? Big words for such a small body."

"All the better to ride you with, innit?" Ori grinned, and Lucas squawked in outraged indignation.

Outside of Strafhollow, Twilight, Elemental Demiplane, Fate

Tess's breath burned in her chest, her footsteps silent but frantic as she dashed through the midday forest. Behind her, the distant shouts and the metallic clanging of flesh traders echoed through the woodland. She ducked behind an ancient oak, heart thundering, her tapered ears straining for any sign of pursuit.

Something had set them off.

The gangs near Dremsway had always been dangerous, but lately they'd grown wilder, bolder, their raids pushing ever closer to peaceful settlements and now heedless of patrols from the capital. Tess had been saving every copper she earned from hunting game, dreaming of passage away from her quiet village near Dremsway, away from the petty squabbles of the village and towards adventure. But now, chaos had stolen even the simplest freedoms.

She needed to warn her family, warn the folk at Strafhollow, though it might already be too late. Fear propelled her forward again, feet barely touching the leaf-littered ground as she raced home.

Firelight flickered between the trees ahead, too bright, too fierce. Her heart sank.

She broke through the trees and stopped cold, horror rooting her in place. Flames roared, devouring homes, stables, and storehouses. People she knew, people she loved, were shackled and caged, sobbing and shouting helplessly. Flesh traders, men, Awakened, demons with red eyes aglow with menace and cruelty, moved through the devastation, stripping the village bare of everything valuable, especially its inhabitants.

For a wild, reckless moment, fury overtook her fear. Her hand twitched towards the bow slung over her shoulder, fingers brushing the familiar smoothness of wood and bowstring. She imagined firing an arrow into the nearest raider, but the thought died swiftly. She was just an elf, not even Awakened, and they were demons, creatures that could tear her apart, limb from limb.

Swallowing her rage, Tess tightened her jaw. If she survived, if they lived, there'd be hope. Perhaps the larger towns closer to Dremsway would offer aid. Maybe she could reach a patrol. She took one last look at her ruined home, turned, and fled back into the forest, holding onto the thin thread of possibility.