A faint smile touched the old man’s lips as he recognized mage meditation. So he’s learning, the observer mused. Faster than most. This was a progression only an adept mage typically discovered after rigorous training.
He sensed movement to his left. As expected, the girl appeared, stepping out of the darkness to stand beside him. Though she looked no older than nine, her gaze was anything but childlike. Her eyes narrowed as they focused on Jack’s seemingly slumbering form.
“Your champion is tinkering with forces he’ll never understand,” she muttered, her voice edged with disdain.
The old man schooled his expression back to stoic neutrality. “He’s not my champion,” he murmured softly. But the slight tilt of his mouth revealed, just for a moment, his amusement at her frustration.
Together, they watched in silence as the forest remained still—Jack immersed in his meditation, the wolves untroubled in their sleep. Shrouded by night’s veil, this pair could intrude upon many secrets in the realm, yet they were barred from Jack’s innermost mind.
At length, the female wolf rose. She walked to her slumbering brother, nudged him briefly, then slipped away into the trees, heading northeast.
“What was that?” the child demanded, confusion flickering across her features. The old man said nothing. Her annoyance deepened, but she withheld further questions.
The hush of the forest continued, punctuated only by the faint hum of Jack’s mana stirring. Then both onlookers felt it—a tug at the Source. The old man’s brow furrowed momentarily, and the girl’s face twisted in undisguised anger. He’s tapping more deeply than expected, she must have realized.
She took a single step forward, fury trembling in her small frame. Every fiber of her being seemed ready to lash out at the meditating mage. The old man spoke softly, echoing her own words from a previous encounter:
“We cannot interfere.”
She shot him a look that could melt steel, her mouth opening as if to retort—but closed again when Jack’s eyes snapped open. Instantaneously, the pair vanished into the shadows.
Like apparitions of smoke, they reappeared at a tree line on the outskirts of Pendle, observing Jack as he emerged from Henry’s forge with a set of woodworking tools. He made his way to a makeshift bench out back, carefully laying out a gnarled oak branch with almost reverent care.
The old man and the girl stood some distance away, unseen, following Jack’s every move as he started planning and carving. By all appearances, it was simple staff-making—a mortal’s attempt at weaponry. Yet both watchers sensed the growing flow of mana each time Jack’s chisel cut into the wood.
“He’s forging his primary armament,” the old man murmured, nodding thoughtfully. “In line with the natural progression, yes, but not so soon…”
The child clamped her lips shut, brow furrowed. Even so, her eyes betrayed raging disbelief. He’s leveling up at an unprecedented pace, she thought, though she spoke not a word aloud. Something is off about that sha’lor he carries… that “journal.”
They kept watch as Jack meticulously carved runes into the staff’s surface. Each symbol pulsed faintly, synergy weaving magic into the grain. The child’s initial mask of mild curiosity fell away, replaced by unmasked horror at how potent the staff was becoming. Anger blossomed in her face, warping her features into something terrible.
“You did something,” she hissed at the old man, struggling to keep her voice low. A swirl of menacing power radiated from her petite frame, eyes flashing with a fury that belied her childlike form.
The old man merely shook his head, voice calm. “I cannot. We cannot. You know the pact.” He raised a brow at her trembling fists but made no move to restrain her beyond a gentle hand on her shoulder. “This is his doing—and ironically, it’s very like him, from his previous life. Exploiting cracks and loopholes.”
For a heartbeat, the child looked poised to break that pact, to lash out at Jack then and there. She could, if only she were willing to bear the consequences. She balled her fists, the monstrous hatred in her eyes roiling closer to the surface. But any direct intervention risked annihilating her own cause in the process.
In the end, she masked her fury with a disconcerting, sweet smile, returning to the image of a harmless nine-year-old. No more words passed her lips; still, her gaze promised a fate worse than death for Jack.
The old man appeared equally grim, his own eyes reflecting resignation. If only I could spare him… But he held his silence. They lingered long enough to see Jack rise, staff in hand, a slight glow about its newly etched runes. Then they retreated once more into the darkness—locked in their own unspoken conflict, helpless for the moment to stop or guide what was to come.
Back at the Boar & Brew, Jack climbed the creaking stairs to his rented room, grateful the day’s efforts had finally wound down. After paying Trevor for another night, he settled onto the makeshift bed, fatigue warring with excitement coursing through his veins. His mind still buzzed from crafting the staff, which now pulsed with arcane energy like a heartbeat.
Opening his journal, he began leafing through the pages to catch the barrage of notifications he’d missed while “in the zone” forging his mage staff:
You have learned Rune: Shaz (Experience gained)
You have learned Rune: Shy’ra (Experience gained)
You have learned Rune: Mur’el (Experience gained)
You have learned Rune: Ga’ren (Experience gained)
You have learned Rune: Zha’lin (Experience gained)
You have learned Rune: Shi’har (Experience gained)
Congratulations! You have leveled up!
You have reached Level 6.
You have one new skill point.
You have five unspent skill points.
You have learned Rune: Zo’fir (Experience gained)
You have learned Rune: Tyra’al (Experience gained)
You have learned Rune: Naath (Experience gained)
You have learned Rune: Zural (Experience gained)
You have learned Rune: Serah (Experience gained)
You have created Mage Staff "Zural’thuren" (Experience gained)
"Zural’thuren" has bound to you.
Congratulations! You have leveled up!
You have reached Level 7.
You have one new skill point.
You have six unspent skill points.
Jack nearly dropped the journal in shock. “Two entire levels,” he breathed, scanning his status in disbelief. He noticed a tingle of energy humming through his limbs—a tangible sign of growth. Without hesitation, he allocated his six skill points: two each to Chain Lightning and Fire Rain, and two more to Mana Regen. The spells now stood at Level 3, presumably stronger and more efficient, though the specifics weren’t immediately clear.
Jack rummaged through his pouch, remembering a skill book he’d looted from the goblin fight. It’s only been a few days since entering this game, he marveled, but it feels like ages. Carefully, he traced the ornate clasp before opening the worn tome.
The moment it lay open, white light spilled across his lap, and the book disintegrated into sparks that soaked into his skin:
You have learned the spell:
Fire Armour (Level 1)
- Conjure a cloak of fire that shields from damage and harms melee attackers.
- Cost: Medium mana, plus low mana upkeep per strike.
- Duration: 20 seconds
- Cooldown: 60 seconds
A grin tugged at Jack’s mouth. Another tool for the arsenal—perfect. He stored his journal, gently resting Zural’thuren against the bed. Though the night was late, his adrenaline still surged; he doubted sleep would come easily.
Maybe some meditation, he thought. Calm my mind… maybe even practice that new “mana control.”
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He adopted a cross-legged stance on the bed, shutting out the low murmur from the tavern below. Focusing on his breathing, he slipped into a relaxed rhythm. In through the nose, out through the mouth, until the tavern’s faint clinks and distant voices fell away.
Slowly, Jack extended his awareness. Where once he could barely sense anything beyond himself, now he detected subtle pulses of life in the inn—someone dozing in the next room, a dog rummaging out back. He delved further, searching for Saul, the male wolf he’d befriended.
A moment later, he felt a distant warmth respond. Saul was just outside Pendle, lurking in the treeline, half-awake. Jack projected a gentle reassurance toward the wolf: You’re a good boy, you know that? I haven’t forgotten our deal. Steak in the morning.
Saul’s contented acceptance rippled back—an almost emotional wag of the tail—then faded as the wolf dozed off. A corner of Jack’s mouth quirked in a smile. I have a wolf ally. How crazy is that?
His thoughts drifted inward. Last time he meditated this way, he’d stepped into a viscous darkness, culminating in the discovery of his mana tree. Now, that gloom felt less oppressive—like wading through waist-deep water instead of an endless bog.
Heh, guess leveling up helps everything, he mused. A faint spark shimmered through his consciousness, heralding the reappearance of that enormous blue-lit tree anchoring his magic. Drawing closer, he realized the tree seemed larger now, its branches more Experience, leaves shimmering with renewed potential.
Every new level or skill point must be feeding it, he thought, pressing a hand gently against the glowing bark. The trunk’s subtle hum echoed with unstoppable growth, each root branching deeper into the unseen reservoir of Aerothane’s severed Source.
This time, Jack was determined to avoid the peril of overwhelming knowledge. He kept his grip light, letting only a trickle of power flow between him and the tree. Within that comforting radiance, he exhaled slowly, feeling both content and curious.
That’s when it happened: a whisper, sliding through the dreamscape like black silk.
“Jack.”
Startled, he jerked away from the trunk. The voice sounded close, ominously intimate in his mental realm. A large, shadowy face loomed against the brightness, details obscured but eyes glinting with unreadable intent.
“Jack… take your place by my side.”
A surge of dread shot through him. The entity’s words carried an unearthly resonance, swirling with promises of something immense—and likely dangerous. Panic flared, and he yanked himself from the meditative trance as if pulling out of a free fall.
With a strangled gasp, Jack’s eyes flew open. He found himself back in the inn, his breathing ragged, heart pounding. The staff still rested against the bed, inert but oddly comforting. A cold sweat dotted his brow.
What was that…? he thought, adrenaline spiking through his veins. The presence felt real, not some random dream.
Glancing around, he confirmed he was alone, the small room lit only by a single lamp burning low on the table. Outside, the faint nighttime hush of Pendle carried on, ignorant of his sudden terror.
Slowly, he forced calm. No immediate danger, he tried to reassure himself. Yet the memory of that shadowy face lingered as if pressing him to unravel a grim secret. Brushing a trembling hand through his hair, Jack wondered if the Source he’d sensed was more than a neutral well of energy—and if it might be calling him for reasons he wasn’t prepared to face.
Petros jolted awake, ink-stained pages sticking to his cheek. He blinked blearily, realizing he must have dozed off over a chapter detailing subtle differences between sigil-based and weave-based magic. A faint light flickered from the oil lamp on the table, revealing Gondel standing in the doorway with a steaming pot of tea.
A dozen ancient tomes lay spread out around Petros, each brimming with knowledge. He’d discovered they weren’t specifically about healing or support spells—much to his disappointment. Still, certain references in Chronicles of the Sevenfold Seal and Principles of High Arcana offered clues that might help him evolve his Spirit Warden class.
“What’s that you got there?” Gondel rumbled, setting a mug of tea down with a firm thud. His gaze landed on a book Petros tried—unsuccessfully—to conceal: Shadow Tongue.
Petros swallowed hard, guilt twisting in his stomach. “I—I’m sorry,” he stammered. “I was looking for more advanced references, and I found this. I wasn’t sure if it was forbidden or not…”
Gondel huffed a half-laugh as he lifted the slim volume. “Better to ask forgiveness than permission, I suppose,” he said. A faint scowl creased his brow, but he set the book aside on the table’s edge rather than snatching it away. “You realize there’s a reason I started you on the basics, yes? Too much knowledge too soon can be… dangerous.”
Petros nodded, cheeks flushing. “I know. It’s just—” He gestured to the pages of scrawled notes he’d taken. “I’ve nearly finished these two—Chronicles and Principles—and I wanted to cross-reference certain runic theories.” He trailed off, fiddling with his quill. Despite the reprimand, excitement glimmered in his eyes.
Gondel’s annoyance wavered as he picked up a stack of Petros’s notes, thumbing through them. He recognized diagrams of seal arrays, references to weave-lattice expansions from Principles of High Arcana, and a network of scribbled, arrow-tied concepts bridging the two. Astonishment flickered across his face, tempered by caution.
“I take it you’ve read up on the Principle of Veralane?” Gondel asked, arching a brow. That question was child’s play for an apprentice wizard—basic first-year stuff.
Petros snorted softly. “If you mean the principle stating that a stable runic formation requires direct synergy with the Source to prevent feedback collapse—yes, I read it. But Veralane’s approach was incomplete. She accounted for a pre-cutoff environment where the raw magical flow was consistent. In a severed land like ours, mana drift changes the entire dynamic. You have to incorporate a failsafe weave, or you’ll risk a meltdown. Veralane hinted at that in her second edition, but she didn’t finalize the concept.”
The old wizard blinked, struggling not to reveal his surprise. He let out a low chuckle. “So you do more than memorize. You’ve found the flaw. Took me decades to see that. You…” His voice trailed off, wary of praising the boy too openly. “Very good,” he said, nodding once.
He folded the notes and laid them gently on the desk. “We should probably get back to your friend, Jack,” he added, trying to sound casual, though Petros caught a hint of affection in his tone. “No doubt he’s left that forest patch by now—maybe gone back to the village.” A grin tugged at Gondel’s lips. “I’m curious what pitiful branch he picked up off the forest floor, thinking it’d make a decent staff.”
Petros’s heart leapt. They’d spent so many hours holed up reading he was itching to see Jack again—yet a twinge of sadness swirled at leaving his studies. Gondel, noticing the shift in the boy’s expression, chuckled softly.
“Take the books, then. I’m not letting you off easy with your lessons.” He tidied up the trunk, leaving the ones Petros had already studied in a separate pile. “But be warned, knowledge can be a heavier burden than you think.”
Petros’s eyes widened at the unexpected gift. “Thank you, sir,” he breathed, carefully stacking the tomes and notes. Without meeting Gondel’s eye, he slipped two extra books onto the pile—including Shadow Tongue— hoping the wizard wouldn’t notice.
But Gondel did notice a faint smirk ghosting his lips, though he pretended otherwise. Better he learn from the source than from half-baked rumor. The wizard said nothing, and Petros finished packing up, stowing the volumes in his pouch.
“Come,” Gondel said, slinging a small satchel of his own across his shoulder. “Let’s see if we can find your friend and that ‘crappy staff’ he’s undoubtedly cobbled together. We’ll see if a real wizard’s input can salvage it, hmm?”
Petros smiled, relief and anticipation flooding his chest. He couldn’t wait to show Jack what he’d learned—and to continue unraveling the deeper secrets behind healing spells and advanced support magic. Yet, in the back of his mind, a thrill of caution lingered. If forging new spells was this easy to him, what else lay hidden in the pages he’d just… borrowed?
As they stepped outside, a soft dawn lightened the eastern sky. Gondel paused, scanning the horizon thoughtfully before leading Petros down the path. Their footsteps echoed on the worn stones, each one carrying them closer to a reunion with Jack—and to the next chapter of mysteries swirling around the severed Source, advanced sigil theories, and the secret knowledge resting inside Petros’s pouch.
Jack awoke feeling astonishingly refreshed. Despite the late-night meditation—and the unnerving whisper—he had fallen into a deep, dreamless sleep. Early morning sunlight filtered through the thin curtains of his rented room at the Boar & Brew, rousing him gently. Stretching off the lingering stiffness, he recalled one pressing promise: feeding Saul.
After settling his tab with Trevor for another night’s stay, Jack ventured out to Pendle’s local butcher. He purchased a fat, juicy steak—far larger than anything he’d typically buy for himself—and headed to the eastern treeline, tracking Saul through the bond they shared. He found the wolf dozing beneath a wide oak. At Jack’s approach, Saul bounded forward in a blur of thick fur and excited energy, nearly toppling Jack.
“Whoa!” Jack laughed, scratching the wolf behind the ears. He pulled out the steak, brandishing it with a flourish. “Here you go, buddy.”
Eyes bright, Saul bounded away a few steps, spinning in anticipation. Jack tossed the steak high, and the wolf leaped, snatching it in midair with uncanny grace. One gulp, and it was gone.
“Good boy,” Jack murmured, grinning as Saul flopped over, exposing his belly for a well-deserved rub. He knelt to oblige, happiness flooding him at the sheer surreal nature of having a wolf companion.
Not long after, Jack’s expanded senses nudged him. Petros is near. Gathering his cloak, he whistled for Saul to stay out of sight in the tree line. The big wolf padded a few yards away, keeping watchful eyes on Jack as he strolled back toward Pendle’s main road. Near Henry’s forge, he spotted Petros trotting alongside Gondel, both heading in his direction.
Petros broke into a run the moment he saw Jack, practically barreling into him with a hug. “You won’t believe it! We helped a sick family, and I healed them—I even resurrected a little girl! Then we… w-we—”
“Whoa, slow down, kid.” Jack chuckled, ruffling Petros’s hair. “We’ve got plenty to catch up on.” He turned to Gondel, offering a nod. “Morning, Wizard.”
Gondel returned the nod, though his keen eyes flicked around Jack appraisingly. Something about the younger man—perhaps a new assurance in his bearing—caught Gondel’s attention. Then he noticed the stick in Jack’s hand.
“Let’s see that…” Gondel said, gesturing at the humble piece of wood.
Jack raised a brow, then held up the stick. “Oh, this? Isn’t it great?” he teased.
Behind him, Petros let out a pained groan, facepalming. Gondel stifled a laugh, feigning seriousness. “Splendid,” he deadpanned. “For kindling, at least.” He folded his arms. “That would make a pretty lousy staff.”
Jack flashed a mischievous grin. “Funny you should say that.” He tossed the stick high over his shoulder. A blur of fur erupted from the trees—a massive wolf leaping up to snatch the stick midair. The beast’s sheer size and sudden appearance made Petros stagger back, hands flaring with blue light, ready to summon a guardian. Gondel instinctively brandished his staff and half-drew a short sword hidden in his robes.
“Easy, guys!” Jack chuckled, placing a calming hand on Petros’s arm. Saul trotted up, wagging his tail, then dropped the stick at Jack’s feet. The wolf eyed Petros curiously and let out a low, barely audible growl at Gondel.
Petros, recovering from shock, let out a gasp. “Oh… my gods. You have a wolf?”
The wide-eyed teen then all but dove at Saul, rubbing the wolf’s head. Saul accepted the affection, apparently deciding Petros was a friend. Gondel, though, lowered his staff only reluctantly, eyes narrowed.
“So you’ve been busy, I see,” the old wizard mused, still eyeing the beast warily. “Care to fill me in?”
Jack scratched his chin. “Heh, there’s a story or two there. But I’ve got something else to show you.” He motioned toward Henry’s forge across the street. “Henry offered his workspace out back if we need privacy.”
Once behind the forge, Gondel propped his staff against the wall while Petros took a seat on a wooden bench. Saul hovered near the treeline, occasionally peeking around as though expecting more steak. Jack remained standing, a small smile tugging at his lips.
“Right, then,” Jack said, raising his right hand. Concentrating briefly, he summoned an image of his staff from his pouch—but instead of rummaging physically, he called it into his grip via pure will—a shimmering outline formed around his fist, resolving into a magnificent staff whose carved runes glowed faintly.
Petros watched with gaping awe. Gondel’s reaction was more dramatic: his face fell from mild curiosity to utter horror the moment he recognized the runes.
“What have you done?” Gondel snapped, stumbling forward to snatch the staff. But a spark of static repelled his fingers. The old wizard jerked his hand away with a hiss, anger flickering in his gaze. “This is advanced, borderline forbidden magic, boy,” he barked. “Where did you learn these incantations?”
Jack’s mischievous grin lingered though a flash of genuine hurt appeared in his eyes. “Learned it from you!” he said with mock indignation. At Gondel’s bewildered expression, Jack sighed. “Okay, well, from my wife, Asil, who studied your magical theories in her earlier gaming days, specifically your approach to runic synergy.”
Gondel staggered a half-step back, pale with shock. He reached for his own staff as though expecting a battle. Petros, wide-eyed, swung his gaze between them, swallowing an urge to conjure a healing spell if necessary.
Saul let out a soft growl, stepping forward protectively, but Jack mentally signaled the wolf to remain calm. After a tense beat, Gondel lowered himself onto the bench, shoulders sagging in disbelief.
“You… I—” Gondel stammered, at a loss for words. “I’ve never known a mortal to craft something so… potent without strict guidance. You truly gleaned these runes from secondhand notes?”
Silence hung heavy until Jack let out a breath. “Gondel, no offense, but I’ve dabbled in exploits all my life,” he muttered with a crooked smile. “Let’s just say my wife’s a thorough researcher.” He paused. “You gave me the tools. I’m just assembling them in ways you didn’t expect.”
In the hush that followed, Petros burst into giggles, the tension too much for his nerves. Jack joined with a hearty laugh, though Saul rumbled quietly, not entirely amused by Gondel’s outburst. The old wizard watched them all; deep worry etched into the lines of his face.
“If it truly harnesses runes like these,” Gondel murmured at last, “then you stand on a precipice… one that might tear you apart if you misuse that staff.” He gestured at Zural’thuren warily.
Jack merely smirked, swishing the staff’s carved tip through the air. “So,” he drawled, “did I pick a decent branch for a staff or what?”
Petros choked on another laugh while Gondel stared hard at the runic weapon, torn between admiration and dread. One thing was certain: Jack’s path had strayed well beyond the normal leveling curve, opening doors neither he—nor Gondel—entirely understood.