Traverse The Fog

Cyrus marveled at Blake's fight. He had controlled the battle flow with expert precision from start to finish, leaving Cyrus to click his tongue in envy.

"See, this is exactly why I wanted water abilities."

In addition, Blake's fighting techniques tossed out his outdated notion of mages as stationary figures who simply slung spells right out of the window.

Blood buzzing with excitement, Cyrus replayed Blake's dagger technique in his head, almost feeling the lingering expertise on his fingers and arms. Wait, he did feel a sort of lingering sensation. Was this an effect of the memory shard? This could prove helpful.

"And to think, I was just going to throw fireballs at everything."

Soon, his vision began to unravel. A moment later, Cyrus blinked, finding himself sitting under Dílis' gaze and warm smile.

"It's been a couple of hours," she chirped. "Did you enjoy the fight?"

Did he enjoy it? He more than did.

Quickly, Cyrus stood up and stretched his sore limbs, yet his voice strained excitedly. "Yes! His movements and abilities. And the way he planned ahead." A pause. "But I do have a question. Almost every magic caster I've seen required a medium to bend the elements. So, how is it possible for me to conjure flame?"

"Well..." Dílis tilted her head. "There is only one domain that doesn't require a medium, and that is order." She chuckled at his confusion. "Think about it. Are you really not using the elements around you?"

Cyrus paused. Now that he thought about it, light was essentially all around him. As for fire? His body was already producing warmth. Perhaps that was the catalyst.

"I see..." Cyrus muttered, hand rubbing bearded chin.

Dílis toyed with a lock of her cascading mahogany hair, tilting her head in thought. "Yes. You're more fortunate than the other domains, but I'd say that aquamancers have the most difficulty."

"And since light is almost everywhere, I'm virtually self-sufficient. Well, unless I'm in complete darkness."

"Did you forget, Cyrus?" Dílis asked, a sly smile playing on her lips. "When you cast fire, you also conjure light."

How could he have overlooked that minor yet incredible detail? Now, all he has to do is find another use than walking around as a lightbulb; then, he'd be in business. Maybe he could ask Lord Dílis about books on the subject.

With this in mind, he directed mana into his light rune, and his chest began to glow with pale yellow radiance. It was small and weak. Yet, Cyrus could feel it yearning to stretch out into the infinite.

"One hundred fifty runes to become an apprentice," He muttered as he released his mana. "What comes afterward?"

Dílis froze. Right. Cyrus had not even known the most basic foundational knowledge. And yet, somehow, this guy circumvented all the training and studies she had done in the past decade and a half. It was stifling, to say the least, and she had to fight against the building, a depressive sigh within her chest.

"...Right, sorry, I forgot," she murmured, pensively pressing a pale finger to her lips. "Each rank follows a guiding principle, and the first is the foundation."

"So I'll only cast rays of light and plumes of fires for a while?"

Dílis nodded. "Take me for example. Initially, I could only negligibly sway and grow plants by touch or slightly strengthen my body during my apprenticeship."

"And now?"

"Now?" Dílis tilted her head in thought. "That's where the next rank, adept, comes in. It's about exploration and experimentation and is considered one of the most critical stages in a mage's life. Thanks to my studies and training, my abilities have broadened in both power and scope."

She appeared to say more but refrained from doing so. That said, her questioning gaze on Cyrus himself was proof enough that she found him an enigma.

Meanwhile, Cyrus blinked. There and then, it was more apparent just how daunting becoming a Wayfarer was. Not only does he have to hone his abilities and gain runes, but he also needs to train in weapon training and survival. Would it take years? Decades?

The thought made him unintentionally shudder.

"What's wrong?" Dílis asked, face full of worry. "Should we head to the medical bay?"

"No, it's nothing." Cyrus waved her off, quickly recovering. "Actually, could you show me the difference between an apprentice and an adept."

Nodding, Dílis opened her palm, revealing a glowing life rune floating just above her skin. "Take a look at my rune and compare it to one of yours. Can you tell the difference?"

Right off the bat, hers was shaped more like a sigil or letter, while Cyrus' were mere specks. But something told him that she hadn't meant by that. So, he moved before her, leaned in, and closely examined hers before comparing his own. At first, nothing noteworthy stood out. But there had to be something noticeable, something tangible.

"It's hard to explain," Cyrus began, stepping back to add distance between them. "But yours appear solid, more real, while mine are... ethereal."

"Correct." Dílis nodded before producing two perfectly identical seeds. "There isn't much I can do here to showcase my powers, but I have some ideas." She stood up, strode toward a table tens of meters away, and placed them down before returning to Cyrus. "For now, just enjoy the show."

If you come across this story on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen from Royal Road. Please report it.

Under Cyrus' gaze, Dílis opened both palms, one holding a single rune while the other had five. From a passing glance, one wouldn't tell the difference between the two groups. But as Cyrus had a closer look, he could see faint and ethereal tendrils linking the five runes together. Were those the signs that separated a spell and a rune?

A smile bloomed on Dílis' face before she flung them toward the seeds. Filled with verdant energy, they soared toward the kernels, landing on their shells—one carrying five, the other bearing the leftovers. Moments later, they shattered, coating the shells in a vibrant green film.

"Now," She mumbled.

A sudden transformation occurred. The film sank into the seeds before they immediately cracked. Under their gaze, the first seed sprouted into a full bloom flower, blossoming with petals radiating kaleidoscopic hues. The other seed, which held five runes, was much more drastic. Thick brown branches broke through the shell, shifting and churning as it grew.

Cyrus arched his brows. He recognized that shape. And it was a dangerous one.

"Take a look," Dílis said, gesturing for him to follow.

It was a wooden dagger. One sharp enough to effortlessly slice through human skin.

"By sacrificing runes, we cast glamour at farther ranges or lay them as traps." Dílis picked up the dagger and handed it to him. "And that's only part of it. If I so wished, I could sacrifice my runes to temporarily strengthen my powers or strength. That's the power of an adept."

Meanwhile, Cyrus listened to her words, shocked even. But the feeling of the dagger in his hands brought him into a temporary daze. It was as if he were in Blake's body again, able to swing the blade with masterful grace and deadliness.

"Cyrus?" Dílis shook his shoulder, and the unwanted touch brought him out of his reverie. "Are you okay?"

"Oh, Sorry." Cyrus quickly placed the dagger down, trying not to shirk away from her touch. "You said we have to sacrifice our runes?"

"It's not like you can't replace them with new ones," she soothed, watching the colorful flower wave at them under her will. "A small sacrifice for such a huge benefit, no?"

"Indeed. Then what about specialists?"

Slight disapointment flashed in her gaze. "I'm currently training to become a specialist, but..." she sighed. "It's been hard."

Time to shine. Withholding his distaste for contact, Cyrus placed a caring hand on her shoulder.

"There's nothing to be ashamed of," he said, a teasing smirk adorned his face. "Look at me: I'm not even an apprentice!"

Dílis playfully rolled her eyes but could not stop her smile.

"Thanks, how sweet of you." she sarcastically quipped. "So, specialists. What makes them, well, special, is how they can sacrifice runes to create matter. A terramancer could conjure a stone shield in the middle of the sky, while an aeromancer could generate air in their lungs in the ocean's deepest depths."

So much for fire advantage. Cyrus sighed. "And after?"

"And that's it," Dílis said with a shrug at his incredulity. "Oh, don't be like that. It's against the law to explain further without approval from the city lord or those of similar status."

Cyrus remained silent. He could see the necessity. But such a policy would be impossible to enforce. Would criminals hold back? Would nobles? Would the everyday man? Ridiculous.

"Then," Cyrus began, exhaling softly. "Could you at least tell me their names?"

"Only the next two," Dílis replied with a smile. "And who knows? With enough merit, you might be able to become one yourself." She began ticking them off on her fingers. "After specialist comes master. And beyond master is what my father has achieved: grandmaster."

Lord Dílis was a grandmaster who could destroy Avalorn. Yet his daughter's earlier words hinted at something beyond. Such information was off the table—for now.

"We can continue this talk later," she said, gesturing for Cyrus to follow. "Let's pick out a training weapon for you."

Forward they went. The two exited the memory room and embarked on their journey to the armory, their silent steps echoing throughout the halls. On their way, Cyrus replayed Blake's memories.

"Oh, right. I didn't know you had a brother," he said.

Dílis blinked, her brows scrunching. "What are you talking about?"

"Well, in the shard, a guy named Atlas called you 'Little Sis.'"

At first, the half-elf seemed puzzled, but a slow realization struck her face. Then, her eyes widened, and a blush comprised of embarrassment and irritation gradually flushed across her face.

A breath of silence hung between them.

"Atlas is not my brother," she dourly said, a cute flush darkening her face. "He's my father's student." Dílis emphasized her point with repeated clarification. "Okay? Not my brother."

Cyrus raised his hands in surrender despite his disbelief. "Alright, alright. Atlas is not your brother."

The half-elf glared at him as if her very gaze could improve his brain.

"He calls me that because we're childhood friends," she said, her blush slowly fading.

Oh, that's—Wait. Did she say Atlas was Lord Dílis student?! But how? The sudden image of the lethargic man—who looked ready to doze off mid-sentence and openly regretted becoming a Wayfarer—flashed through Cyrus' mind.

"Oh..." Cyrus awkwardly scratched the back of his head. "Is he on patrol, too?"

"Atlas has gone to Stàilinn," she slowly said, wistfully looking ahead. "Because he's my father's student, he had to go to another Wayfarer's department to prove his worth." —Her voice lowered, betraying a hint of sadness— "He's been gone for two years now." However, she immediately cheered up and smiled at Cyrus, her dark green eyes lighting up with anticipation. "He'll be back soon. I can feel it."

Cyrus arched his eyebrows. She's blushing again.

He kept his mouth shut as the two rounded the corner. A few minutes later, the two ran into another guarded door, and once Dílis flashed her medallion, they were allowed entry.

Click

And Cyrus hummed at the sight. Inside, the room boasted shelves upon shelves of weapons, lit by the glowing gray etchings on the stone walls. Lining the walls were both simple and unique weapons abound.

What's this? Brows rising in surprise, Cyrus stopped before a stone hammer with a head as large as a torso. Yet that wasn't what shocked him. It has a detachable sword for a handle.

How does that even work? Furthermore, what sort of inhuman strength did such a weapon demand? Shaking his head, Cyrus withdrew his attention and moved on to the next shelf.

"What should I pick?" Cyrus asked, looking around.

If he had to be honest, weapons never captured his attention. Cyrus would have rather not bothered if he hadn't known better.

"That depends on you, Cyrus." She waved for him to follow. "Let's find one that moves your spirit."