Traverse The Fog

Well, that was fun. Cyrus entered his room after dinner with the Dílis family. Now that Lord Dílis had been updated on what had happened earlier that day, his training schedule was tossed out the window.

The look on the lord's face when Dílis recounted the story. Cyrus snickered. It looked like his brows were about to fly off.

And when Cyrus showcased his light abilities…

However, he understood that this event far preceded the norm. And when he asked Lord Dílis for an explanation, the man scrutinized him, searching for hidden secrets.

"There could be multiple explanations, and I could spend the whole night explaining each one," he said at the time. "But the most logical conclusion I could think of right now is that you were born in a place with extremely high affinity to light and fire."

Another explanation he gave was that Cyrus was born into a magical family, but Lord Dílis' words rang with an air of disbelief. And Cyrus remained silent in front of his skepticism. His world, which was once utterly mundane, was now shrouded in mystery. Were the tales and myths told long past once true recollections?

Dangerous thoughts... Cyrus shook his head. He then strode toward the desk, where his camera and new satchel were among the books littering the table. There and then, he decided to withhold the information about the strigoi's connection to his homeworld from the Dílis Family. Why willingly hand over more reasons to be kept under a watchful eye?

After confirming his conclusion with a silent nod, his gaze landed through the window and onto Avalorn. There, the night lights shimmered like torches in the darkness, offering hope in the despair of nothingness.

"And that starts with this," Cyrus muttered, picking up the leather satchel and upending its contents onto his desk. Scattered like gems among books, the runic crystals rolled across the table, glowing with energies beyond his current understanding.

"Lord Dílis said himself," Cyrus said, picking up a runic crystal the size of his finger and inspecting it. "Absorb the runic and regular crystals, gain insights from them, and forge more runes."

In his hand lay a warm, red crystal, and he recalled Lady Dílis' earlier words: "The bad crystals are small and dim, while the worst ones are littered with cracks, ready to shatter at a moment's notice."

"At least they didn't skimp out on me," Cyrus said, placing the crystal down where its hues lit well against the backdrop of the dark desk.

Click

On the camera's screen, pale white, red, green, and clear crystals scattered across the table, emitting soft and colorful hues against the black wood. These were his first set of crystals. Maybe they were nothing more than a passing moment of their life to someone else, but Cyrus wanted to return to this memory one day.

Setting the red device aside, he settled into the desk chair, letting his sights move toward the endless, hazy skies. Cyrus' wandering thoughts soon stilled, allowing him the clarity to focus on these luminous crystals.

Now, he was ready. Sighing in relief, Cyrus picked up a fire crystal, feeling its warm energy covering his hands as he rubbed at the smooth surface. It was such a beautiful thing. Then, he moved toward the center of the room, sitting on the cool, wooden floor. Nervous and expectant, Cyrus began absorbing it. With it came a faint, red light in his mind, similar to a hot, smoldering ember.

Kind of reminiscent of what happened in the Arcanum Emporium. Cyrus tightly clutched the crystal, feeling it shrink in real time. Although this feels stronger...

How was he to proceed? Dílis described it as simply "feel its insights." What did that even mean?

Damn esoteric mystical bullshit... Stilling these thoughts, Cyrus imagined himself moving toward this ember. And nothing happened. What now? After a moment's contemplation, he reached out with his mana sense, yet nothing transpired once it touched the ember.

Frowning, Cyrus did nothing but gaze into the ember. Before him, it swirled aimlessly, and after a few minutes of watching, he unknowingly fell into a daze.

Cyrus could barely see it: a fiery sigil flittering about within its flames. The longer he kept his gaze, the slight throbbing pulsed in his temples. However, Cyrus ignored it, hyper-fixating on the flittering sigil as a rising heat rose from his chest, his steel-blue gaze flickering fiery red lights within his pupils. Then his mind shook. In both an infinite and infinitesimal moment, Cyrus embodied fire itself. Dazed and lost, he was engulfed in a painless inferno as a small influx of concepts and ideas flowed into his subconscious. All of this accumulated with him falling on his back.

"That was incredible." Mind reeling, Cyrus pulled on his sweaty, sticky dress shirt.

With sudden clarity, he turned to his empty palm. The crystal was gone, triggering some vague familiarity with fire, leaving him capable of casting 'intense' flames if he had the proper runes placed around his body.

And it felt surreal.

Now that he had experienced the feeling, Cyrus understood his earlier claim about being so-called 'talented' was absurd. Even his mention of taking classes to understand the laws of the universe meant nothing compared to this. It was like explaining how to think or imagine for the first time. In his conclusion, there was no way he should have created his runes on this day.

Great. Even my mind is hiding secrets from me.

Cyrus groaned at the thought, arching his back, pressing his palms against his eyes, and running his fingers through his messy locks. The distress, however, swiftly shifted back to enjoyment. Maybe, just maybe, he could do something about it once he was powerful enough. But that required more insight, more runic crystals, and more time.

Taken from Royal Road, this narrative should be reported if found on Amazon.

With that in mind, Cyrus turned his attention to the remaining crystals, and soon, an hour passed before he finished the absorption process. The light crystal enveloped his mind in pure light, which would have definitely blinded him if it had been something physical. Ultimately, his light ability was enhanced, allowing him to act as a more powerful light bulb.

"How impressive," Cyrus quipped.

But the joke brought an idea. He'd go to speak to the Dílis Family the next chance about finding some headway into learning photomancy, whatever that entails. Onto the next runic crystal, life. And to say it was distinct was mildly putting it. Initially, a surge of ending vitality flooded Cyrus' thoughts as he observed the spark of life within his mind.

Cyrus nearly fell on his back from the sensations. For what felt like an infinitesimal moment, it was as if he had complete control over all his cells, invincible and unmovable for that single, fleeting moment. It was too addictive. So much so that Cyrus wished to immerse himself in the tide of vitality. Fortunately, the life crystal ran dry before he could fully lose himself, leaving him gasping and clutching onto the floorboards.

"How do mages deal with that?" he gasped between breaths.

Cyrus had no experience with drugs before, but he would assume this was a close second. And if he had no morality and a large abundance of life crystals, then he would have half a mind to sell them like a drug. However, Cyrus was not that kind of person. Surely.

"I need air..."

Opening his eyes, he carefully got on all fours. Once Cyrus stumbled to the window, he used the desk as leverage to stand up and dunk his head into the fresh air. Only when the spinning stopped did he sigh in relief.

Now, where was he? Right. Runes.

Cyrus felt some trepidation from this. After all, Lord Dílis informed him that all mages had varying degrees of rune production per twenty-four hours. Would he be only able to create three runes per day? One for each rune?

If that were the case, reaching an apprenticeship in a single domain would take one hundred fifty days. With the rising costs per echelon, reaching adept rank would take almost a year and a half.

You have no control over this, Cyrus. He sat down on the floor again. Just get it over with and plan for the future.

Time to begin again. Closing his eyes, Cyrus focused inward, channeling his mana and infusing it with the fire and life runes ensconced deep within his heart. Then, he let his mind drift freely.

And what was fire and flame? As he lost himself, Cyrus envisioned flames spreading in plumed bursts. Meanwhile, the two runes intertwined with his mana, spinning as if stuck in the eddies of a tornado.

And there it was. A sudden change occurred in the fire rune. Akin to a cell splitting in two, it broke in half before both recovered and became separate entities. Now, there were two fire runes.

"...Not as expensive as the first time," Cyrus muttered, checking his mana pool and finding a sliver of his mana missing.

Still, this was a new rune—his first intentional rune. Now, if only he could take a picture of the moment.

Cyrus glanced at the rune itself, finding it an exact copy of the original. Over time, they will transform into something new and elaborate. At least, that was what he was told. But for now, more of the same awaited. Drawing another steady breath, Cyrus funneled more mana into the fire and life runes, growing more and more dumbfounded as time passed by. Two blazing runes became three, then three transformed into five. Yet try as he might, his origin life rune buckled under the pressure. Still, Cyrus wasn't disappointed but ecstatic.

"Incredible! And to think, Dílis made it sound like I would barely manage one," he exclaimed with a teasing grin. "Shame on her for setting realistic expectations!"

Eight runes in a single day: If that truly marked his daily limit, he could complete his training as a fire apprentice in just a month. Who wouldn't love that? Moreover, the total cost was two-fifths of Cyrus' mana reserves, but that was of no consequence as long as ambient mana was in the air. Indeed, this was perfect.

One day soon, Cyrus would have the strength to find his meaning in life. And with that thought, Cyrus willed his mana sense, gripping his newly formed runes, and directed one to his left shoulder, bicep, forearm, and palm, leaving the extra alongside his origin fire rune.

Every nerve in his body begged him to unleash fire immediately. But as Cyrus glanced around his room, he deemed it wiser to practice somewhere less... flammable. There was no time to waste. Grabbing a couple of mana crystals, he slipped out of his room and silently strode through the dark hallways, down the steps, and across the foyer.

It was late. Should Cyrus find Lord Dílis and explain the matter? No... he could not wait any longer. So, like a thief, Cyrus looked around before opening the door and stepping outside the manor.

"Huh..." Cyrus arched his brows. "I almost forgot about the lilies..."

If he were stupid about it, the manor would eventually be surrounded by a sea of flames. Sighing at the thought, he stopped just before the field and then turned around, facing toward the manor.

It should be enough space. Cyrus took a step back. I'm not going to shoot out a stream of flames... right?

Only one way to find out.

After a moment's breath to calm the jittering in his spine, Cyrus pressed his hand against his casting wrist before raising it toward the air. Meanwhile, mana trickled into his fire runes painfully slowly, creeping through his arm like syrup. The wait was excruciating.

One second. Two. Three.

Finally, when the last rune imbued into his mana, a small, pitiable plume of flame erupted from his palm, flashing heat and light only for an instant.

Cyrus fell into thought. Three seconds.

That's how long it took. Far longer than Cyrus had expected or hoped for a weak flame. Yet, a genuine smile spread across his face.

"More," Cyrus whispered, his words laced with hunger.

One cast became two, and soon, two casts became ten, which nearly exhausted his mana reserves. And through this, he learned that the more mana he invested, the stronger his flame became.

"Still," Cyrus murmured, stopping his flames and lowering his arms. "Something feels off."

Cyrus rubbed his beard in thought. His mana felt too sluggish and slow, like mud, nothing like what the memory shard had shown him or what he'd witnessed from other mag—"Try throwing a punch while channeling, Cyrus." A smooth voice came from his side, making Cyrus shudder and instinctively jump back.

"W-who?" he stammered, eyes wide with shock as they locked onto the figure beside him.

And there he stood. The man had long brunette hair streaked with gray at the temples, tied neatly into a ponytail. His dress shirt was like a second skin, comprised of soft white petals, while his vest and pants bore subtle patterns resembling bark, blending classiness with nature. Standing before him was none other than the ruler of Avalorn, carrying that all-too-familiar, slight smile.

Lord Dílis stood center stage.