B5 Chapter 23 – The New World

When Tyron awoke, he knew immediately that something was different. Identifying the exact change took a little more time. Was it something to do with the ambient magick in the air? Perhaps the ritual was working and it had begun to thin out, but no, he didn’t think so. Stretching out a hand, he tried to feel the arcane energy in the air and found it was much the same as before.

That made sense. Even if his ritual was working, it would only consume a small portion of the energy flowing through the rift. Magick was still belching out of the tear in reality at a ferocious rate, poisoning the realm and bringing forth native-born kin. Perhaps the rift itself had begun to shrink, stabilising reality and reducing the warping effect of the Broken Lands?

No, that wasn’t it either.

Idly, he tilted his head and frowned, trying to think what it could be. Wriggling his toes, he wondered if his body had changed in some way, but no, everything seemed to be in the right place. At least he hadn’t lost a limb while he was knocked out.

The realisation of his collapse flipped a switch in his brain and it all came flooding back. The obsessive, manic churn in his mind as he’d worked on the ritual circle, the ideas that had burned so bright it felt as if they’d been seared into his head. Then he’d finished, and the vision had come.

The vision!

Remembering it was enough to set his eyes rolling back in his head, the world blurring and swimming before him as his mind seemed to tilt on its axis. He’d seen… he’d seen… what had he seen?

Even lying on a cot, he felt as if the world were unstable, and he clutched at the sides as if he might fall out at any moment. The Unseen had shown him something, granted him a vision of… something fundamental… something so foundational it didn’t make any sense, as if he were perceiving things in a way that was normally impossible.

Thoughts still swimming, he tried to piece together the nature of the vision, but it was so difficult. It was magick, he could see that, but not as he knew it.

If magick were an ocean, Tyron was an expert swimmer. He moved through it with ease, able to control it, avoid the dangers, manage the shifting tides and control the eddies, yet the ocean he knew was only so deep. Even if he could dive deeper and faster than anyone else, there were limits, his mind simply wasn’t built to go beyond a certain point.

The Unseen had shoved the sights and sensations of the ocean’s floor into his head.

He didn’t have a frame of reference for it, couldn’t even comprehend how that world was connected to the one he knew. Yet they were. They had to be.

Feeling as if he might be sick, Tyron turned his thoughts away from puzzling on the mystery that the Unseen had shown him. He would tease out the meaning in time, of that he was sure.

As soon as he stopped thinking about it, he realised what had changed. His ability to sense magick had been growing steadily as he’d risen in power, and some of his ability selections had helped develop that growing capacity.

His senses hadn’t expanded, but he could feel it in a more granular, more detailed way. The nature of the energy itself was more accessible, its density and movement. After a moment, he wondered if he even needed to enhance his vision to study magickal effects anymore. If he was close enough, he could determine everything he needed without any help.

Yet he hadn’t even performed the status ritual yet. Something had changed inside his mind, his perception itself had shifted.

With a sigh, he pushed himself upright and swung his feet over the side of the cot. Someone had removed his armour, cloak and shoes before tucking him in. Probably his uncle. Finding everything tucked in a neat pile at the foot of the cot, he pulled on his boots and donned his armour, performing the spell almost absentmindedly. The movement of the magick around him was so distracting, like a light flickering in the corner of his eye.

“This is going to take some getting used to,” he muttered.

Somehow, Worthy had also found his pack, or perhaps his students had brought it to him, but that too was inside the largely bare tent, leaning against the canvas. Tyron rummaged inside until he found some paper, cut his thumb and quickly performed the status ritual.

Everything was largely the same, he hadn’t gained a level, despite the number of kin his army had destroyed. These requirements were becoming insane, how had his parents managed to reach platinum rank? Well, they were ankles deep in rift-kin basically all of the time, barely slowing down to help raise their own child. Over decades, that sort of effort was always going to accumulate.

It was when he looked at the mysteries he found the expected changes.

Mysteries:

Spell Shaping (Sage): INT +120 WIS +120

Words of Power (Sage): WIS +120 CHA +120

Essence of Death (Advanced): INT +20 WILL +20

Soul Magick (Advanced): WIS+20 CHA +20

Greater Mystery of Magick (Initial): Int +30 WIS +30 WIL +30

Greater mystery? That was a thing? And the benefits it granted… A normal mystery at the Initial stage grated plus three to two different attributes. Plus thirty to three? That was more than ten times as strong!

What sort of effect would it have when he started casting magick? What sort of effect would it have if he managed to advance it to Sage, as he had with Spell Shaping and Words of Power?

This tale has been pilfered from Royal Road. If found on Amazon, kindly file a report.

What sort of effect would that have on his spellwork? The gentle hand of the Unseen on his back suddenly felt like a forceful shove, driving him forward at a faster and faster pace. It didn’t make sense. Here he was, actively trying to reduce the influence of the Unseen on the world, limit its access by squeezing shut the rifts and destroying magick itself, yet he was being rewarded?

Either the Unseen didn’t know, or didn’t care. Perhaps it wasn’t sophisticated enough to tell what he was trying to do, or perhaps it really was a weapon designed to help fight against the rift-kin, and he done as it wished all along.

Ultimately, it didn’t matter. The status sheet was destroyed in short order, and Tyron stepped out to find his three students sitting outside the tent. Richard was reading, Briss was poking at their small fire with a stick while Georg seemed to be dozing, his back resting against a small log.

“Is it safe for you to be here?” Tyron asked, causing them all to jump. “If you take in too much magick, you’ll get sick.”

“We haven’t been here long,” Briss assured him, jumping to her feet. “Your uncle said we could stay for a few hours.”

“Master Tyron, you’re awake!” Richard stammered, nearly dropping his book. He hurriedly stood, then remained in place awkwardly, not sure what to do or say next.

“I haven’t been asleep that long, have I?” Tyron asked, genuinely concerned.

He didn’t have time to lose. Every day mattered at the moment.