The heavy doors of the chamber creaked open once more, and the guards filed in, carrying trays laden with prison rations. The food was nothing splendid—stale bread, a watery stew, and a small cup of water—but it was satiable, enough to keep us alive and functioning.
I watched as the guards moved through the rooms, distributing the meager rations. My tray was placed in the corner beside where I sat, but I paid it no mind. My thoughts were elsewhere, racing with the urgency of our situation. We arrived in this jail yesterday. Twenty-four hours gone where each minute spent means more lives lost.
My uncle, Ulysses, sat across from me, his face etched with worry. Next to him was Pascal, his loyal servant and the man who had saved my life. Pascal had magic, good magic, but the enchantments on this jail rendered it useless. We were trapped, and our only hope lay in finding a way to escape without relying on spellcraft.
One of the guards, a burly man with a scar running down his cheek, noticed my untouched tray. He frowned and approached, his shadow falling over me like a dark omen.
"Eat lad," the guard grunted, nudging the tray with his boot.
I looked up, meeting the guard's gaze with a cold, unwavering stare. "Not hungry," I said flatly, my voice carrying an edge that made the guard hesitate.
"Each their own," the guard muttered, backing away. He had seen the defiance in my eyes, a spark of rebellion that made him uneasy.
This prison designed to contain everyone on this world. Pascal and Uncle moved lethargically as the magic in their veins struggled against the suppressant wards. Constantly, they drifted between conscious thought and unconscious rest, but not me.
I sat in the dimly lit chamber, my mind racing as I racked my brain, calculating every variable, every possible way to escape. The wards around the jail were strong, designed to prevent any form of magic from being used within its walls.
I clasped my Aurorian crystal fiercely, turning my knuckles white. It was a beautiful gem, shimmering with an inner light, capable of storing and manipulating mana. I could will the mana out from its depths into my artifact, enough to activate my bracelet, but controlling enough magic with sufficient nuance to positively disturb the room might be too much.
Closing my eyes, I focused on the crystal, feeling its familiar warmth against my skin. I visualized the flow of mana, the intricate dance of energy that powered the wards. I had to find a way to interfere with that flow, to create a momentary disruption that Pascal could exploit. The wards were designed to be stable, but like any enchantment, they had their weaknesses.
I leaned against the dry, warm stone of the cell, my eyes tracing the faintly glowing runes etched into the metal bars. The wards' intricate patterns weaving together a formidable barrier against any form of magic. I watched as their lights danced like insects of the night, flashing in sequence.
"Wards operate like an intricate network," I muttered to myself, "each module acting as a component in a larger system." These nodes, interconnected by the flow of mana, created a cohesive enchantment that was more than the sum of its parts. Each rune had a specific function: some regulated the flow of mana, others acted as amplifiers, and still others prevented feedback loops to maintain stability.
I focused on a cluster of runes near the top of the cell door. "These runes operate in a cyclical pattern," I whispered, "synchronizing the entire system like a clock." If I could disrupt this timing mechanism, even for a moment, it might cause a ripple effect throughout the entire ward structure.
My thoughts turned to the power source. Just like a man needs his heart to function, these wards were powered by a central nexus of mana, a focal point where all the energy converged and was distributed throughout the enchantment. "The Aurorian crystal..." I murmured, feeling its weight in my pocket.
"But where is the nexus?" I asked myself aloud, scanning the room for any indication. It would be the heart of the system, likely placed at a strategic location to evenly distribute mana. The main gate seemed the most logical place—guarded heavily, the center of all activity, and the focal point of the prison's defenses.
I turned my attention back to the runes, my mind mapping out the hypothetical pathways of mana. "The wards are like a finely tuned organism," I muttered, "These runes are the muscles and those the veins, controlling the flow." By introducing a surge of mana from the Aurorian crystal, I could force these components into an overload state, causing the system to miss beat and the effect to falter.
"Timing," I said, thinking, it must be "... precise."
I plotted out the network of systems using my fingers to paint imaginary lines on the floor.
Considering which ones would be the most susceptible to a sudden influx of energy, "The synchronization system," I noted, "designed to maintain stability, would likely be best to stress."
I opened my eyes and looked at Pascal, who was sitting across from me. "I think I have an idea," I whispered, my voice barely audible.
Pascal leaned in, his eyes barely open from induced fatigue. "What... is it?"
"The wards are timed using a small array of runes," I explained. "If I can channel energy into that module, I might be able to overload the whole system, just for a moment- maybe two. Would that be enough time to do something?"
Pascal nodded slowly, a spark of doubt lighting his eyes. "I might, but pray tell what can you do?"
"Enough," I said. "The next time you wake, we will act."
Pascal nodded, a silent agreement passing between us. As the hours passed, I continued to refine the plan in my mind, calculating every possible outcome. The Aurorian crystal pulsed gently in my hand, a reminder of the hope it held.
After several hours, Pascal opened his eyes.
"Now," I whispered, pulling the mana from Aurorian crystal. We moved quickly and quietly, heading toward the main gate where I believed the central nexus of mana resided. The guards were in the midst of their shift change, providing the distraction we needed.
I approached the runes near the gate, the crystal in hand, feeling its familiar warmth. The timer pulsed rhythmically, and I focused on its pattern, concentrating to change the pattern into arrhythmia.
"Here goes nothing," I murmured, pressing the crystal against the largest rune. I closed my eyes, visualizing the flow of mana and the surge I needed to create.
The runes glowed fiercely, trying to contain the ocean within the gem. For a moment, the system succeeding in suppressing the mana, but you cannot seal a volcano without disastrous consequences. The crystal pulsed, and I felt the energy building within it. I directed the current into the system's clock, to overload the component.
Instead of a short or failure of the enchantment, the runes glowed brighter yet, their patterns shifting and multiplying, absorbing the mana from my crystal.
"Thats.." I whispered, feeling a cold dread settle over me. Instead of disrupting the wards, I reinforced them.
"I still cannot move my magic," Pascal winced as he attempted to cut through the bars.
We retreated back to our corner of the chamber, hearts heavy with the weight of failure. The reinforced wards glowed ominously, their effectiveness now exponentially increased by my miscalculation.
But I couldn't accept defeat, Master depended on us.
I said, determination hardening my voice. "The mana supply must have been insufficient to compromise the system. This time, I'll pour it all out."
"Please work," I whispered to myself, pressing the crystal against the runes once more.
This time, I forced all of the crystal's power into the system, pushing it to its limits.
The tower began to shake, the runes glowing brighter and brighter. The entire corridor bright from the illumination of the overpowered wards. The whole tower's magic, not just the prison enchantments, fluctuated erratically. Confused as to its nexus, the mana began to pool around the crystal, flowing back from the wards. The energy seared my hand, burning through my gloves.
Pain shot through me as the feedback loop grew, sending shocks into my body, both physically and mentally. I gritted my teeth, determined to see it through, but the agony was overwhelming. The crystal blazed with a blinding light, and suddenly, I felt a mental pull.
The mana flowed from the crystal, arcing into every available circuit in the room. The wards absorbed the energy, and the crystal began to dim, draining of all its mana. The enchantment evolved from magic suppression to magic absorption. The light of the prison ward pulsed as the energy traveled from my hand into the surrounding runes. My vision blurred, and I fell to my knees, clutching the near-dead crystal.
"Micah!" Pascal shouted, stumbling into the bars of his cell. "You alive?"
"I miscalculated," I said, my voice hollow. "The wards... worse..."
I looked down at the purple gem, its glow now faint and flickering. The strain on it had overtaxed its stored mana. It would take time for pieziomanic genesis to refill its stores of magic. and using it now risked shattering it completely. Failure tightened my chest, and despair streamed down my face.
Pascal and Ulysses exchanged worried glances but nodded. I returned to my corner, gripping the crystal tightly.
I buried my head between my knees. "It didn't work," I whispered, my voice breaking. "I didn't work."
My whole life had been devoted to the study of magic. Knowledge was my pride, my identity, but I utterly failed. Here I was, botching the one task I had been given: to get help.
"A decade of study and research, training from Grandfather, USELESS!" I began to cry, "Finally, the weight of the pages I learned... a chance... A chance to shine! To save someone-everyone! We dashed off to bring back salvation, but now I see that, I too, just left people behind."
Pascal offered words of reassurance, but I did not feel it. His voice too distant, meaningless to me.
"I've failed," I whispered, my voice barely audible. "I failed everyone."
Uncle Ulysses looked at me with concern, but I couldn't meet his eyes. "Micah, we'll find another way-"
"NO I WON'T! This was..." My voice trailed off as the shoes of a man stepped from behind. The legs of a chair manifested before me, he sat in it. I felt his gaze against the top of my head. Waiting.
I sat in the corner of the cell, knees drawn to my chest, arms wrapped around them. My eyes avoided the man, unable to meet his without a complete collapse of my remaining confidence.
How could he want a useless grandchild. I besmirch the remaining value of the name Morley.
He spoke, "They just want to help."
I glanced over, Uncle Ulysses and Pascal hovered behind their bars, their concern evident.
"Micah, we'll find another way," Uncle Ulysses said.
I did not respond-could not respond. I had failed not just Uncle and Pascal, but Miss Iliana, Misters Larkin and Eoric. I was supposed to be the learned one.
Ulysses sighed, standing up. "Give him some time, Pascal," he said softly. "He needs to process this."
As the night drew near, Pascal continued to weaken, but he finally stood. His resolve hardened.
"I can't just sit here and die," he said, more to himself than anyone else. "I'll alter them myself."
He began reciting my mumblings, moving to the runes near the gate. I could hear him muttering to himself, his words a faint echo of my own earlier attempts. "If the wards are like a network... each rune a component..."
"Micah, they need you. Get up." The man added.
I looked briefly, watching Pascal's determined efforts. He traced the runes with his fingers, trying to influence them physically, then stepped back, attempting to channel his own magic into them. Each attempt was met with failure. The runes glowed steadily, unwavering in their resistance.
"Come on," Pascal grunted, frustration creeping into his voice. "The lad at least elicited a reaction..."
Attempt after attempt, Pascal tried to alter the wards. He poured his magic into them, trying different combinations, different approaches, but nothing worked. The wards were impervious to his efforts, their enchantments gnawing away at his remaining energy.
After what felt like hours, Pascal slumped to the ground, exhausted and defeated. "What a farce" he said, his voice barely above a whisper. "I cannot even fathom how..."
I pulled my knees tighter to my chest, the failure cutting deeper with each passing moment. I had led us into this situation with the promise of my knowledge and skill, and now we were more trapped than ever.
"Look at me," the hallucination ordered.
I lifted my head from the ground, my voice weak and trembling. "Go away. I can't do this again. You're dead."
The figure stood and walked around the room, examining the intricate patterns within the enchantments. "Come on, I taught you this. You know who made these wards. You learned his designs," the hallucination insisted.
"I couldn't do it," I whispered, despair weighing heavily on my words. "And now, I don't even have a working source of mana."
I clutched the slumbering crystal in my fist, wishing desperately for it to revive sooner.
"You don't need one," the hallucination said firmly. "Think. Why did the mana flow back into you?"
"The system... it- needed to eliminate the interference," I replied, struggling to understand.
"Why did the ichor lose its color? Aren't you curious?" the vision asked, pushing me to think deeper.
"You know I am!" I admitted, frustration fueling my voice.
"Then, think! How can you hold crystals that would kill most men? Why. Are. You. Alive. Micah." the man demanded.
"I-I don't know—" I stammered, feeling overwhelmed.
"You do," the hallucination countered, his tone insistent.
"Tell me," I pleaded, desperate for answers.
"Solve the riddle yourself," the vestige replied, refusing to yield.
I looked straight into the eyes of Grandfather, frustration and longing mixing in my chest.
"If you were actually here, you would..." I began, my voice trailing off. I must be daft, arguing with a dead man.
He stepped forward, placing his hands on my shoulders. "I'm as real as you let me be, dear boy," he said gently.
Grandfather turned, looking through the wall towards Aetherhaven. "They are withstanding, but just barely," he observed, his voice tinged with concern.
His specter vanished, revealing the dilapidated view of Pascal and Uncle shivering in their cells.
The echo of my grandfather's voice lingered in the air, "Try again, but field no resistance when the magic flows towards you."