AUTHOR'S NOTE:
I plopped the End-Of-Book-2 status in its own post right before this, for those who are interested. You don't need to review it to progress the story - all the relevant information will be covered in this chapter.
The pill from Aurelian was smaller than he expected.
Cal held the wooden box open on his palm, studying the black sphere nestled in its bed of wadded cloth. No bigger than a marble, its surface was perfectly smooth and absorbed the white glow of his basement's runelights without returning so much as a glint.
He plucked the pill from its cradle and rolled it between his thumb and forefinger. It was warm to the touch despite the cool basement air, radiating an almost imperceptible energy.
Popping it into his mouth, he washed it down with a pull from his waterskin.
For several seconds, nothing happened. He sat on his stool, hands resting on his knees, waiting for some dramatic shift: an announcement from the System, a flash of light or surge of fire.
Instead, the sensation crept in so gradually that he almost missed it.
A simmering heat originating from his stomach spread through his spiritual pathways. It was muted. Something gentler than the aggressive rush of a spirit or essence stone. The warmth reached the network of Stamina channels that threaded through his spirit and expanded there. Binding with them, he realized after a moment. Seeping into the walls of the pathways themselves, reinforcing the structure from within.
He tried to track its progress with his [Spiritual Perception], but the sensation was already fading, diffusing into the background until it was indistinguishable from the ambient currents of his own power.
Whelp, that was less exciting than I expected. Hopefully it worked.
He released a slow breath. Whether it would help or not, he couldn't tell. Not yet. But if there was one thing he trusted about Aurelian, it was the man's genius with a cauldron.
The rest would reveal itself with time.
Cal straightened on his stool and prepared to take inventory.
Status.
He started at the top.
TIER: E (Low Sovereign)
A faint smile tugged at his mouth. Low Sovereign. There was something immensely satisfying about seeing his achievement enshrined in his status, and he figured there was significance in being able to show this. Even if the achievement was largely thanks to the generosity of his mentors…
He scanned the Skills section and narrowed his eyes.
The pattern was strange, but it made a certain kind of sense. Every single entry had been converted. [Dodge (F)] - Expert was now [Dodge (E)] - Practiced. [Running (F)] - Expert had become [Running (E)] - Practiced. [Stealth (F)] - Adept sat as [Stealth (E)] - Novice. Down the list, without exception, every Skill had been promoted one tier and demoted at least one proficiency rank, if not more.
He scrolled further, confirming the consistency. Every Skill bore the tax. Even his vocational Skills had all been reassessed forward and backward simultaneously.
Cal stood up and stretched his arms. His body felt stronger and faster than it ever had. So why was the System telling him he was worse at things he'd managed to become so, well, skilled at?
Logic would dictate it's because the test got harder. At least, that's my guess.
It was the same principle as academic grading curves. A student who aced every exam in high school didn't automatically ace college courses. The material was more demanding. The standards elevated. His [Dodge] hadn't degraded. The System's definition of what constituted "Expert" dodging for an E-tier had likely risen to account for the increased speed, strength, and spatial awareness that tier afforded. He was likely being measured against a higher baseline.
An adjustment, nothing more. And if his Soul Impartments worked the way they always had, recalibrating to the new standard would happen quickly enough.
He scrolled down to the next section and was confronted by a different dilemma.
Volatile?
The tag sat next to [Dash] like a warning label on industrial chemicals.
[Sundering Strike (E)] - Volatile
[Flicker Step (E)] - Volatile
[Lancing River (E)] - Volatile
[Crimson Overdrive (E)] - Volatile
[Liminal Breath (E)] - Volatile
[Piercing Stab (E)] - Volatile
Every single Ability, tagged.
And it was the same with most of his Spells.
[Conjure Flame (E)] - Volatile
[Isolation Field (E)] - Volatile
[Harmonize (E)] - Volatile
The list went on, and everything he'd managed to learn requiring spiritual energy was now flagged as potentially dangerous to use.
The word made him think of an unstable compound. Something that could detonate if handled wrong. He thought of chemistry class decades ago. Of nitrogen triiodide drying on filter paper, waiting for the barest touch to explode. Was that what his Spells and Abilities had become? Techniques learned with a weaker energy source, now requiring E-tier power they weren't calibrated to contain?
He felt the difference even sitting still. His Stamina and Mana were both denser and more concentrated. Not a lot, but it was a noticeable improvement in quality.
Is that it? I just need to learn to reuse them with my new level of power? Or is there something more to it? More dangerous?
Unsettling. But not entirely so. He'd successfully cast three new Spells after ascending: [Portal], [Air Orb], and [Immolation]. Without any backlash or instability. Those had functioned perfectly.
He furrowed his brow. Why?
He pulled up the entries.
[Portal (D)] - Novice
[Air Orb (E)] - Novice
[Immolation (E)] - Novice
No volatile tag on any of them.
Is it because I learned those after the breakthrough? It made sense. Those Spells had been constructed with his E-tier energy from the very first cast. They'd never known anything else. The volatile ones were techniques he'd mastered at F-tier: muscle memory and mental frameworks built for a lighter touch. The new power was a potential mismatch, like putting diesel in a gasoline engine.
It also meant the fix was straightforward: re-learn the techniques at the new power level. Practice until the System confirmed they were stable.
But it also meant all of his strongest capabilities were currently a gamble to use. In a fight, that could mean the difference between life and death.
Which brought him to another anomaly that nagged at him: [Portal] was D-tier. Not E-tier.
Every other Spell and Ability he possessed was tagged at E-tier, and had been largely learned at his current tier besides. But [Portal] sat a full tier higher. Why? Was it because the Spell itself was inherently more complex? The Spell had worked when he cast it, but it had also nearly emptied his pool. Was it operating above his weight class, borrowing from a higher standard?
Just another thing to ask Hatch about.
One final entry caught his attention as he scrolled back up.
[Spear Mastery (F)] - Unstable
A different tag. And it was the only thing in his status that was still at the previous tier.
He focused on the distinction. His Abilities and Spells were flagged as volatile, likely dangerous to use because the energy feeding them had changed. But [Spear Mastery] wasn't an Ability. It was an imparted gift of pure knowledge from the System.
How can knowledge be unstable?
He turned the question over. The System had granted it at F-tier. Its instructions were all calibrated to an F-tier body. An F-tier's power.
What happens if I recalibrate it to my current level?
Cal sat in the quiet for a long moment after he closed his status screen, processing.
While his Impartments and the successful spellcasting post-breakthrough gave him confidence, experimentation was still risky. He was serious about trying to turn over a new leaf and not be as reckless as before.
Captain Hatch first. With the Veils - Azh'vails, he corrected - lost to him for the time being, Hatch was his best bet. He'd know the standard protocols for managing volatile Spells and Abilities after a breakthrough.
For now, Cal had other things to test.
He stood from the stool, rolled his shoulders, and stepped into the clear space in the center of the basement floor. The stones were cool beneath his bare feet. He'd bathed and changed into loose-fitting clothes: simple linen trousers and a long-sleeved shirt. The fabric hung differently on him now. It was slight, but enough to notice. His frame had filled out somewhat during the breakthrough, adding perhaps a centimeter of height and a minor improvement to his musculature that made the comfortable clothes sit just a touch tighter.
Let's start slow…
He settled into a neutral stance, feet shoulder-width apart, weight balanced, and began the first motion of the Legion's unarmed forms.
It was too fast.
His fist shot out and his shoulder nearly over-rotated; the unexpected velocity pulled him slightly off-balance. He caught himself before losing his footing, but the disconnect was jarring. The motion that should have been a controlled probe had been an explosive snap.
Oh crumb, not the twenty percent rule again. C'mon, man…
He remembered the time after the tournament when Hatch had encouraged him to take all the essence stones he'd won. This was a similar phenomenon at a lower level. His capabilities were simply more than he had expected.
Still, it was nothing [Savant of the Body] couldn't handle.
He began working slowly through the first form again, this time ready for the changes. His Impartment was recalibrating, feeding the new parameters of force and speed into his muscle memory. Winding his torso to generate torque, he slashed a sweeping strike through the air. The force surprised him, a feeling of denser muscle contracting with greater authority. From that rotation, his other fist rose in a quick arc, the kinesthetic feedback singing through his nerves.
He linked the forms together, his movements becoming a unified sequence. A straight strike from his lead hand flowed into a powerful blow from his rear, then a pivoting punch to the side. As his footwork slid across the stone, and he felt [Balance] compensating for the increased power output. He sent a kick driving forward before shifting into a defensive posture. An arm rose to block an imagined attack, followed by an elbow strike, all working together in an endless chain of motion.
Each repetition was smoother than the last. [Savant of the Body] devoured the new feedback loop, integrating E-tier proprioception with the reality of his new attributes. The awkwardness of the first few movements was already a distant memory.
He accelerated. The forms blurred into a continuous flow: a rapid three-punch combination into a duck under a phantom swing, followed by a hooking kick. From an imagined clinch, he drove his knee upward. He spun, lashing out with his heel, the blow carrying enough force to have cracked ribs.
The final movement was a straight cross. A perfectly structured punch thrown from his center of mass with torquing momentum and his full weight behind it.
The air snapped.
[Your proficiency with Cross (E) has increased to Practiced]
Cal lowered his fist, his breathing barely elevated, a grin spreading across his face.
They're just un-calibrated, nothing more… but holy mackerel, that felt nice! I could get used to this! I need to tier-up more often! He shook his head at his own shenanigans, giddy with the newfound power.
The Skills were all still there, encoded in his body and mind. The System's proficiency rankings were just waiting for him to execute against the new standard. He could spend the rest of the day running through his catalogue of Skills, burning through the proficiency tax one technique at a time. The temptation was real.
But there were more important things to address first.
Cal crossed to his workbench. He untied the leather thong to his belt pouch, dug around in the fat-stack of coins, and withdrew a silver band.
Selara's ring.
He drew his harvesting knife and nicked his left thumb, raising a small bead of blood. Then he smeared it across the metallic surface and pushed his Mana into it.
The thing… devoured his Mana.
A quarter of his vast new E-tier reserves vanished in an instantaneous slurp, sucked from his core without his consent. The violation left him spiritually off balance. He gasped, staggering sideways a step as his free hand shot out to steady himself against the workbench.
What the—
The ring pulsed once warmly on his finger, and a tugging sensation pulled at something in his spirit. It was… almost tender. And reminded him of the guild badge imprinting, that involuntary lurch in his Vitality, but softer.
Then it was over. The ring went cool and inert against his skin, and a new space opened in his awareness.
But first, the cost.
Cal steadied his breathing and turned his focus inward, assessing the damage. That chunk of his energy, gone in a flash.
What happens if I don't have enough Mana? Does it just fail, or something worse? At F-tier, this would have been spiritually impossible.
His old pool couldn't have contained that much Mana, period. The ring's activation cost was likely a hard cap. Either you had the Mana to pay the bill in full, or you didn't.
Which meant in combat, every time he wanted to access this ring's contents, he'd be sacrificing a significant portion of his spellcasting potential. That wasn't a tool you used casually in a fight. Potions, backup weapons. Anything he might need in the heat of battle still needed to stay on his body for instant access, with the ring held in reserve.
A convenience for travel, a last resort in combat, he thought, and turned his attention to what the ring held.
The space was... extraordinary.
A three-dimensional model had loaded directly into his consciousness, a spatial awareness he could rotate, zoom, and explore as easily as he could move his own limbs. The dimensions were generous. Roughly seven yards cubed. The width of one of his basement partitions back home, where he'd kept the treadmill he never used and the boxes of holiday decorations Evelynn always—
He pushed that thought aside for now.
The space wasn't empty.
Every object inside appeared as a distinct shape in his mind, its location and dimensions immediately clear without needing to be withdrawn. He recognized Selara's particular brand of meticulous organization in the careful stacks and ordered rows.
The first thing he focused on, sitting on top of the neatly arranged pile, was a sealed envelope. Willing it out was simple and intuitive.
The letter appeared in his open hand with a faint displacement of air. One moment empty, the next, paper. Wild.
He broke the wax seal and unfolded the letter to find Selara's handwriting.
Cal,
If you are reading this, it means you survived the breakthrough. I am glad. Truly. I need you to know that before anything else.
What I am about to tell you will be difficult to read. I considered sparing you the details, but you have earned honesty from us, and you shall need to understand the full picture if you are going to stay safe.
As you have undoubtedly deduced, our surname is not Veil. It was never Veil.
We are Selara and Aurelian Azh'vail. Children of the last Ashen Queen… and Emperor Caelverax the First.
Cal almost dropped the paper.
Bastard children, as it were. Bred through coercion and political expediency, and left unacknowledged by our father due to lacking bloodlines. Our mother died in battle when we were nearing adulthood, and we were raised by minor noble servants of the Emperor and eventually entered the Imperial Academy. You know the rest.
What you do not know is why we are being taken now.
The phoenix bloodline that manifested on my death is a trait that Caelverax was always seeking. I have been marked against its arrival since Awakening, and that mark is what allowed Macarious to find me.
I do not know what awaits us. I do not know if we will be weapons, prisoners, or bargaining chips. What I know is that my brother and I will face it together, as we always have.
Cal fought the urge to crumple the letter and burn it to ash.
I need you to understand something, apprentice. We did not leave you because we wanted to. And the contents of this ring are not payment for services rendered. They are an investment in a young man we believe will become something extraordinary.
A few warnings:
First, and most importantly: you must never speak of what you witnessed in the clearing. Not to a single soul. The fact that you were left alive is a miracle in and of itself. Macarious, Aurelian, and I are the only living people who can know this secret. If our father ever suspects another is aware of my bloodline, your life will be forfeit. This knowledge must die with you.
Regarding the ring itself: the void space preserves but does not sustain life. Nothing with a will of its own can be placed inside. The ring's magic simply will not accept it, and living organisms placed inside will perish. Spirit herbs stored will retain their alchemical properties, but their seeds will be rendered inert. They cannot be regrown.
Use what we have left wisely. We have great expectations for you.
Be well, Cal Valorn. Be strong. And if the world is kind enough to allow it…
I hope we will meet again.
— S.
Cal sat for a long time.
Children of the Emperor. The man who had unified the world through blood and conquest and ruled it for five hundred years with an iron fist. The man whose seal was stamped on every coin in Cal's pouch. Selara and Aurelian were royalty. Previously discarded royalty, now dragged back into the orbit of a monster because one of them had proven useful.
He carefully folded the letter and set it on the table, pressed his palms against his eyes, and breathed.
There is nothing I can do about this right now. He was an E-tier nobody in a frontier village on the edge of the world. The Emperor sat at the center of a continent-spanning empire, backed by a power that reduced Cal's achievements to nothing.
But that won't always be the case.
He opened his eyes. Packed the frustration and the helplessness into the same place where he'd compartmentalized everything else. Fuel for later, motivation for the long road.
He set it aside and went back to work.
The ring's contents came out piece by piece, each item accompanied by a small tug of Mana as they materialized on the stone floor. Stacks and stacks of books, their spines embossed with titles on flora and fauna from all over the world, along with spirit beast classification and advanced foraging techniques. The private collection Selara had kept under lock and key, now given freely.
E-tier spirit stones followed. Dozens of them spread across all three types. He considered if he should take some now but wanted to get a handle on things before he started growing his attributes once more.
A plethora of F and E-tier materials followed. Enough raw ingredients to keep a working laboratory supplied for months.
There was also an obscenely heavy coin pouch.
And last but not least, laid flat and protected between two thin boards of polished wood, was a deed. He pulled it free and unfolded it. The parchment was thick, official, and stamped with the Chancellery's seal.
"...hereby transfers full ownership and all associated rights, privileges, and obligations of the property known as The Golden Mortar, located in Deadfall Village, to one Cal Valorn, effective immediately upon presentation of this document..."
Signed: Aurelian Azh'vail.
Cal barked out a short laugh.
You brilliant, impossible bastard.
He set the deed down on top of the letter and stared at the pile of inherited wealth spread across his basement floor. It was staggering. And it made his stomach sink.
They gave me everything they could, knowing we may never meet again.
He sighed heavily and slowly worked to return everything to the ring. Then reached for the second one.
Cillian's band was darker metal, like black iron. Cal repeated the process: blood, then Mana. The drain was slightly less than Selara's ring, maybe twenty percent of his pool this time, but it still felt like a punch to the core.
The space that opened was cramped. One yard cubed at most. A glorified cabinet.
But it wasn't empty.
The first things he retrieved were weapons. Six perfectly balanced throwing knives, their edges impressively honed, along with an assortment of daggers. Professional tools, maintained with fastidious care.
Next came a box of vials. A dozen of them, each containing a viscous liquid that ranged from light green to midnight black. Poisons? Cal didn't open any of them but set the entire case aside for later analysis.
Of course there were potions. D-tier healing potions, potions for Stamina and Mana, and even what appeared to be Agility enhancement elixirs. There was also a small stockpile of Vitality rations, as well as standard trail rations and water.
And another heavy purse of gold.
There was a leather-bound ledger, its pages filled with cramped, coded script. Rows of symbols that matched no alphabet Cal recognized from either lifetime. Useless without a cipher.
The last items were tucked into a corner of the void space. Over a dozen small silk pouches, each one tied with a different colored thread.
Cal opened the first.
A lock of fine and soft blonde hair spilled into his palm.
He immediately felt nauseated.
Cal quickly tossed every pouch onto the stone floor, along with the ledger, and stood over the pile while reaching for his Mana.
[Immolation]
He cast the Spell swiftly, and a torrent of red-hot flame erupted in front of outstretched palm, engulfing the pile. The fire consumed the hair in a flash that lasted barely two seconds before the fuel was gone. Heat washed across his face and bare arms, and the acrid stench of burnt hair wafted through the enclosed space.
Cal gagged, eyes watering. Should have thought that through better.
He conjured an [Air Orb], the gentle sphere of swirling wind manifesting above his head and pushing the foul air away from his nostrils.
He stared at the tiny scorch mark on the stone where the pile had been. Nothing remained. Good.
Cal collected both rings. Selara's silver band slid onto his left ring finger, and Cillian's black iron went onto his right hand. He flexed his hands, feeling the unfamiliar press of metal against skin.
He missed them. The Azh'vails.
He needed to move. Needed to be around people who were still within reach. Too many had been taken from him.
Cal turned and climbed the basement stairs, his feet finding each step without looking. Above him, the house was dark and quiet; the repairs holding firm against the waning winter. He pulled on boots and a heavy coat, fastening the clasps with fingers that now held two void rings.
He stepped into the cold air of Deadfall and turned toward the Hearthsong Inn.
AUTHOR'S NOTE:
And so we begin again. I hope you all enjoyed the chapter and had a great weekend. May this be a good start to a good week.
Jon