“Come along, boy,” Gondel commanded, his raspy tone underscoring a long night of little sleep. He stepped toward a large trunk in the corner, rummaging inside with a single-minded focus. One by one, he yanked out books, either stacking them on a nearby table or tossing them dismissively back into the trunk.
Satisfied, he handed the stack of tomes to Petros. “Your first lesson is to study these,” he said, turning away to grab a metal pot and a pair of tin mugs from a rickety shelf. “I expect you to actually read them.”
Petros reflexively reached for his pouch, intending to store them. “Yes, sir,” he began, but Gondel cut him off.
“Now, boy,” the wizard repeated, filling the pot with water from a bucket on the floor. “Not tomorrow, not next week. Sit and read.”
Petros opened his mouth to protest. But Jack might be waiting for us… Before he could speak, Gondel pushed past him and strode outside, placing the pot over the campfire. Unsure how to argue, Petros reluctantly set the books down on the rickety table, exhaling a soft sigh. Better not to ruffle his feathers.
He glanced at the top book:
Chronicles of the Sevenfold Seal: Binding Magic from Ages Past.
Actually, that sounds… fascinating. Though anxious to rejoin Jack, Petros had always been something of a bookworm, devouring any lore that crossed his path. Still, he couldn’t help but pull out his map for a quick look—just to see where Jack was.
Sure enough, the small icon representing Jack had moved away from Gondel’s camp, heading roughly in the direction of Pendle. Petros’s shoulders loosened a fraction at that. At least he’s still moving. He was about to fold the map back up when he noticed two green dots trailing behind Jack from the tree line. Shaking his head, he folded the map and refocused on the book. “Chronicles of the Sevenfold Seal,” he read silently, opening the cover—Iime to do some reading.
Meanwhile, Jack sat on a fallen log by the roadside where Gondel had instructed him to wait. They had agreed to regroup once Gondel finished whatever mysterious chore he had for Petros, but the old man might be occupied longer than expected. The midday sun beat down gently, a breeze stirring leaves in the otherwise silent stretch of dirt road.
Jack had pulled the sturdy oak branch from his pouch and laid it across his lap. He ran his palm over its rough texture, letting his mind wander. It’s so peaceful here, he thought, the hush utterly unlike the busy hum of Phoenix, Arizona. A far cry from the swirling chaos of wolf raids and goblin skirmishes too.
A small smile tugged at his lips as he mused on Asil, recalling her determined grin in every fight. She’s probably leveled higher than me already, he guessed, imagining her forging alliances or maybe even ruling a kingdom—this “VR game” seemed to hold limitless possibilities.
Memories washed over him: Asil’s first time playing Shadow Realms 3, the countless nights they’d spent laughing at her learning curve, her unstoppable rise into a mighty warrior within months. Jack had set aside the game for her back then, focusing on real life, only to be drawn back in by Asil’s unstoppable enthusiasm. Now, he thought wryly, we’re living in the biggest update of SR ever created—a genuine MMORPG that’s almost too real.
Jack chuckled, recalling how he’d always gone for dual-wielding swords in the older games. Now he was an Elementalist, reliant on spells that tore through enemies but drained his mana fast. No Petros around to top off his health if he botched a fight, though. He felt an odd stirring of curiosity—Asil had always dived deep into quest text, rummaging through lore to find hidden secrets or synergy combos. What if I took a page out of her book?
He set the branch aside and closed his eyes, inhaling slowly. If the game truly recognized consistent practice—like advanced VR or something—maybe he could replicate those online guides on meditating for better mana flow. At first, his mind buzzed with stray thoughts: did Petros need help? Were those wolves still there? Could Asil be forging an empire by now?
But as he calmed his breathing, the background noise of nature heightened his senses. Leaves rustling, a distant birdcall, each stone on the road. He felt the faint presence of his two wolf companions nearby—brother and sister, quietly napping under the shade of the trees. They’re not going anywhere. A wave of contentment rippled through him.
That’s when he noticed something new—like a subtle mental link bridging him to the wolves. He concentrated, and the link strengthened, letting him sense their emotions: calm, safe, but watchful. He reached out with an unspoken greeting, gratified by their warm acceptance.
They need names, he thought. The male seemed smaller, with a chewed ear. The female, bigger, eyes two different colors—one brown, one blue.
Moving carefully, Jack conjured mental images of the wolves. For the smaller male, an idea popped into his head: Saul. It was a simple name, but it felt right. He focused the thought, broadcasting it through the bond. The wolf stirred, tail wagging in mild approval. A soft grin spread over Jack’s face.
“Saul it is,” he said quietly, easing back against the log.
Now the female… She was larger, more self-assured, sporting that unique heterochromia. Jack scratched at the back of his head. Blue? Brown? He tried matching her eyes to colors or names from real life but drew a blank. Oddly enough, he felt a hazy block in his memory—he couldn’t recall certain words from back home. Is that an effect of the VR pods? Or just stress?
Minutes stretched on as he tried name after name. Luna? Ebony? Rhea? Nothing quite resonated. The wolf shifted in her nap, slightly whining as though anticipating his mental call. Yet he couldn’t settle on anything that truly fit.
Jack let out a frustrated sigh. “Why is this so hard?” he muttered. The female wolf’s eyes slowly opened, glancing in his direction from within the tree line. He gave her a half-smile but remained at a loss, the perfect name hovering out of reach.
He closed his eyes again, brow furrowed in concentration. Why can’t I remember certain references from home? With a flash, the memory of his stepson’s name slipped just beyond his grasp as well, fueling an uneasy sense that he was forgetting parts of his old life. He clenched his fists, determined not to lose more.
Yet, as the sun climbed higher and the quiet forest loomed around him, he discovered the name for the female wolf refused to materialize in his mind.
Suddenly, a thought crystallized into a stronger resolve: this wolf wasn’t meant to remain by his side. He closed his eyes and reached out through the subtle mental bond he’d discovered.
Go find her, Jack thought, picturing Asil in his mind—her confident stance, her fierce blade, her unwavering gaze. Bring Asil to me if she’s lost.
In response, the female wolf stirred, eyes opening. She sniffed the air, stood, and stretched with a languid grace. The moment she rose, she padded over to Saul and nudged him—an affectionate lick against his ear as if saying goodbye. A pang of sadness rolled through Jack; separating the siblings felt cruel. But I have to do this, he told himself.
If she is lost, bring her here… But I know she’ll find me in her own time.
With that final, silent nudge from Jack’s mind, the she-wolf slipped away, disappearing into the undergrowth without a backward glance.
Jack inhaled a shaky breath. He was missing Asil more than he cared to admit, and somehow, sending the wolf to her made it feel like a piece of him was reaching out across the land, bridging the severed distance.
Alone now—except for Saul, who dozed contently—Jack settled back in his meditation. A part of him recalled Asil’s approach to magic: thorough, inquisitive, tireless. Time to give that method a try, he told himself.
He focused on his breathing, tuning out the rustle of leaves and the midday chirp of forest birds. He felt the soft pulse of mana that had grown steadily within him since he first cast Fire Rain. The severed nature of Aerothane’s magic, paradoxically, did not hamper him—he was an outsider, immune to the blockade that stunted native-born mages like Gondel.
At first, he sensed only a familiar swirl of elemental power. But as he pressed deeper, the world slipped away, replaced by a thick darkness. It felt viscous, as though he waded through black tar. A flicker of primal fear suggested he should stop. This is just a game, right? he reminded himself, pushing onward.
Gradually, he spotted a spark in the distance—a tiny glow against infinite dark. He swam toward it, breath catching as the glow expanded into the shape of a towering tree formed from brilliant blue light. The trunk radiated swirling arcs of energy, each branch glimmering with arcs of electricity or flickers of flame—representing the spells Jack had awakened. Far below, the roots extended into something immeasurably vast, like a cosmic reservoir.
He took a hesitant step closer. Fear gnawed at him again—some external force, perhaps the ancient wards of Aerothane, urging him to retreat. But Jack’s defiant streak flared. Since when did I listen?
Reaching out, he placed both hands on the glowing “bark.” A thunderous surge of raw mana rushed through him, so potent he almost expected searing pain. Instead, he felt an overwhelming satisfaction—the sense of connecting to a power beyond mortal bounds. He sank his hands deeper, feeling the Source itself whisper at the edges of his understanding.
For a split second, he glimpsed everything: the severed lines of magic, the faint leaks returning magic to newly born children, the roiling shadow realms that gave life to monstrous invaders. Jack’s final epiphany formed, and yet it remained incomplete—a notion that “this is not a…” something. He couldn’t finish the thought.
Then it all overwhelmed him: too much knowledge for his current level or mortal mind to withstand. He jerked away, flung several feet as though an explosion had blasted him. The luminous vision shattered, leaving him gasping in the infinite dark of his meditation. The ephemeral illusions of the Source dissolved like a fleeting dream.
Lying at the base of his mana tree, he noticed a pulsing branch on the ground, seemingly just broken off. It resembled the oak branch he’d taken from the forest clearing. Curious, he reached out and lifted it, surprised by how solid it felt. A jolt of energy shot through him the instant he touched it—so intense it wrenched him from his trance.
When he finally opened his eyes, he lay sprawled on the forest floor—physically unchanged but thrumming with fresh insight. What was that last realization? The memory teased him, almost in reach but gone.
Groaning, Jack staggered up, still reeling from the mental whiplash. He felt an unfamiliar warmth thrumming within the oak branch he’d left nearby. Glancing at it in confusion, he confirmed that the staff was indeed the same solid chunk of wood. Yet he sensed tiny tendrils of energy weaving through the grain—like the intangible “branch” he’d taken from the glowing mana tree.
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“Did I… bring something back with me?” he breathed, running a hand over the bark. It radiated a faint, rhythmic pulse that echoed his own mana. All illusions? Or did he genuinely adapt a piece of the Source?
He didn’t have time to unravel that mystery. A slight sound to his left startled him—Saul, stirring from sleep, padding over with a soft whine. Jack gave the wolf a gentle stroke behind the ears, letting out a sigh filled with longing.
“I know, buddy,” Jack murmured, hugging the wolf’s neck. “We both miss her.” He meant Asil for himself, but for Saul, it was his sister—the female wolf who had left to find Asil.
The wolf’s presence offered a quiet comfort, and for minutes, they stayed like that, man and beast leaning on each other. Eventually, Jack rose, though he allowed Saul to keep close. The sun dipped lower, painting the sky in ambers and reds. He realized that a full day had likely passed—time was elusive in this ever-shifting reality.
An idea struck him. Gondel might not reappear soon, and Petros was presumably safe at the wizard’s camp. Checking his map, he confirmed his location was a short trek from Pendle. Sure enough, Petros’s icon remained at Gondel’s campsite—accompanied by a curious “yellow dot” that presumably marked Gondel. Yellow typically means neutral, but shouldn’t he be green by now? Eh, I’ll figure that out later. He shrugged and stowed the map, carefully gripping his newly “imbued” oak branch.
“Time to head back to Pendle,” he said aloud, patting Saul’s flank. “You know the drill—stay out of sight, and I’ll see about a raw steak for dinner.”
Saul wagged his tail, spinning in an excited circle. Then, the wolf bounded into the sheltering treeline, leaving Jack free to travel the road without causing panic among villagers. Jack adjusted his hooded cloak, forging onward with staff in hand.
A fleeting worry nagged him: that revelation in his mind’s eye—“This is NOT a…” But the thought remained half-formed, forgotten in the haze of his abrupt ejection from the mana tree. Brushing it aside, he focused on the present. Maybe I’ll figure it out tomorrow…
And so he walked, the last rays of daylight stretching before him, a new staff in his grip and a swirl of unknown power simmering beneath the bark—a prelude to a deeper mystery he hadn’t yet begun to unravel.
Making his way down the winding path, Jack felt a familiar buzz at his side, the subtle vibration signaling new updates from his journal. Why can’t this world give us an actual HUD? he mused, recalling how most RPGs displayed status notifications in plain sight. He swapped the oak branch in his hand for the journal, realizing he must have missed earlier alerts while he’d been lost in meditative focus.
Flipping open the cover, Jack’s eyes widened at the scroll of new messages:
You have learned Mage Meditation. Experience gained!
You have learned Basic Mana Control. Experience gained!
You have tapped into the source, ??? ??? ???
You have received “Mana Branch.”
“Mana Branch” has merged with “Oak Branch” and is ready to be formed into a Mage Staff.
Congratulations! You have leveled up!
You have reached Level 4.
You have one new skill point.
You have three unspent skill points.
Congratulations! You have leveled up!
You have reached Level 5.
You have one new skill point.
You have four unspent skill points.
Congratulations! ??? ???
You have ??? ???
??? ??? ???
Jack blinked at the barrage of question marks, a tangle of unknown data. He thought with a bemused shrug that must be a bug—or something I’m not supposed to see yet. He scratched his head, trying to decode the partial messages, then checked his status page:
Human: Jack Hart
Class: Elementalist
Level: 5
Concept: Specializes in the raw forces of nature—fire, ice, lightning, earth, wind.
Playstyle: High-damage, AoE attacks; vulnerable if rushed.
Signature Abilities:
- Firestorm (Level 1): Call down a localized rain of fire. Cooldown: 0 seconds. Low mana consumption.
- Chain Lightning (Level 1): Electrify multiple foes at once. Cooldown: 0 seconds. Low mana consumption.
- Earth Shatter (Level 1): Splits the ground, sending shockwaves. Cooldown: 60 seconds. Medium mana consumption.
- Mana Control (Level ?): ??? ??? ???
- Mage Meditation (Level ?): ??? ??? ???
Four unspent skill points.
“Holy— I jumped two whole levels?” he muttered, grinning despite the mystery. I guess that trance was worth something, after all. Without further hesitation, he allocated two skill points to mana regeneration—hoping for longer spell-casts and quicker replenishment—then one point each to Firestorm and Chain Lightning, bringing both to Level 2.
“Gondel might know what these blank abilities do,” he said under his breath, storing the journal.
Setting aside his momentary confusion, Jack continued toward Pendle, fresh questions swirling in his mind about the merged “Mana Branch” and those cryptic messages. Whatever they meant, his power had spiked—and that was enough motivation to keep moving forward.
Entering the outskirts of Pendle, Jack noticed Henry’s forge first. It felt like weeks since he and Petros had stopped by to inquire about daggers—yet it had only been a single, whirlwind day. So much has happened, Jack mused, shaking his head. An idea struck him, and he veered toward the blacksmith’s shop.
Inside, the heat radiating from the forge was intense, the rhythmic clang of metal on anvil echoing in the enclosed space. Henry stood at the far side, hammering away at a piece of glowing armor. Jack couldn’t help recalling how, earlier that morning, he and Petros had lamented their lack of funds to buy any of Henry’s exquisite weapons. Now, however, he had something else in mind.
When Henry noticed Jack, he paused mid-swing, wiping sweat from his brow. “What can I do ye for?” the big man asked, voice gruff but not unfriendly.
Jack cleared his throat, feeling a flicker of self-consciousness—this is a mere NPC, right? Yet the man’s imposing presence felt all too real. “I—I was hoping I could pay for the use of your woodworking tools,” he said carefully. “I need to shape a piece of wood into a staff.”
Henry cocked an eyebrow, gaze flicking from Jack’s meager gear to the battered cloak draped over his shoulders. “That’s… irregular. Last I saw, you and that lad hardly had two coppers to rub together.”
Jack grimaced, remembering how they’d turned down Henry’s pricy daggers. But then he recalled the Alpha Wolf hide in his pouch—the one he’d looted after that deadly encounter. Without hesitation, he pulled it out. “How about this?” he offered, holding the pelt forward.
A spark of interest lit Henry’s eyes as he carefully inspected the rare hide. “Hmm… This is fine work—and you cut it clean,” he murmured, obviously impressed. “Where’d you come by such a trophy?”
Jack shrugged, glancing aside. “Ran into trouble on the road,” he said simply, remembering the savage fight with the alpha wolf pack. “Anyway, if it’s worth anything, I’m happy to trade its value for some workshop time.”
Henry kept studying the pelt a moment longer, mouth set in a contemplative line. “Aye, this is rare indeed. More than enough to let you use me tools, no coin needed. Out back’s a workbench—you’ll find what you need there.” His eyes never left the hide, as though he was already envisioning how to repurpose it into top-tier gear.
Jack’s relief was palpable. “Thank you,” he said, voice brimming with genuine gratitude.
Following Henry’s instructions, Jack headed through a rear doorway to a small courtyard behind the forge. A plain wooden bench sat in one corner, lit by the late afternoon sun. An array of carving knives, planes, and chisels hung neatly on the wall. Jack gathered a handful of the finer tools and laid his oak branch out on the bench with something akin to reverence.
He passed his hand over the rough bark, recalling how the branch now resonated with that “mana branch” discovered in his meditative vision. Deep down, an image of the finished staff crystallized in his mind—like a memory. Let’s hope my instincts hold up, he mused.
Using a small hand plane, he carefully scraped away the bark, revealing the smoother wood beneath. Each motion felt almost ritualistic, and he stayed alert to any special knots or natural curves that gave the weapon character. Once the bark was off, he switched to finer sandpaper and chisels, smoothing out edges and accentuating the natural grain. The results were a blank canvas—clean but still exuding personality in its contours and knotholes.
Then an idea hit him: runes. He remembered how Asil’s weapon in SR3 was etched with runic symbols. Pulling one of the finer carving knives from the toolset, he began tracing the ancient glyphs. At first, his mind went blank, but then a single symbol flared into focus. He carved it, lightly infusing a trickle of mana as he did so, feeling the staff hum in response.
“Don’t rune it, Jack,” he muttered with a wry grin at his pun. The second rune came to him just as naturally—he etched it, too, letting his instincts guide him. One by one, twelve runes formed a ring of designs around the staff, each with its own subtle energy.
At some point, his journal buzzed—likely awarding him Experience or new skill notifications—but he ignored it. He was in the zone. Henry poked his head out once, nodding in approval. He even dropped off a small plate of food and drink, which Jack barely touched until the carving was done.
Finally, Jack set down the carving tool and stepped back to admire his work. Twelve runes, each pulsing faintly. A sheen of sweat coated his arms, but a glow of satisfaction filled his chest.
Henry sidled up, clapping a massive hand on Jack’s shoulder. “That’s mighty fine craftsmanship,” he said appreciatively. “I see I guessed right about you—there’s a real skill in those hands.”
The blacksmith then set a small toolbox on the bench. “That hide you brought me is worth more than a simple loan of me workspace. So I rummaged through salvage from old commissions.” He opened the box, producing a gorgeous metal finial shaped like a stylized ring that could hold a gem. “Figured this’d make a perfect top for your staff.”
Next, he brought out a steel cup—like a reinforced cap. “This’ll go on the bottom end,” he explained. “Prevents fraying, plus if you whack someone with it, you’ll do real damage.”
Jack’s eyes widened. “I… wow. I can’t thank you enough,” he managed, touched by the generosity. We’re basically strangers, but he’s giving me so much. This “NPC” sure felt like a real human. He accepted the pieces reverently.
“Aye, well, consider it your payment’s worth,” Henry said with a faint grin. “There’s also varnish and beeswax-linseed mixture in that box. Should keep the wood polished and hardy.”
Jack set about completing the staff, carefully varnishing the carved wood and sealing the runes. Then he affixed the steel cup at the bottom, the finial at the top—leaving a slight gap in the metal ring for a future gem. By the time he finished, the sun had dipped low enough to cast long shadows across the yard.
Content with his progress, Jack tidied the tools and returned them to their exact spots on the wall. Finally, he joined Henry near the forge, where the blacksmith offered a simple meal. They ate together, exchanging stories: Henry recounted how he’d come to Pendle years ago, preferring a quieter life that allowed a healthy flow of commissions. Jack listened, quietly nodding at the mention of deliveries to Fort Harjil—the next day, Barrow would be hauling a finished sword out there.
“Fort Harjil,” Jack echoed. “That’s near the Dark Woods, right? Petros and I had heard rumors. I wonder if we should visit or… well, maybe after I see what Gondel’s up to.”
Henry shrugged. “If you do head that way, best be ready for trouble. Monsters roam thick near them woods, or so travelers say.”
After finishing the meal, Jack rose, staff in hand, feeling a surge of pride at how it turned out. “Thank you again,” he said. “You’ve been more than generous.”
Henry nodded, stashing the rest of the dinnerware. “If you ever get the coin, come back for those daggers your boy was eyein’. I’ll cut ye a deal. ‘Til then—stay alive out there.”
Jack shook Henry’s hand, then left the forge, staff balanced across his shoulder. Nightfall approached, with lamplights glimmering along Pendle’s main street. He mulled over Henry’s mention of Fort Harjil and the rumors swirling about the Dark Woods. It could be a real adventure—and maybe a clue to what Asil’s up to. Or perhaps Petros and Gondel held the next step.
For now, he strolled through Pendle, noting how the villagers bustled with evening chores. The staff felt comfortably weighty in his grip, every carved rune reminding him of how far he’d come—and how much further he had to go. Tomorrow might bring new answers or new mysteries, but at least now he had a weapon.