The elf covered her mouth with her hands, while her husband pressed his lips into a tight line.

  “You understand what this means,” she said. “The Elders won’t allow an initiated necromancer to live in the Forest. And to skip the initiation…”

  “We know,” the husband nodded gravely. “The craving for kindred energy, without a way to access it, will twist his mind, driving him to seek it naturally—in the cruelest way.”

  “Yes,” I agreed. “I’ll perform the initiation to measure life, as expected—he’s compatible with it, like all of us. But the rest… it’s your choice. Do you need time to decide?”

  “Do whatever’s necessary,” the husband said firmly, his wife resting a grateful hand on his forearm.

  “Are you certain?” I asked. “With your standing in society…”

  “Our son won’t grow up a mad butcher—or an orphan, healer,” he replied.

  I’d expected no less—not after a century of their efforts to conceive. Now, I just needed to craft the seals to link the child to the dimensions of life and death.

  Slipping off my shoulder bag, I set it on the floor of the living-wood house to retrieve the ingredients. As I glanced up, the scene shifted—empty streets of a white-stone city stretched before me. Flawless two- and three-story buildings lined the way, their windows shuttered tight. Only a few curious children peeked out, quickly ushered back inside by wary parents. In the distance, the Academy’s gleaming spires pierced the sky, their shielded magic accumulators glowing like faint blue dots atop the tallest tower.

  “Ready?” an aged voice rasped beside me.

  Turning toward it, I faced the familiar old man in his tiresome blue robe. In one hand, he gripped a massive white wooden staff crowned with sharpened blue quartz—a rare mineral, one of the finest magical energy accumulators.

  “Show some respect to your elders, Rector,” I said with a smirk, pulling a bundle of rune-etched metal cylinders from my bag.

  “No chance,” he retorted, stroking his snow-white beard stubbornly. “I didn’t slog for the Empire two hundred years just to watch my tongue in old age.”

  I rose and stood beside him. We both stared at the same sight—a fenced estate with a grand private mansion, starkly out of place amid the city’s perfection. A thick, dark fog shrouded the grounds, coating the earth, trees, and house walls in an impenetrable black mass.

  “What is it this time? Another botched experiment?” I asked, scanning for the amorphous shadows flickering in and out of the vile magical mire.

  “Narcissistic magical families, that’s what,” the old man grumbled, tapping his staff on the smooth stone road. “They were told their kid couldn’t project dimensional energy into reality, but no—they knew better.”

  Stolen content warning: this tale belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences elsewhere.

  “They actually performed the initiation?” I asked, incredulous.

  “Of course! The brightest minds around,” he sneered. “Their lineage dates back to the Empire’s founding! Fire would’ve been fine—burned them out, problem solved. But no, darkness and Chaos. I pity the child…”

  “No adults left?”

  “I ran out of pity for fools fifty years ago—there’s not enough to go around,” he said. “Where’ve you been? Meditating on some shrub again, I bet?”

  “You’re exaggerating, Rector.”

  Suddenly, the mansion erupted in darkness, and a massive, shapeless shadow lunged from its depths—a towering black skull with an open maw hurtling toward us. Fear gripped me as it closed in…

  I jolted upright in bed, my nightgown clinging to me, drenched in sweat.

  “A dream… just a dream…” I muttered, scanning the dark room.

  Shadows darted in the corner. As I focused, a black skull burst from the darkness, screeching toward me with a shrill hum.

  I shot up again, staring at the ancient electronic alarm clock blaring its obnoxious squeal. With a relieved sigh, I slapped the button to silence it and flopped back onto the bed. No sweat this time.

  “Shit…”

  It was early, the bed warm, and I had zero desire to move. Magic… energy… I needed to sift through the elf’s memories better, maybe compile a summary from that jumble of images. Sure, familiar magic might not apply here, but even a sliver of understanding could improve my life as a wizard in this world.

  Finally rousing myself, I dressed, washed up, and headed downstairs for breakfast. What’s today’s date? Hmm, no calendar in sight—maybe the newspaper. Late July, for sure.

  I was lost in thought at breakfast but snapped out of it quickly—my parents’ worried glances warned me against “staring into space” again.

  “I’m thinking,” I said with a modest smile, meeting their concern. “So much different information to process.”

  They returned timid smiles, visibly relieved. I should pay them more heed—though I’d never had kids, I’d dealt with enough grieving parents in past lives to know their pain.

  After breakfast, I retreated to my room for some quiet reflection.

  Magic is vast and intricate, but a closer look reveals some truths about its nature, if not its mechanics. Wizards, elves, or any creature—or even artifacts—draw magic from external or internal sources. External examples include fire energy from a flame or air from the breeze. Internal sources stem from a soul’s connection—or a basic spirit-matter structure—to the world’s energy dimensions. Technically, dimensional energy isn’t truly internal; its origin lies outside. But I didn’t invent this classification, and the application methods differ sharply.

  External energy resists willful control. Mindless magical creatures use it for sustenance—fire salamanders, for instance, have bodies that convert it into effects. Most wizards and mages in my fragments’ memories rely on seals, circles, rune chains, and painstaking calculations to channel it into spells. Sure, you could fuel a fireball with any energy, not just fire, but fire energy flows into the structure with little resistance, less waste, and a stronger result.

  Internal energy, drawn from dimensions, follows the same subtypes but comes with conditions. Few creatures can tap it naturally—without encountering them, wizards might never have discovered other dimensions. To wield it, a wizard needs initiation—a connection to a dimension—possible only with the ability to project dimensional energy into reality or an affinity for that energy. Ignoring these prerequisites can wreak havoc on the initiate, young or talentless, and those nearby. But if a wizard meets the criteria and completes initiation, the perks are undeniable.

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