Mason leaned in, eager to uncover how magic worked in this strange world. He expected something familiar—perhaps like the cultivation novels he'd read, where energy could be easily guided into the body through specific techniques. But as he read further, he quickly realized that this world's magic was far more complex and unruly.
The first line caught his attention immediately: "Magic is not easily tamed. It is chaotic by nature, and without focus, it will slip away or worse—turn against the one who tries to wield it."
Mason's brow furrowed as he continued reading. The book explained that while meditation was necessary to access magic, it wasn't a simple matter of pulling energy from some internal reservoir. There was no dantian, no pre-existing pathways in the body like the ones described in cultivation stories. Instead, magic came from the world itself, from the elements—water, earth, fire, air. Each element had its own form of chaotic energy, constantly shifting and unstable. To wield magic, one had to draw it from these natural sources, shaping it with will and intent. But it was far from easy.
As Mason absorbed the information, he realized just how difficult controlling magic could be. The book warned that without complete concentration, trying to manipulate magic could lead to disastrous consequences. A lack of focus could cause the energy to spiral out of control, resulting in anything from minor injuries to severe, crippling damage—or even death.
The solution? Meditation.
Magic could only be controlled through deep, undistracted meditation. The process required the mage to center themselves entirely, shutting out all external thoughts. Only then, in that perfect stillness of mind, could they even begin to channel the wild, chaotic energy around them.
Mason exhaled softly, considering the weight of this knowledge. It wasn't going to be easy, but if this was the only way to tap into the magic he needed for the Healing Signet, then it had to be done. He glanced over at the creek nearby, the sound of water flowing steadily in the background. That seemed as good a place as any to start.
Closing the book gently, Mason shifted into a more comfortable position. The grass beneath him was soft, and the sound of the creek added a soothing rhythm to the air. He took a deep breath, allowing the cool breeze to calm his mind. Meditation had never been something he practiced regularly, but if magic required that kind of focus, then he would need to adapt quickly.
He shut his eyes, letting the sounds of the natural world wash over him. The soft rustling of the trees, the steady babble of the water, the gentle hum of the wind—it all blended together into a harmonious background. Slowly, Mason began to focus on his breathing, in and out, steady and calm. The world around him faded slightly, and he allowed his mind to empty of distractions.
Minutes passed, though it felt like much longer. At first, nothing happened. Mason remained still, breathing deeply, trying to reach that elusive state of complete focus. He thought about the magic described in the book, the chaotic energy that could only be accessed through this quiet stillness. It was out there, in the world, waiting to be drawn in. But how?
He didn't know what to expect, but he kept trying. The key, according to the book, was to focus on one element. Trying to draw magic from all sources would be overwhelming and dangerous for a beginner. Instead, it suggested starting with the element that felt most natural.
For Mason, that was water.
He wasn't entirely sure why, but he felt a pull toward the creek beside him. Maybe it was the constant sound of the flowing water, or maybe water itself was simply more calming to him than fire or earth. Whatever the reason, Mason decided to focus his energy there. His mind reached out, attempting to feel the water, to connect with its essence.
At first, there was nothing. Just the steady rhythm of his breath and the sound of the creek. But then, after what felt like an eternity, something shifted. A faint sensation began to spread through his body—cool, soothing, like the touch of water against his skin. It wasn't overwhelming, but it was there, subtle and undeniable.
Mason's eyes remained closed as he concentrated harder. The feeling grew stronger, spreading from his core outward to his fingertips. The magic was chaotic, just as the book had warned, but he was starting to control it, starting to shape it. It felt like the flow of water being drawn into him, circling through his body.
It was working.
The energy swirled in his fingertips, tingling like a soft electric current. Mason kept his focus, not allowing himself to get distracted, even as the excitement bubbled up within him. But the magic was still wild, still untamed. He had drawn it in, yes, but it hadn't been given any purpose yet. Without a task to fulfill, the magic was aimless, raw power with no direction.
As soon as Mason's concentration wavered, the energy began to slip from his grasp. He tried to hold onto it, to keep it steady, but it was like trying to hold water in his hands. The moment his focus broke, the magic scattered, dissolving back into the air and earth around him.
He opened his eyes and exhaled slowly. The sensation was gone, and the magic had faded. He hadn't managed to do much, but for a brief moment, he had felt it—real magic, flowing through him. The key was there, but it wasn't enough to simply draw the magic in. He needed to learn how to shape it, to give it purpose and direction. Otherwise, it would always slip away, back into nature.
Mason sat quietly for a few moments, absorbing the experience. The book had been right—magic was chaotic, wild, and incredibly difficult to control. But it wasn't impossible. He had managed to grasp it, even if only for a moment. The next step was to learn how to use it, how to guide it toward an intended purpose.
With a determined breath, Mason glanced back at the book. There was much more to learn, and now that he had felt the magic firsthand, he was more committed than ever to understanding it fully. But first, he needed to take it slow. Rushing into something as dangerous as magic could easily backfire, and the last thing he wanted was to end up crippled—or worse.
The next time, he'd have to be even more focused. The book had warned about the risks of distraction, and now he understood why.
Mason exhaled, his gaze drifting to the creek once again. The flow of water had made it easier for him to draw magic, though whether that was because of the nature of water or simply the convenience of being near a creek was still a mystery. Either way, it had given him his first taste of real power.
Mason sat quietly by the creek, the soft sound of flowing water filling the air as he reflected on his first experience with magic. Although it had been difficult to grasp at first, he realized that it would likely be much easier the next time. Tasks always became more manageable once you got the hang of them, and now that he had felt the flow of magic, he was certain he could do it again with less effort.
He closed his eyes, focusing for a moment. The rhythmic purring of the panther lying next to him suddenly became apparent, a deep, steady vibration that resonated through the ground. Mason chuckled to himself, realizing just how therapeutic the panther's presence had been. Somehow, the big cat's constant purring had helped calm him during meditation. "Guess you're good for more than just company, huh?" he mused quietly, reaching over to scratch the panther behind its ears. The big feline leaned into his hand, content as ever.
"Now, how do I guide this magic?" Mason muttered, turning his thoughts back to the task at hand. He needed to inscribe the Healing Signet onto his body. The book had shown him the intricate design, the pattern that needed to be carved into the flesh to act as a conduit for the magic. But what could he use to make such precise markings?
A stick? Maybe. But it didn't seem right. He wanted something smaller, more compact, something that would allow him to make the delicate strokes needed for the signet. He considered the size of the formation—there was no mention in the book that it needed to be large, so something small should work just as well. He didn't know if using one part of his body for a signet would prevent him from using that spot for other skills in the future, but that was a question for later.
Suddenly, inspiration struck. He recalled the fountain pen he had discovered earlier, hidden within the spine of the book. Swiftly, Mason reached over to retrieve it, brushing his fingers along the spine until the feathered pen emerged once again. Holding it between his fingers, he studied the fine point. "This should be perfect," he thought. The pen was sharp enough to allow him to guide the magic with precision, and its size was ideal for creating a small, intricate signet on his skin.
Mason turned back to the book and flipped to the Healing Signet page. The diagram appeared before him once again, filled with its delicate lines and arcs, detailing the flow of energy required to maintain the passive healing effect. He stared at it for a few moments, committing every stroke to memory. The flow of energy had to be perfect. He couldn't afford to make a mistake—especially not when working directly with his own body.
"What if I mess it up?" Mason wondered aloud. "If the flow goes backward, it won't… explode my body, right?" He gave a nervous chuckle, but the thought lingered in his mind. The last thing he needed was to accidentally ruin his only chance of survival with a misplaced line.
To be safe, he decided to practice first.
Mason turned to the journal section of the book, opening to a blank page. He carefully lifted the pen and began sketching the signet. At first, his strokes were hesitant, unsure. But with each attempt, the design became more natural, his lines more confident. The first few tries were sloppy, the formation looking uneven and incomplete. But after several repetitions, the signet began to take shape—symmetrical, neat, and properly aligned.
His fingers moved swiftly now, the pattern becoming second nature. Each curve, each line flowed exactly as it should, until finally, Mason sat back and looked down at his last attempt. It was perfect. Satisfied, he set the pen down for a moment and exhaled, pleased with his progress.
The real test, however, was about to begin.
Mason glanced down at his chest, where he intended to draw the signet. He had chosen his chest because it seemed like the most logical place—close to his heart, where the flow of energy would be constant and easy to monitor. He picked up the pen once again, feeling a mix of excitement and nerves bubbling up inside him. This was it. Time to see if all his preparation would pay off.
Carefully, Mason touched the tip of the pen to his skin, just above his heart. He inhaled deeply, steadying his hand. The next step would be crucial.
Mason sat by the creek, eyes closed, focusing on the steady rhythm of the water flowing nearby. The soft sound helped calm his mind, allowing him to slip into a meditative state more easily. Drawing magic from the elements was still new to him, but the water seemed to resonate with him in a way that made the task manageable. He extended his senses, reaching out toward the creek, feeling the cool energy swirling through the flow of water.
He pulled the magic in slowly, letting it seep into his fingertips, the cool, fluid sensation dancing along his skin. It was like catching the current of a stream—once he had a firm grasp, the magic responded to his will, swirling and gathering between his fingers. His body, now more attuned after his earlier attempts, accepted the energy more readily this time. It was still chaotic, but now he knew how to shape it.
Opening his eyes slowly, Mason glanced down at the pen in his hand and then at the blank canvas of his chest. The time had come to draw the Healing Signet. He took a deep breath, steadying himself. There was a sliver of doubt in the back of his mind—what if this hurt? What if it didn't work? But there was no turning back now. His survival depended on mastering this skill.
With cautious precision, he pressed the tip of the pen to his chest, just above his heart. The pen didn't pierce his skin, but the moment it made contact, he could feel the magic from his fingertips start to seep into his flesh. The sensation wasn't painful, but it wasn't exactly comfortable either. It itched, a slow, crawling feeling just beneath the surface of his skin, similar to getting a tattoo. He grimaced slightly but kept going.
As he began to trace the intricate lines of the signet, the magic flowed into the pattern, etching itself into his flesh with each stroke. It took every ounce of concentration to keep the energy where it needed to be. The magic wanted to disperse, to fade back into the natural world, but Mason refused to let it. His will was the only thing holding the signet together, guiding the flow of energy with each stroke of the pen.
His mind raced briefly. Had he been too hasty? Maybe he should have practiced more or read more of the book before attempting something this serious. The weight of his decision pressed on him, but he couldn't afford to stop now. The signet was halfway done, and if he broke his focus now, the magic could scatter, and the effort would have been for nothing.
"Focus," Mason muttered to himself, his voice barely audible.
He pushed the doubts away, focusing on the task at hand. The magic needed not only concentration but willpower. It wasn't enough to just draw the signet. He had to infuse his intent into it, make the magic understand what it was supposed to do. Healing. That was the signet's purpose. It was meant to protect his body, to heal his wounds as they happened, keeping him in top condition no matter the circumstances.
The final strokes of the signet came slower, more deliberate. Mason's hand shook slightly as he finished the last lines, but with a deep breath, he steadied himself, bringing the design to completion. The signet, now fully inscribed, pulsed faintly with magic. He could feel it—alive beneath his skin, buzzing with energy. But he wasn't done yet.
Mason closed his eyes again, concentrating on the flow of energy within the signet. He had to make sure it flowed in the right direction, that the magic circulated properly. One wrong turn, one misstep in the flow, and it could throw off the entire formation. He could feel the magic shifting inside him, a swirling current that needed to be controlled.
With a slow, steady exhale, Mason focused his will on the signet, guiding the flow of energy, ensuring it moved as it should. It was like directing a river—he couldn't force it, but he could nudge it, guide it along the right path. The magic responded to his intent, shifting into place, flowing in the proper direction. It was working. He could feel the signet aligning with his body, ready to perform its purpose.
Finally, with a final surge of willpower, Mason locked the magic into place. The signet pulsed once, then began to sink deeper into his skin. He blinked, watching as the magical lines disappeared from view, fading into his body until there was no visible trace of the signet left.
"Where did it go?" Mason muttered, his hand brushing over his chest. There was no mark, no indication that anything had been drawn there at all. The signet had simply vanished, absorbed into his flesh.
Panic flickered briefly in his mind. Maybe he had done something wrong. Maybe he should have read more of the book before attempting this. But before he could spiral into worry, he felt it—the magic. It was still there, not on the surface, but deep within. He couldn't see the signet anymore, but he could feel it. The magic was building, slowly gathering within his core, near his heart. Or maybe somewhere else in his body—it was hard to tell exactly where. But it was there, and it was working.
Mason sat back, exhaling a long, relieved breath. It had worked. Somehow, it had actually worked. The Healing Signet was now a part of him, its energy flowing through his body, ready to heal him when needed.
The uncertainty remained, though. What exactly would happen when the signet activated? Would it heal small cuts and bruises? Or could it handle more serious injuries? He didn't know, but for now, he had succeeded in inscribing his first signet.
Mason's attention shifted back to himself as he stood quietly by the creek. His thoughts flickered to the recent changes in his body, notably the signet he had successfully drawn into his skin moments ago. His chest tingled faintly, the magic coursing through him like a gentle hum, but nothing felt overly dramatic. He flexed his hand, inspecting it for any immediate signs that the signet was doing something. Nothing. His skin remained unmarred.
And yet, something was different. Something subtle. His wrist.
Mason's brow furrowed as he raised his right hand for a closer look, instinctively rotating it to see his wrist. His eyes narrowed, locking onto the spot where there used to be a jagged, pale scar. The one he had gotten years ago when he'd cut himself deeply on a broken piece of glass. The scar was gone. Completely. As if it had never been there at all.
"What the—" he muttered under his breath.
Curiosity piqued, he examined his hands more carefully. Every faint mark, every small scar, the little reminders of clumsy moments or accidents, they had all vanished. His hands were smooth, unblemished—pristine, almost unnaturally so. The realization sent a ripple of unease through him, though not unpleasant. It was strange, but not unwelcome.
The Healing Signet. It had to be.
Mason flexed his fingers again, then held his wrist up, twisting it to get a better look at where the scar had once been. He hadn't even noticed it healing. The magic must have started working the moment he inscribed the signet into his skin. It wasn't just for new wounds; it was working retroactively, erasing old injuries as well. Even the tiniest nicks and cuts he had accumulated over the years—gone. This was more than he had expected.
With that little mystery settled, Mason sighed, shifting his gaze back to the leather bag resting on the rock. It was crafted with the same level of care as the book, with a strange symbol pressed into its surface. His fingers traced the intricate pattern, the same sigil that was on the front cover of the Guild Book. Whatever world he had landed in, it seemed this bag and book were a matching set. Useful, if nothing else.
The bag itself was well-designed. Its size was deceptive, appearing flat despite being capable of holding much more. As he examined it, Mason noticed several pockets: one larger pocket likely meant for valuables, a few smaller compartments, and a small pouch that looked perfectly suited for holding coins. He ran his fingers over the pouch and tugged it open by its drawstring, revealing a stash of coins inside. The metallic clink filled the air as he shifted the coins around.
There were various metal types—gold, silver, copper—but Mason wasn't sure what they were worth or even which country these coins belonged to. The designs were unfamiliar, and the strange symbols didn't match anything from Earth, let alone Guild Wars 2. With no immediate way of knowing, he closed the coin pouch and made a mental note to figure out their value later.
After all, coins were coins. They'd be useful at some point, no matter where he was.
Mason turned his attention to the larger pocket, his curiosity getting the better of him. Sliding the leather flap aside, he peeked inside. There wasn't much to see at first glance, but there was a space perfectly shaped to fit the Guild Book. He slid the book into it, noting how snugly it fit—almost as if the bag had been custom-made for this exact purpose. There wasn't a flap to secure the book in place, but the fit was tight enough that it wouldn't fall out easily.
Convenient. Quick access in any situation.
He gave the bag a once-over, noting how it still appeared flat despite the book now inside. It didn't bulge or change shape, maintaining the sleek design it had when empty. Impressive craftsmanship. He wondered if it was enchanted or if it simply made use of high-quality materials.
Satisfied for the moment, Mason turned his focus to the main compartment of the bag. As he opened it, his eyes widened. Inside, neatly folded, was a set of clothes.
The first thing Mason pulled out of the bag was a simple cloth tunic. He held it up in front of him, inspecting it carefully for any clues about where he might have landed. The fabric was soft, a plain white, though not as pristine as something that would come out of a modern factory. Handcrafted, maybe? It had a roughness to it that indicated it was made for utility, not for show. However, there were small details that piqued his interest. Embroidery, faint and nearly invisible unless you looked closely, lined the collar. The patterns resembled flames, tiny wisps curling around the neckline, done in silver and black thread.
The design was understated—someone would have to be standing very close to even notice it—but Mason's keen eye picked it up immediately. Whoever crafted this tunic had an eye for subtlety. He turned it over in his hands, noting the deep V-neck that plunged down to his chest. There was a string that could be tightened to close it up, but Mason preferred things loose. It was short-sleeved, exposing his arms to the elements, but it seemed practical enough for traveling or working outdoors. Functional. No frills.
His fingers brushed over the small, hidden details once again. This world wasn't Earth, and it wasn't Guild Wars 2 either. But judging by the clothing, he could already tell that this place wasn't entirely primitive. It had its own aesthetic, its own cultural symbols—flame designs and intricate patterns woven into fabric that most people wouldn't even notice. Whoever—or whatever—had dropped him here had also provided him with clothes, it seemed. And the clothes were designed to fit in with whatever world he had found himself in.
Next, Mason reached into the bag and pulled out a pair of pants. They were simple brown cloth pants, lacking any pockets, but they had loops for a belt. The fabric felt sturdy, though nothing luxurious, and likely durable enough for everyday use. The brown color was practical, designed to hide dirt, which would be inevitable in a more medieval setting. The absence of pockets, though, immediately told Mason something important: this society likely didn't have much use for carrying small items on their person in this way. Maybe pouches or bags were more common.
Along with the pants came a dark brown leather belt, much longer than he expected. The leather was smooth, and though it was practical, Mason could tell it was made to last. He inspected the belt, looping it through his hands. It was far too long for modern clothing, but for this world, it made sense. Medieval societies often used longer belts, sometimes wrapping them around themselves more than once for both function and style. He made a mental note of that. If this was a medieval society, it would explain some of the basic elements—the belt, the tunic, the lack of pockets.
Finally, he found a pair of leather boots, scuffed but well-made. Dark brown, like the belt, and sturdy, meant for walking long distances over rough terrain. The soles were thick, the kind you'd need if you were constantly on your feet, traveling or working. Not stylish, but certainly effective. It struck Mason that these clothes weren't just thrown together randomly; they had been carefully chosen for him, as if whoever placed him here knew exactly what he would need.
Mason glanced over at the panther, which was still lounging nearby. The massive cat had rolled onto its back, playfully squirming in the grass like a palm-sized kitten. Its paws swatted at the air lazily, completely relaxed in his presence. Mason couldn't help but smile at the sight. The majestic predator acted more like a household pet than a wild beast. It was strange, but comforting in a way.
"You're really something, you know that?" he muttered to the panther, though it seemed too preoccupied with rolling around to pay him any mind.
Deciding to get dressed, Mason gave one last look around, scanning the tree line and the surrounding area. It was quiet. Peaceful. Still, he wanted to be sure no one was watching. The last thing he needed was to get caught with his pants down—literally. Satisfied that he was alone, Mason set to work.
He nudged the panther off his lap gently, watching as the cat flopped back onto the grass, completely unbothered. It stretched lazily, then rolled back over, its tail flicking playfully. Mason chuckled softly and stood up, grabbing his pajama pants by the waistband. With a quick movement, he dropped them down past his ankles and kicked them off to the side, leaving them in a heap by the bag he had placed on the rock.
Standing naked in the open air was an odd experience. The breeze brushed against his skin, cool in places that it had no business being cool. The sensation sent a shiver down his spine. He shifted his weight awkwardly, resisting the urge to chuckle at the absurdity of the situation. Here he was, standing buck naked in the middle of a strange wilderness, with nothing but a bag of medieval clothes and a panther as company. It was surreal.
Mason wasted no time stepping into the brown trousers, pulling them up over his legs and adjusting them around his waist. He grabbed the belt and looped it through the pants, cinching it tightly. The belt was still long, far too long to be modern, but he figured out how to loop it back over itself around the buckle, letting the end hang down between his legs. The fit was comfortable, secure but not too tight. At least the clothes seemed practical.
Next, he grabbed the tunic and pulled it down over his head, the fabric brushing against his skin. The cloth was soft but breathable, and the embroidery around the collar felt surprisingly intricate against his fingers. He reached for the string at the V-neck and tied it loosely, leaving the opening just wide enough to be comfortable without feeling suffocating.
Mason adjusted the tunic, making sure it sat properly on his shoulders. He glanced down at the embroidery again—the silver and black flames circling his neck were barely noticeable unless you looked for them. Subtle. He appreciated that. It felt like something he could blend in with, yet still had a touch of uniqueness that might draw attention from the right kind of people.
Mason's eyes fell on the boots next to the bag, and his expression shifted slightly. He wasn't wearing socks. Even though the inside of the boots appeared comfortable, he knew better than to take chances. Walking in boots without socks could easily lead to blisters, and he had no idea how far he'd need to travel. With a quiet sigh, he looked back at the bag, fingers tracing through the various pockets, hoping there was something he had missed.
Sure enough, tucked into the bottom of the bag, blending with the darker fabric, was a piece of cloth he hadn't noticed before. He pulled it out, revealing a folded, grey material. As he did, a pair of white socks slipped free, landing on the grass.
Mason paused for a moment, eyeing the socks. They were simple, matching the white tunic he had already put on. He picked them up, tugging them over his feet, the soft fabric wrapping snugly around his toes. They were comfortable, an essential layer to protect against the friction of the boots.
He pulled on the boots next. They fit well, snug but not too tight, the leather forming comfortably around his feet. Mason took a few steps, testing them, and was relieved to find no discomfort. They were sturdy, designed for travel or work, and with the socks on, they would serve him well.
Next, Mason turned his attention to the bag. Without hesitation, he slung it over his right shoulder, allowing it to rest against his ribs under his left arm. The strap crossed his chest, tight enough to keep the bag secure. With the bag now hidden beneath his arm, it would be difficult for anyone to access it easily. He liked the practicality of it—it felt like everything had been designed with thought and care.
Now for the cloak. He picked it up from the grass and unfolded it, feeling the weight of the dark grey fabric in his hands. The cloak was simple, but effective—perfect for blending into a crowd or providing warmth. He swung it over his shoulders, adjusting it so that it draped comfortably over his bag and body. The cloak fell perfectly, hiding the bag entirely from view. With the bag secured beneath the cloak, it would be nearly impossible for a pickpocket to get at his belongings without him noticing.
Mason tied the cloak tightly around his neck, the fabric falling over his shoulders like a protective shield. There was a hood attached, but he left it down, letting the cool air brush against his hair and neck. The cloak's weight was just right—heavy enough to provide warmth, but not so cumbersome that it would slow him down.
Once everything was in place, Mason stood still for a moment, breathing deeply and taking in his surroundings. The air was fresh, carrying the distinct scent of the forest—pine, damp earth, and a faint sweetness from nearby wildflowers. The soft babbling of the creek filled the air, a constant and soothing sound that blended with the rustling of the trees. Birds chirped above, their calls clear and bright in the otherwise quiet atmosphere.
Mason exhaled slowly, letting the peacefulness of the moment settle over him. The world around him felt calm, though there was an undercurrent of uncertainty beneath it all. He had no idea where he was, or what might come next. But he knew enough to stay cautious. The clothes and the bag were clear indicators that this wasn't some random, unplanned event—someone, or something, had deliberately placed him here.
He scanned the sky. The sun was still rising, casting long beams of light through the forest canopy. It wasn't even noon yet, but so much had already happened. He could feel the day stretching out ahead of him, full of unknowns.
Mason adjusted the cloak one more time, making sure the hood was down and the fabric was snug. The bag was safely hidden beneath it, hugging his ribs securely. The breeze stirred his hair, and the quiet beauty of the forest washed over him.
It wasn't much, but at least for now, he felt a small sense of control. He had clothes, boots, and a bag with some coins. He had his Healing Signet, and while he still had questions, he had the tools to move forward. There would be time to figure out the rest.
The creek continued its soft babbling, and the birds sang above him, while the scent of the forest filled the air. For now, the peace of the moment was enough.