The thread is brighter, but thinner than the one being manipulated by Mage Reginald, and it's coming from someone else. Tracing the thin line back to the crowd, I can see a soft golden glow around Vulmar-tár, his focused expression betraying his actions.
Next to him is Venna, a massive grin splitting her face as she leans closer to her father and begins to whisper. I see him nod, but his eyes never leave the threads of magic. He's inscribing another circle surrounding the Magic formation, exactly between the original circles and Mage Reginald, without touching either.
Why is no one else noticing this? The golden glow of his magic is bright enough to almost distract me from my meditation, and his actions aren't subtle either. But everyone's eyes remained locked on me, no one wavering or even glancing at the new Magic circle.
Before I can begin to voice my concerns, I glance at Venna and see her looking at me while shaking her head. Her smile is gone, but her expression gives the impression that she's trying to reassure me.
Right as I see the circle that Vulmar-tár is writing begin to reach closure, I can feel my eyelids start to grow heavy. Not the familiar feeling that accompanies being exhausted from vigorous exercise, or being tired from a long day, but one that I read about in the books on the Magi Circle Ceremony. It's also a familiar feeling from a deeper form of meditation, one where I can enter my forest and the meadow.
Finally, my eyes completely close.
When they open again, I'm standing in the meadow staring directly at the Mother Tree. This isn't what is supposed to happen, and I start to feel a little nervous.
Immediately the Tree's branches begin to shake while subtly appearing to reach towards me in comfort.
'Did you bring me here?' This time when I attempt to speak, the words don't come out. That's when I noticed I hadn't formed my body. When I focus on my meditation to try to do so, it feels like something is holding me in place, preventing me from manifesting further.
I can feel panic begin to creep in around the edges of my consciousness, but then a faint golden light begins to envelop me. Its warmth provides me with some amount of comfort and calms me enough to help clear my head.
I look back at the tree and see glowing golden threads intertwining in the bark, so small that they're only visible because of the light they're emitting. Tracing the threads to their origin, I find they're coming from the glow surrounding me.
Replying to my earlier question after I returned my attention to the Mother Tree, her branches took a long pause, eventually returning to swaying with the breeze normally.
'So, you didn't bring me here, and you can read my thoughts.'
The branches sway a bit.
'Since I'm here, is the Ceremony a failure?' I've heard of people not showing potential for growing above a first Circle Mage, but never of one not manifesting a Circle at all.
The branches pause.
'Then where are the Circles that indicate my potential as a Mage?' Normally during the Ceremony when you drift into your consciousness to view the Circles, you'll be surrounded by darkness with only the number of Circles present showing your potential as a Mage glowing softly. These Circles are supposed to be immediately present and clearly visible.
One of the longest branches on the Mother Tree begins to move, shifting and using the end to point behind my left shoulder. Turning around I see a new meadow, this one clear of any flowers and separated from the forest and my current meadow by a long path marked with natural stones.
The meadow is impressively large and impossibly flat. Each blade of grass is exactly the same height, giving the illusion that the top of the green expanse can be walked across like flat dirt. When I finally step into the area though, my feet are just below the surface of the grass.
Turning back to the Mother Tree, I look at her in confusion. 'There are no Circles here, are they beneath the grass?'
The branches pause.
And then something unexpected happens. A soft and feminine voice gently rings out in my consciousness.
'Fo… cus… Ma… ri…'
'Did you speak? Could you speak this whole time?'
The branches pause. The branch she pointed with earlier now points to the golden thread connecting us.
'So, the golden Magic is giving you enough power to speak?'
The branches shake.
'Fo… cus… on… your… Magic… Ma… ri…'
With how faint her voice is, and how slowly her words are coming, the power she's being granted isn't enough for her to easily speak like this.
I return my attention to the open meadow in front of me and focus on my meditation like before. This time, instead of attempting to manifest my physical body, I'm seeking out the feeling of my Magic within my consciousness. The few books that I was given access to that spoke about using magic were vague about the methods, but because of the time I've spent meditating I have a rough idea of what I'm looking for. I was deliberately kept from the more in-depth lessons on how to use Magic because it's dangerous for someone who hasn't had a proper tutor, and most people don't receive a tutor until after they turn 13 and have attended their Ceremony.
I quickly discover a warmth within me, something that flows gently like water that's on the cusp of reaching a full boil, but not enough to boil over. Reaching my consciousness out, I feel a small thread floating at the edge of the warmth, as if extending to meet me. Gently tugging on it I attempt to keep myself from trying to force it.
I've read that the threads of Magic are open to guidance but are still a power of their own. You can gently guide them, but trying to move every part of the thread exactly how you want is an impossible feat. It's often compared to redirecting a strong current, you can point it in a direction if you meet it in its path, but trying to control the entire flow is dangerous. The movement of the threads within my guidance proves to me how true that is.
Now that I have control, I turn back to the Mother Tree. 'What do I do next?'
'Draw… your… own… Cir… cles…'
'You want me to define my own potential!?'
The branches shake.
Turning back towards the new meadow yet again, I imagine an empty circle of Magic. When you discover your potential, none of the circles within your consciousness will have any runes in them. This is because as you learn the runes, they will slowly be engraved within each circle. This is why the potential for each Mage is important. The more circles you have, the more runes you can learn and carve into them.
This doesn't mean you're stuck using whatever runes you first carved into the circle, though. You can learn new runes later by meditating and removing those you've already learned from the circle. The consequences of this on a Mage's ability should be obvious. To execute more advanced spells and quickly form circles in your day-to-day life depends on the runes you have immediate access to. If you must meditate to remove a rune and add a new one, you're taking time away from forming the spells, and sacrificing your use of other spells in the meantime, just because you removed a rune.
Bringing myself back to my current situation, I begin to gently guide my Magic in drawing an empty circle. As the magic emerges from my consciousness, I feel another warmth begin to merge with the thread and aid me in guiding it.
Once it leaves my consciousness, I'm suddenly startled. There are three types of magic intertwined together like vines, slowly creeping towards the image I've overlayed on to the meadow. Each one glowing in a different way. There's the traditional white that I've read about in books, the golden Magic that is enveloping me, and now a silver Magic. Because it blends with the white Magic thread due to its color, I almost missed it. Only the subtle shine gave it away. I want to turn and look at the Mother Tree, but immediately her voice soothes me.
'Don't… be… fri… ght… ened… I… will… aid… you'
I can tell that guiding the magic has become easier now, but the amount of focus required to continue is still draining.
Determined not to disappoint anyone, especially not the Mother Tree, I redouble my efforts to draw the first circle.
When that circle was finished, slight pricks began to form in my consciousness. It's not painful, but it is distracting. I'll need to be resolute if I want to continue. Through the threads of Magic I can feel soft encouragement.
I finish the second circle and the pricks becomes subtle throbs.
With the third circle it's dull thrums.
With the fourth the thrums grow louder.
With the fifth the gaps between each thrum are reduced.
With the sixth the thrum becomes an even, and louder, rumble.
With the seventh the rumble grows ever louder, and I find maintaining my focus increasingly difficult.
With the eighth I can feel the rumble reach deeply inwards, towards my sense of self, probing at it.
As I'm attempting to complete the ninth circle, the probing becomes a sharp and painful stab, but I somehow manage to keep my focus. The ninth circle, the highest possible for a Mage, is complete.
If I could gasp and physically collapse, I would have done so. An exhaustion I didn't think was possible for someone who's just a consciousness overtakes me, and I look to the Mother Tree for guidance.
'You have done well, and we will speak again soon.'
I feel myself slipping away from the meadow, finally losing my grip on my meditation.