From the moment I arrived in this world, reading and writing came naturally. The language here wasn't the cryptic jumble I'd expected from a medieval-like society. No, it was almost like it was designed to be understood, straightforward and intuitive. So when I stumbled upon the abandoned library shortly after starting my training with Larina, I knew I'd hit the jackpot.
Larina was drilling me in the finer points of elemental magic—efficiency, control, minimizing energy output while maximizing the effect. During one of our sessions, she casually mentioned the consequences of overexerting oneself beyond their magical limit. Apparently, most people feel like they've run a marathon, physically and mentally drained to the point where even standing becomes a challenge. This was news to me. I never felt tired, no matter how much magic I used. The idea that there was supposed to be some kind of limit, some exhaustion that followed, was almost laughable. When she saw the surprise on my face, Larina just stared at me, confused by my ignorance.I could manipulate all elements, and my stamina seemed limitless.
The library was tucked away in a forgotten corner of the castle grounds, hidden behind layers of ivy and neglect. Inside, it was a treasure trove of ancient tomes, scrolls, and volumes that seemed to be untouched for decades, if not centuries. And it was all laid out in a language I could read fluently, as if it were waiting for me.
In the weeks I'd spent here, I'd learned more about this world than I ever could have through Larina's lessons alone. The books spoke of magic in terms far beyond elemental control. There were three main paths: the elemental magic one was born with, spirits you could contract with, and artifacts or relics that you could obtain.
Spirits were particularly fascinating. They weren't just creatures bound by magical energy; they were entities with wills and power of their own, existing in a realm parallel to ours. Contracting with a spirit was no simple matter. It required proving yourself through a trial, something more akin to earning respect than simply commanding obedience. The stronger the spirit, the more grueling the trial. But the reward? Immense power. The ability to call upon a being of fire to raze your enemies or a water spirit to drown an entire city. It was a partnership that could change the tide of any battle or alter the course of history itself.
Then there were artifacts. The books described them as objects imbued with magical properties, either created through complex rituals or remnants of an ancient era. These weren't your run-of-the-mill trinkets. They were weapons, tools, and relics that could tip the scales in a mage's favor. Some books listed famous artifacts—swords that could summon flames through magic, rings that granted mastery over the wind, cloaks that rendered the wearer almost indestructible to both physical and magical attacks. Unlike spirits, artifacts didn't have wills of their own. They were instruments waiting for a capable hand to wield them. And they were scattered across this world, hidden in forgotten ruins, in dungeons, guarded by fierce creatures, or simply lost to time.
The ease of the language here made everything even more accessible. There were no convoluted spells hidden behind layers of cryptic symbolism. Everything was straightforward, laid out clearly for anyone willing to take the time to learn. It was as if the writers of these texts had intended for their knowledge to be passed down, not hoarded by an elite few. The instructions for summoning rituals, the mechanics of spirit contracts, the intricacies of enchanting an artifact—all of it was written in a way that made sense. It was almost too easy.
Today, as I walked into the library, the familiar scent of dust and old parchment filled my lungs. I navigated through the aisles with a sense of purpose, heading toward the section where I'd piled up books on spirits and artifacts. I pulled out a book titled *"Binding the Unseen: A Guide to Spirit Contracts."* I'd skimmed through parts of it before, but now I was ready to dive deeper. If Larina's training had taught me to master the elements I was born with, then these books would teach me how to control the elements this world kept hidden.
I settled into a worn leather chair, opening the book to a section that detailed the process of initiating a spirit contract. The language was, as usual, direct. No fluff, no cryptic riddles. If you wanted to summon a fire spirit, you needed to draw a specific summoning circle, imbue it with your mana and call forth the spirit from its realm. But the real challenge came afterward—the trial. The book described it as a test tailored to the spirit's nature. A fire spirit might challenge you to withstand its flames, a water spirit could drown you in an endless sea until you proved you could master its power. Survive, and the spirit would recognize you as its master. Fail, and... well, the book didn't elaborate on the consequences, but I could guess.