Rowan ran for his life, dust kicking up behind his boots as he sprinted across the barren landscape of the Scorched Plateau. His lungs burned with every breath, the ash in the air stinging his eyes and clinging to him like a second skin. Columns of steam erupted from the fissures below, molten rock simmering just beneath the surface.
Why do I keep doing this to myself?
He cursed, leaping over a chasm just as fire roared beneath him. He hit the brittle ground hard, with cracks spider-webbing beneath his weight.
All he'd wanted was to practice his magic in peace, but his teleportation token just had to get creative with it.
Rowan glanced back, his heart pounding rapidly in his chest. The Ember Crawler whose lair he'd invaded was closing in, fury glowing in its beady, reptilian eyes. Its clawed limbs tore at the ground as it barreled toward him, spit flying from its snarling maw.
He quickly scanned it.
Level:
11
Body:
Iron III [11 Levels]
Core:
N/A
It has five levels on me, he winced. That's… not great.
Rowan could feel his mana reserves running low. He'd spent most of them trying to reach a flame vent, and failing to accomplish that goal had left him almost utterly spent.
His legs ached with exhaustion, but he wasn't worried yet. His stats were more than enough to carry him through this mess.
I just need to outpace it long enough for the token to finish charging.
Name:
Rowan Undomniel-Athlain
Title:
[Duke of Eiseylth]
Trait:
[Immortal Soul]
Core:
Red [74%] [5 Levels]
Body:
Bronze I [1 Level]
Level:
6
Strength:
14
Dexterity:
25
Vitality:
20
Intelligence:
30
Willpower:
22
Focus:
17
Thank the Gods for good genetics.
Rowan gathered his dwindling mana, throwing his hand back and casting a [Firebolt]. He completed the magic circuit instinctively, weaving the pattern through his body just as he'd done a thousand times before. His Intent came next, giving the spell the power it needed to manifest fully.
Piercing Flame.
A radiant red orb appeared in his palm, its heat licking at his skin. Despite the danger, he couldn't help but smile. Even now, months after his Awakening, the thrill of magic never ceased to amaze him.
This is never going to get old, he thought, a grin tugging at his lips.
The [Firebolt] shot through the air, but the Ember Crawler moved away with alarming speed. It exploded against the ground, showering the monster in a rain of dust and rock. The impact didn't harm the creature—its hard carapace easily dealing with the lackluster attack— but it sure did piss it off.
The Crawler bellowed, its muscled neck contracting as it spit out an oily glob from its gullet. The projectile hurtled towards Rowan, igniting mid-air. It might not have had a Core, but that didn't mean it couldn't fight from range.
He threw himself out of the way, barely managing to dodge in time.
Rowan could feel the heat of the Crawler's spit as it splattered near him. Small droplets sizzled against his enchanted coat, failing to find purchase.
His legs shook beneath him as he forced himself to stand up, every breath labored, the weight of exhaustion creeping into his limbs. His teleportation token glowed faintly, far from fully charged.
He glared at the folded piece of parchment stuck into his belt, willing it to go faster.
Another glob sailed over his shoulder, and Rowan felt his frustration rising.
At the monster chasing him, at being chased, and most of all, at himself for running.
That frustration quickly turned to anger.
He slid to a stop, feet digging into the ground as he turned to face the creature. The Crawler howled, barreling towards him, its enormous weight tearing up at the earth.
Enough running, he decided.
His title might not have been earned, but it was still his.
By blood and duty, it was his.
What kind of Duke runs from an overgrown lizard?
He took a deep breath, his mana already moving.
Serpent of Fire, Rowan intoned, casting [Burning Whip].
A tendril of flame erupted from his back, curling around his arm. Despite the exhaustion, Rowan found himself grinning, the familiar thrill of magic surging through him, urging him on. The whip hissed as it slashed through the air, snaking around the beast's front leg.
Rowan kept moving, dodging the Crawler's wild swings as it thrashed about, trying to dislodge the fiery appendage. Its massive frame stumbled as the whip seared through its thick carapace, hissing in pain.
Almost there, he gritted his teeth, forcing his mana to keep flowing.
Suddenly, the monster's leg gave out beneath it, and it collapsed with a pained roar.
Rowan released his spell.
The [Burning Whip] dissipated as he let go of his Intent. But he wasn't done yet.
The Crawler reared back, a frantic look in its eyes. It was easy to forget that these monsters weren't mindless beasts, but creatures who had access to the System, same as him.
Yet Rowan didn't feel remorse. If it could, this beast would have killed him. The least he could do was return the sentiment.
The ground trembled as it tried to limp away, its heavy limbs pounding the earth, each blow sending a tremor through his feet.
Even on three legs, the Crawler lived up to its name. Moving away from him in a desperate bid for survival. Blood dripped down from its mangled limb into the dry earth, feeding it.
Rowan's gaze sharpened, his thoughts going cloudy. The thrill was coursing through his veins, and he made no effort in suppressing it.
He pulled at the last vestiges of his mana.
The orb of flame appearing in his hand flickered precariously, trying to draw on energy that wasn't there, threatening to dissipate. Rowan clamped down on it with his will, barely managing to hold it together.
It wasn't the best spell he'd ever cast, but it would do.
With a flick of his wrist, he sent the spell flying—and this time, the Crawler was too slow to dodge.
It whistled as it flew through the air. His bolt striking true and piercing through the monster's carapace with an explosion of blood and shattered bone.
An agonized shriek echoed across the barren plateau, the Crawler's leg now barely connected to the rest of its body by a thin strand of muscle and sinew.
It was on death's door, yet it didn't stop moving.
Growling in frustration, Rowan didn't think as he reached into the ring on his right hand. His family may have been dead, his home lost, but the wealth of a Great House ran deep.
Name:
Ironwood Spear
Grade:
Uncommon
There were thousands just like it in the Vault. Losing a few wouldn't hurt him.
He gripped the plain, unadorned spear firmly in his hand.
It wasn't anything special. A spearhead made of finely worked steel and a shaft of quality wood. It was a weapon a novice adventurer would wield. But just because it wasn't enchanted didn't make it any less deadly.
Rowan planted his feet, twisting his torso as he drew the spear back, the muscles in his back coiling in anticipation. His arm snapped forward, releasing the spear in one, fluid motion. It cut through the air, its polished tip glinting in the fading light.
Before it even reached its target, Rowan was already gripping an identical spear, setting up another throw.
The beast barely had time to react before it pierced its side with a wet crunch, embedding itself deep into its already wounded flesh.
Rowan didn't hear its pained howl over the pounding in his ears.
Just end it, he told himself, his hands shaking.
But as he raised his spear, he felt the thrill withdrawing, leaving behind a strange emptiness.
The anger that had fueled him moments ago began to fade, his grip around the spear slackened as his body sagged with fatigue.
Rowan watched the wounded creature limp away, shaking his head, trying to clear the fog from his thoughts.
With the wounds he'd inflicted the Crawler was as good as dead. The Scorched Plateau was a lot of things, but forgiving, it was not. If it wanted to have any hope of surviving it would need to find a vent. And with the state it was in, that didn't seem likely.
The teleportation token at his belt finally activated, a faint purple light surrounding him. Rowan collapsed onto the ground, feeling his muscles start to relax as the tension of the battle faded.
"At least I won," he muttered, but even to himself, the words felt hollow.
That had been happening more often as of late. His emotions running away from him and overwhelming his common sense. Rowan knew he needed to work on it, but that was a dragon he'd need to slay some other time.
The air around him shimmered as the token completed its work, whisking him away from the Plateau with a soft pop, leaving behind nothing but a faint purple mist.
The world blurred, and Rowan reappeared in his study, collapsing onto the hard stone floor. Groaning, he blinked away the stars dancing across his vision.
He'd gotten better at enduring it over the last few months, but the sudden shift in space always made him nauseous.
Teleportation was the domain of mages much stronger than him, so he wasn't going to complain. The tokens might not have been comfortable to use, but they worked, and that was all that mattered.
Wincing, Rowan staggered to his feet.
As he ran a hand through his onyx-black hair, it came away covered in soot and dust. He sighed, rolling his shoulders. "I need a bath."
Rowan unbuckled his trusty coat and set it aside, followed by his torn shirt and shredded pants. "At the rate I'm going through clothes, I'll empty the Vault by the end of the year."
That wasn't true, of course. His family's Vault had enough gear to outfit an imperial legion ten times over, but he was making a real effort out of it.
Rowan made his way to the bathroom, summoning a low-grade water crystal from his ring and slotting it into the wall. Warm water cascaded over him as the enchantments activated, soothing his aching muscles.
He closed his eyes, letting the heat soak into him.
Today's training had drained him—mentally and physically. As the haze of comfort and relaxation draped around his shoulders, his mind started to wander. Memories he'd been doing his best to suppress bubbling to the surface.
A city engulfed in flames. Towering horns, a monstrous shadow looming over a crumbling castle. Two figures flying up to meet it.
Rowan's chest tightened, his throat constricting.
"I should have been there," he whispered, pressing his hands against the shower wall, his breath coming in shallow gasps.
"I could have…"
Done nothing, he told himself. Died alongside them.
Rowan slammed his fist against the wall, his knuckles scraping against the rough stone. The pain grounded him, bringing him back to the present. He took a deep, shuddering breath, letting it out slowly.
Acknowledge it and move on.
He forced his muscles to relax, clenching his jaw until the memories receded.
The truth was, him being there wouldn't have changed a thing. He hadn't even Awakened then. Rowan had watched the events unfold from the relative safety of his family's countryside estate. Watched as the city of his birth burned, as the Jewel of the North fell.
Both his parents had been Archmages. Both had advanced their Cores to Violet, on the cusp of grasping the peak. And both had died.
More images followed, these ones different but equally as painful. Though in another way entirely.
His father's kind smile. The smell of his mother's cooking. His siblings laughter as they chased each other through the halls.
Then he remembered the day he'd exiled himself to spare his family the disgrace of having a dull child.
They had protested. Telling him he didn't need to go, that they wanted him home, but Rowan had insisted.
And in the end, that choice had saved his life.
I was supposed to be there. I was supposed to—
Before the thought could finish, Rowan clamped down on it with a vice-like grip, sending it into the further recesses of his mind.
A familiar chill settled into his bones, his thoughts settling.
I'll make them pay.
He repeated the vow like a mantra. He would find out who was responsible. He would grow strong enough to face them—and when he did, he would get justice.
But that path wasn't going to be a short one.
The water crystal flickered, drained of its mana. Rowan sighed, plucking it out and throwing it into the basket with all the rest of them.
Drying himself off, he threw on some clean clothes and made his way towards the bedroom, collapsing onto his bed. Exhaustion tugged at his consciousness, but he knew sleep would evade him, the same way it had for the last year.
Rowan glanced at his status, determination filling him.
Core:
Red [74%] [5 Levels]
It had been five months since he'd gained the System, and he was already three-quarters of the way towards advancing his Core to Orange—towards gaining a second affinity. Something that took most mages years to accomplish, Rowan could have done in a month.
He didn't know the full extent of what his trait did. He'd only heard of them in passing from the many tutors who had taught him over the years, but that was it.
Trait:
[Immortal Soul]
Rowan had spent more time than he'd care to admit trying to figure out what having an [Immortal Soul] meant, but he hadn't gotten far, the deeper truths of his trait eluding him.
It gave him an unparalleled speed of progression, that he knew for certain.
If only that didn't require him to spend hours on end alone with his thoughts.
He still forced himself to work on it.
While he might have been ahead of mages of the same rank, he was still far behind his peers. His unnaturally late Awakening having seen to that.
Most gained access to the System at thirteen, and with him turning twenty just a few short months ago, it put him seven years behind.
They're all Yellow-core mages already, Rowan grimaced. Well on their way towards Green.
In theory, he could have locked himself in a room and advanced his Core to Orange months ago. Gaining a second affinity was a tantalizing prospect, but he knew better.
Why have two sticks when you can have a spear? His mother's words came to him unbidden, a small smile creeping onto his face.
It would have been a mistake to focus all of his efforts on advancing. The five levels he'd get would certainly be useful, but a mage's power didn't come from stats. It came from his arsenal.
Whisper:
[Flash], [Heat], [Ember Spray], [Heat Wave], [Burning Hands]
Murmur:
[Firebolt], [Fire Shield], [Burning Whip]
Chant:
[/]
Hymn:
[/]
Aria:
[/]
Ode:
[/]
Epic:
[/]
Rowan had spent the better part of his life begging, pleading, and praying to any god that would listen, hoping for a miracle. By seventeen, he'd already resigned himself to the fact he would never wield magic—that he would never experience the same joy he saw in the eyes of those around him.
He closed his eyes, letting his body sink into the soft bedding, trying to relax.
Almost absentmindedly, he started threading mana through his channels, moving it down a familiar path. It gave him something to hold on to, the weight of it grounding him.
The magic circuit for [Fireball] completed.
It would take only a flicker of his Intent to turn his room into a smoldering pile of rubble, but Rowan held back, continuing to channel his mana without giving it meaning.
Shame I didn't manage to reach a vent today, he thought to himself. I'm so close to mastering it. I can almost taste it.
His Intent was crude. Barely strong enough to manifest the Chant. But it worked, and it would only grow stronger with practice.
Rowan had taken to magic like a starved man offered a feast. It was one of the few things that gave him respite from the darkness that swirled ever closer. There were circuits to memorize, spells to master, and even the pantheon itself wouldn't have been able to keep him away from that task.
Suddenly, the familiar flutter of wings distracted him from his thoughts. A black blur shot through the window a moment later, landing beside him with an excited trill.
Rowan groaned, pulling a pillow over his face. "Seriously, Kai? Again with the rats?"
His raven familiar tilted his head proudly, hopping closer and dropping the unfortunate rodent onto the bed.
"No," Rowan muttered, peeking out from under the pillow. "You're getting blood all over my sheets. Take that up to your nest."
Kai croaked indignantly before snatching his prize back, pecking at Rowan's hand and taking off, clearly offended at the lack of enthusiasm for his magnificent hunt.
He landed in his nest and gulped down the rat in one swift motion, bones and all.
Despite himself, Rowan chuckled, feeling lighter than he had just a moment ago.
"You glutton, you don't know how easy you have it," he smiled, scanning his familiar. "Gaining levels from eating. Now that just isn't fair."
Level:
9
Body:
Iron II [9 Levels]
Core:
N/A
Kai cawed smugly, tilting his head up with pride.
Rowan chuckled. "Don't get cocky. Give me a week or two to advance and I'll be a higher level again. Won't be so tough then."
His royal highness didn't deign that with a response, instead fluffing his feathers and settling in for a nap. Rowan shook his head in amusement, pulling off the slightly bloody sheet and tossing them into the corner. He lay back down, staring at the ceiling as his thoughts churned.
It was still daylight out. He'd teleported to the Plateau at sunrise, and failing to reach a vent had cut his trip short. The whole day was ahead of him, and Rowan certainly wasn't going to spend it in bed.
He sat back up, exhaling slowly. "Kai, I'm heading out," he said, pulling his coat back on. "I'll come and get you if I plan on heading into the Wilds."
His familiar let out a sleepy trill, too comfortable to protest.
Rowan left the bedroom, moving through the house he'd been renting for the last few months. He knew exactly where he was going. The Guild Hall was always busy. There was always something to keep his mind occupied.
Rowan opened the door and stepped out into the vibrant city of Litwick.
It wasn't Eiseylth, in fact, it was as far from it as one could get. He'd exchanged the deep north for the far south. The grand cathedrals for threadbare temples. The Archmages and Praetorians for hedge mages and Adventurers.
But Rowan was exactly where he needed to be. For what he planned, this city was perfect.