Chapter 49
Invisible
Magic wasn't hard, Sylas learned quickly. It was impossible. He was currently holding onto his head, vacant-eyed, while Derrek shouted wildly inside the shard. He'd broken the man, but couldn't even care for it as he'd broken himself too. No matter how many times and in how many ways Derrek tried to explain and teach him, Sylas was unable to do, well, anything, really. Theoretically, it didn't sound difficult—it was really just a mantra of visualization. But no matter how hard he tried, Sylas was unable to visualize the energy itself, the elusive thing guiding the world's magic.
As such, he may as well not have even tried since everything was dependent on that first step. And since he'd failed that first step, it was as though he failed them all. He didn't want to admit it, that he was an utterly talentless hack when it came to magic. It would be the most depressing thing in the world if he had landed in the world of magic… without being able to utilize it. It'd be like getting to live in a chocolate castle… while having diabetes.
"Fine, fine, look, not all is lost," Derrek suddenly said, trying to encourage him. "For some, the first step is the hardest—usually those who have never been exposed to magic before. Have you ever even seen it properly utilized?"
"… no," Sylas replied honestly. He saw after-effects of the sort, what with Dyn appearing and disappearing, and, naturally, whatever the hell was that up in the north. "Not really."
"There you go—it'd be stranger if you could visualize something you'd never seen before," Derrek said, as though to console the both of them. "It would be like describing to someone a color they'd never seen before. It's simply one of those things that need to be seen."
"…" though it helped slightly, Sylas was still feeling miserable.
"Think… think of time," Derrek suddenly said, pulling Sylas' attention onto him as well. "Time is in the constant flow forward—even the highest tiers of magic are unable to interrupt it. Not even for that brief moment. There are tales in old histories of sages who could freeze the momentum of time, but we have—many times—proven they were all falsified. Time is one of the things that elude the touch of magic," Wait, so you're telling me even my solitary power of rebirth isn't magic?!! Oh, come the fuck on man!! I'm dying here! "Because time is personal. Everyone experiences moment-to-moment differently," Wait, did this guy just casually espouse fucking relativity? What the hell?!
"Just with time, magic is personal as well," Derrek continued. "That is why the two remained unaffected by one another—they exist in equilibrium. And just as everyone experiences time differently, everyone experiences magic differently. What… what is the most magical thing to you? What is the first thing that comes to your mind when you think 'magic'?"
"… invisibility," Sylas replied honestly. It truly was the quintessential 'magic' that he visualized upon hearing the word.
"The ability to cloak—yes, it is very distinctly magical," Derrek continued. "But what is invisibility? Is it simply painting your clothes the color of your surrounding? Is it a mute personality that does not stand out? Ability to stand still and be unnoticed? All of those and more? Everything, magic included, is broken down into smaller and smaller chunks—you can't visualize invisibility altogether because it's a combination of many other things. So, instead of starting at the top, let's start at the very bottom. Forget energy—forget magic. I just want you to visualize standing still and blending in with this environment. Become a statue, so to say, that nobody bats an eye upon seeing. You're not… invisible. You're simply visibly indistinct. Again, take a deep breath. Close your eyes," Sylas followed Derrek's instructions once again, closing his eyes and taking a deep breath. "You're in a room. There's a hundred people all around, chatting, living, existing. You are alone. Alone in their midst. They don't see you," that wasn't a difficult thing to imagine, Sylas mused.
Rather than envisioning himself in the castle, his memories drifted back over to Earth. He was nineteen again. It was raining. It was at night. He sat in the mud, a dirty bag at his side, staring at the swinging light of the porch. He'd just been kicked out. He could see them still, in the windows. Watching. Judging. Them. The neighbors. A hundred eyes looking… but not seeing, as though he wasn't there. The phantom eyes that bored right through him. He was alone. He was alone in the midst of a thousand souls, adrift in the rainy dirt. He remembered the pain, remembered the shame, remembered the rage, the agony, the compendium of a thousand emotions swelling into one in the end: indifference. Cold, abandoned invisibility.
He remembered standing up. He remembered kicking the bag at the house. He remembered giving them one last look. He remembered turning around and walking away into the night. Nobody came out. Nobody called out. Nobody said 'goodbye'. Nobody asked. Nobody saw. Nobody. Nobody. Nobody.
"Yes, yes, that's it!" Derrek's voice managed to pierce through into his mind. "Feel it," his voice guided him. "That strange, almost tingling sensation in your limbs? Can you feel it?"
"Y-yes," Sylas replied uncertainly.
"That's magic," Derrek said. "Grasp at it. Don't let it slip away. Hold on to it. You hear me? Hold onto it!"
"I'm holding! I'm holding!" Sylas exclaimed, pooling all his attention to the six 'sweet spots' where he was feeling strange. It was a sensation he'd never experienced before—the best he could describe it would be as though his throat was itching, that back spot… but also being scratched at the same time. A unification of frustration and pleasure.
"Open your eyes," following Derrek's command, Sylas opened his eyes and looked down. Cradled between his two hands was a tiny ball of light—it was the size of a rice grain, barely visible. But it was there. It was shimmering. It was beautiful. "That's energy. Use it, now, to free me."
"…" Sylas smiled brightly, tears cradling the corners of his eyes. He pushed the tiny ball into the shard mindlessly, not even caring anymore. He'd done it, after all. He'd used magic. It was brief, it was weak—pathetic, really—but he'd done it. It wasn't impossible. He wasn't entirely crippled in the field, at least. There was hope. Not for this loop—since he was undoubtedly dying the moment Derrek left the shard—but for the future ones. Magic seemed to be tied to knowledge—just like talismans. If it was all about visualizing, he could practice for as long as he wanted within a single loop, becoming the strongest in the world. Shit, why do I have a feeling I just jinxed myself… again?
A shard beamed out in a bright, emerald hue, blinding Sylas for a moment. When he opened his eyes, he saw that the shard had disappeared and that, in its place, Derrek stood. His expression was… complex, to say the least. There was a lot of anger in there, some curiosity, a bit of shame, and some more anger. Sylas smiled gingerly at him.
"Go ahead," he said. "Do what you must."
"… I will not kill you, fake messiah," Derrek's words shocked Sylas. Twice now, he realized, he'd been shocked by people's actions.
"Why not?" Sylas asked.
"Because you spoke the truth with me," Derrek said. "And I cannot in good conscience kill an honest man, even if he is a charlatan. Hah. An honest charlatan. The world is truly going mad…"
"Oh, so I won you over?"
"Not in the slightest."
"But you won't kill me?"
"Personal creed."
"Sounds a whole lot like you coping with the fact that you kinda like a charlatan," Sylas said.
"…"
"Oh, I hit a nerve? He he. You know, you shouldn't really feel ashamed. I've won quite a few people over with my inexhaustible charms."
"… haaah," Derrek sighed—it was a deep, deep sigh, one that seemed too loaded for even Sylas to mention it. "You are playing with fire. Briefly, it is fine—but do not expect the world to be as kind as the Prince and I to you, fake messiah. The first time you do it to someone else, you will be burned."
"Not unless I burn them first! With my magic!"
"…" Derrek rolled his eyes and groaned. "What magic? You accomplished something that I did at the age of two. You can't even use your magic as a candle in the dark since it would sap your energy within seconds, probably killing you. So, I ask again—what magic?"
"He he, my magic," Derrek was… confused. Looking at that smile, that was the smile of a child—an innocent, excited, foolishly proud smile. He couldn't help it in the end, smiling himself. He'd forgotten, these little things. The little moments. While what Sylas did was a joke to him, something he saw children do all the time, to the man it seemed to be beyond description. Everything was relative, Derrek mused. All experiences, good and bad.
"I must go now," Derrek said. "Apologize to the Prince for me. If a chance allows me, I shall return. I am expressly curious about his fate. Her Highness, the Queen, had loaded quite a few questionable Writs recently all patented after the Prince's supposed death."
"Oh? Such as?"
"Assigning the Crown even more power due to the 'fears of assassination', among others," Derrek said. "Guard him and guide him. All else aside, he doesn't seem to be a bad fruit, like his lot. Men of honor are expressly rare to find these days. Good luck, fake—no, good luck, Sylas. I pray you succeed in your endeavors—so long as they do not harm others."
"… likewise," Sylas smiled faintly. Everyone had plans, plans that would never come to be. Plans that would end with the snap of his neck. So many futures entirely unfulfilled. So many potential lives never to be lived. "Good luck, the guy who's too ashamed to admit I won him over."
"…" Derrek said nothing but sighed once again and left, leaving Sylas alone. Pooling his thoughts together once again, he visualized being alone, invisible, and opened his eyes—in his palms, there was the rice-grained ball of light. Sylas stared at it intently for a few moments before he suddenly felt a lull. Before he realized what happened, he passed out.
You have died.
Save point 'Ignorant Awakening' initialized.