47th of Season of Air, 57th year of the 32nd cycle

  Half a season stormed by in a bustle of inconspicuous activity. Newt had devoted his days to improving his proficiency with spell formations, both theoretical and practical, as well as reading books at the library.

  A huge rock had fallen off his chest after he had cleared his looming debt, and since nobody mentioned anything about the damage he had caused the sect on the summer solstice, Newt played along and pretended the whole thing never happened. Finally, he could breathe freely.

  He had come a long way, both in education and in knowledge of spell formations. He was still a long way away from where he wanted to be and from turning his absurd ideas into reality, but Newt was happy with his progress, and even happier because there was a lot of room to grow.

  Besides, life at the Explorer’s Gate was teeming with opportunities to grow and develop. His first session with the disciplinary venerable was due in less than a week, and considering he had to schedule it almost two moons in advance, he planned to make the most of it.

  He did not mind the wait, spell formations were a wonderful field to explore. Newt was certain he had a knack for it beyond his keen mind and third eye to ease his path. What he once considered drawings, lines, and runes had become much, much more. Every stroke mattered. The depth of a line, its width, how it changed with each bend, and how it symbolized deeper mystery fascinated him.

  He wondered about the origin of the runes, about why their shapes drew or manipulated spiritual energy in the way they did before he stumbled upon a truth. Possibly not the truth, but a very likely explanation. Runes matched the patterns stars formed in the heavens. Each star had a meaning, a path they represented, a shard of heavenly will, a fraction of infinity.

  Fascinated, he delved into the books with more enthusiasm than when he had first headed off into the Valley of the Lost and found two schools of thought. A portion of the most eccentric, egotistical spell formation scribes believed they were directing and changing the heavenly mandate, while the conservative majority believed they were shifting the course of the earth’s energy to match that of the heavens to accomplish certain goals.

  Newt found himself in the conservative camp. To him, a mortal or a cultivator believing they could command the very heavens went beyond egomaniacal and into the realm of sheer madness and delusion. But the strangest part was that it was those delusional egoists who made the most exceptional and unique spell formations.

  Newt was perusing one such design and accompanying notes, when a knock came to his secluded chamber for scribes testing their work.

  “Senior Apprentice Brother, I have a letter for you. Your master said it was urgent.”

  A letter? Newt was confused, startled from deep contemplation. He wasted a moment wondering who would write to him, then had a very clear name in his mind, Elder Frostgrave.

  Newt jumped to his feet, a smile closer to cleaving his head than any spirit beast had ever been. He opened his door with a snap, coming face to face with a confused young woman. She jerked back, but Newt had no eyes to spare her, instead staring at a furled scroll. The seal was red.

  It might have been a coincidence. Elder Frostgrave might have used red sealing wax, but the seal was that of a stylized salamander, and not whatever Everfrost Palace used.

  Newt snatched the scroll without uttering a word. He broke the seal and unfurled it, seeing letters written in familiar handwriting.

  Son,

  I hope this message finds you well. Your father and I are alive and well. We have overcome our tribulation and turned it into an opportunity for us. As of two seasons ago, I am a core disciple of the Lyre Pavilion, a music oriented sect.

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  Not the most powerful or influential of sects, but one with good standing. With my new status, I looked into the happenings in our clan, and I was extremely pleased to learn that you have overcome your own trial through talent and power.

  I wanted to keep track of you from afar, but you had already disappeared from the clan by the time my agent checked in on it. A senior from a well respected sect reached out and informed me you have joined the Explorer’s Gate, another well respected faction, and that you were on a rising path.

  It was a strange feeling, learning that my own child’s cultivation was a mere realm beneath mine. I’m proud beyond words. Don’t let fame and success get to your head. Study diligently and take care of yourself.

  Right, that no-good father of yours is a gladiator in an imperial city. The triceratops-headed hothead earned his freedom, but decided to stay in the arena. I implored him once already to join a respectable faction, but he refuses, saying his ancestors made their own techniques, that he knows them by heart all the way to the sixth realm, and that he will honor those teachings.

  I notified him of your circumstances, and he should write as soon as he gets his lazy butt out of the practice yard or cultivation room, or wherever it is he has planted it.

  I would love to meet you, to hold and hug you, if you are ever near the Spinespire mountains, do remember your mother. It is unlikely I will travel anywhere near the Explorer’s Island, but if I do, I will be sure to visit.

  Take care of yourself, eat well, but don’t go overboard with sweets. Make sure you rest enough, don’t force yourself, and keep an eye out for any signs of cultivation deviations. I understand you have a master there, please convey my gratitude, and listen to them, all right?

  Don’t do anything foolish. You’re still too young to give me grandchildren, but if you find the right lady, remember that there is no time like the present.

  Love you dearly,

  Mom

  Newt was close to tears until he reached the end of the letter, when he choked and turned red like a strawberry.

  He immediately closed the scroll and looked up at the outer disciple who brought him the letter.

  She’s not blushing. She didn’t read it, I hope.

  “It’s from my mother,” he explained, and the woman nodded slowly.

  “Must be nice to still have one,” she deadpanned and left.

  Newt followed her with his gaze, then went back into the chamber designed for testing spell formations under various circumstances and closed the door behind himself. He unfurled the scroll and reread the whole thing. Then he read it the third time before furling it and hugging it close to his heart.

  Mom is fine. She sounds angry with dad. I wonder what that’s all about. It was a passing thought. Newt did not want to know the reason his parents were fighting, he had a feeling life would be better if he remained oblivious. He focused on what was important.

  If she’s angry, that means father is doing at least as well as she is. Otherwise, she would’ve pitied him instead.

  Another burden disappeared from Newt’s shoulders, and for the first time in a long while, he felt well and truly free. He burst into laughter, then into sobs, as he finally realized how horrible he had been feeling, how far he had buried his pain, his longing for his parents, and the comfort of their kind voices and gentle touches.

  His uncle severed his childhood, crushed his will when he was supposed to thrive, and turned him into half an animal. And it was only when all the pressure disappeared that he saw things clearly.

  Why the hell did I ever pity that… that… that monster? He nearly ruined my life over his vanity, trading my happiness for his own pleasures.

  Yet a part of Newt knew where that regret had come from. Victor could have done much worse than throw Newt into the abandoned mine and feeding him scraps. His father had made a contract that Newt should stay alive and unharmed, but he could have spent the rest of his days chained up in a dark cell.

  What would I have become if I had been a prisoner, rescued by Father and Mother when I turned twenty-five or thirty or fifty?

  Newt shuddered and suppressed the thought. Instead, he placed his hands behind his head and laid down. For a moment, he looked at the chamber’s white ceiling before closing his eyes.

  “I’m all right,” he said aloud. “Mother and Father are all right. The clan is safe, and I should send them some resources. Fifty third realm spirit gems should be enough for the elders to cultivate, but not enough to cause trouble and draw others’ greed.”

  He entered his realm and saw that the lava was flowing more vigorously. The heat was stronger and the whole volcano felt more solid. With the clearing of his lingering fears and regrets, he was free. Free to pursue his interests, the next realm, and the mysteries of the world.

  “One day, I will surpass Magmin. I will be greater than the mythical Magma Dragon.”

  End of Book 2

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