The layered oak planks of a ship’s cabin creaked under the pressure of relentless ocean waves. They shoved one after another against the hull as if to challenge the vessel’s integrity. An illumina-enchanted scale atop a drawer seesawed to the maritime bobbing rhythm, its light shifting back and forth across the walls, brightening the figures of a raven-haired girl, a red-robed old man, and a man who appeared to be in his early twenties.
Scenery now familiar to Dimitry.
In his palm was yet another vol pellet. Like many before it, it would transform into an alien energy and travel through his body—a process no longer painful thanks to Ignacius’ therapy. He took a deep breath and focused on absorbing its power. The weighty dark green shard shriveled as Dimitry converted its mass into a warm surge that traveled into his palm. Once a quarter of the pellet vanished, he stopped the drain. It would be a waste to use too much in one attempt. Supplies were limited.
Dimitry guided the warmth from his hand, through his arm, and into his chest. That was the easy step. Diverting the flow into his left hand proved more troublesome. Any that trickled into his abdomen or head would be unusable; only the vol that reached his left palm’s core could convert into light.
As the warmth traveled across his chest, only sparks of heat snuck into the rest of his body. A massive improvement over his initial attempts. Five days ago, almost all the vol either leaked from his circuits as exhaust or burned into his abdomen with only a sliver reaching his left palm. This time he successfully transferred around a third.
Dimitry consolidated the energy in his left hand. When it formed a ball of concentrated heat in his palm, he released it, envisioning it morphing into a clustered explosion of luminous light.
“Illumina.”
Scattered specks of light momentarily glimmered throughout the cabin. Although brighter, longer-lived, and more numerous than when he started, the results fared no better than yesterday.
Witnessing a lack of progress yet again, Dimitry’s optimism bittered into disappointment. His control over magic was the worst of the four. Even the faerie squirming beneath his clothes—the one who transferred from Saphiria’s dress to his just to savor his pain from up close—could produce concentrated balls of light without vol.
“Not bad, my boy. Your control over your circuits is progressing well enough.”
“Perhaps,” Dimitry said, “but as for the spell itself, I don’t feel like I’m making any progress at all.”
Ignacius exhaled a cloud of minty smoke through his nose. “That’s normal. I warned you it’ll take many months to learn illumina. A particularly untalented apprentice might waste years and fortunes on trial and error before mastering their first spell. You’re doing quite well by comparison.”
Perhaps Dimitry’s aptitude with invisall and accelall gave him an advantage. Even if that was true, the boost didn’t help him much beyond the fundamentals. He glanced at Saphiria, who sipped ale while watching him struggle with magic. Perhaps she could offer some advice. “Did you ever learn illumina?”
She shook her head. “Neither my father nor my mentors thought illumina would prove useful to me. I mastered floatia first.”
“I’m guessing your father taught you?”
“No. My guardian sorceress and the sorceress guildmistress did. Sometimes minecarts loaded with ore would get stuck in a tunnel. It was my job to lighten them.”
Of course her drive for learning magic involved mining. “Was your apprenticeship just as bad for you as it is for me?”
“Perhaps a bit worse.” Saphiria flashed him a smile, brought a bronze cup to her lips, and lowered it elegantly. “I often became so frustrated that I’d run away in the middle of a lesson to play. I’d hide behind Dorothy, but Leandra would always catch up to scold me.”
No longer awkward at any mention of Saphiria’s nobility, Ignacius chuckled. “Little miss was quite the troublemaker.”
Sure sounded like the life of a carefree duke’s daughter. When Dimitry met Saphiria, he never could have pictured her as a mischievous child. She was stoic and cold. Now, however, he could entertain the thought. “If Leandra’s your mentor, I’m guessing Dorothy was your trusted confidant?”
“Yes. She was my horse.”
Dimitry paused, then laughed.
“What is so humorous?”
“Normally, if someone told me their confidant was a horse, I’d call them crazy, but after seeing how well you treated Julia, I’d be crazy to assume otherwise.”
Wearing a pouty frown, Saphiria’s head turned up and away. “At least Dorothy never mocked me.”
A pang of guilt struck Dimitry. “I was just joking. Mostly.”
“Think long on your transgressions.”
“For what it’s worth, I find that part of you endearing.”
Saphiria glanced back to watch him from the corner of her eye before turning away once more. As if savoring his words, her countenance reclaimed its dignified expression, and she took another graceful sip of ale. “Forgiven.”
His eyes narrowed. Did Dimitry truly offend the girl, or was she using his comment as an excuse to brush up on noble mannerisms? Sometimes Saphiria practiced dancing and lectured him on courtly etiquette. Everyone needed a method for maintaining their sanity. Aside from gambling copper coins over knucklebones with crewmen and sharing stories, this ship had few avenues for entertainment.
Ignacius sighed. “You kids always make me feel old.”
It seemed Dimitry allowed his youthful appearance to reflect in his demeanor. He reminded himself of his goal and picked up another vol pellet.
“You won’t need that for now, my boy. I think you’re ready.”
“For what?”
“Your next lesson.” Ignacius refilled his pipe with orange powder, stood up, and paced the cabin. “Listen well.”
Reinvigorated by the prospect of acquiring knowledge that could help him progress with sorcery, Dimitry sat at attention.
Ignacius exhaled minty mists. “When casting spells, there are five factors to consider: flow, efficiency, distance, precision, and effect. Flow is what you’ve been learning these past few days—the ability to convey vol throughout the body. Efficiency is how much vol leaks out as exhaust. Both of these deal exclusively with a mastery over circuits.
“The other three factors deal with cores. Effect is the spell itself. For example, illumina’s effect is to create light. Distance is how far away from a core you can trigger an effect. At first, your distance will be short, my boy, but will grow further with practice. Lastly, there’s precision. It’s how accurately you can trigger an effect over time and space. When you tried to cast illumina earlier, the light scattered throughout the room because your precision was poor. You’ll be able to concentrate the effects into one spot with practice.
“The hardest of the five to master is effect. Every spell has a different one, and the most complicated effects can take years to learn. That’s why all except the most talented wizards and sorceresses have to specialize. Now do you understand why you shouldn’t be so upset over your progress?”
Dimitry leaned back against the cabin’s wall. The ease with which he ‘learned’ invisall and accelall gave him the impression that magic would be a breeze. He was wrong. “Looks like I’ve got my work cut out for me.”
“Don’t forget it,” Ignacius said. “No one gets to skip the basics.”
Despite all the supporting evidence and his struggles with learning magic so far, something told Dimitry that the old man’s words weren’t entirely accurate.
Whether that ‘something’ was instinct, intuition, or false hope was unclear.
Eleven wintry days passed since Dimitry set sail for Malten. The temperature seemed to drop further every moment, bringing about numbed extremities, misty breaths, and a yearning for Earth’s heating technology. How he missed having a cup of fragrant coffee ready after a hot shower. Hell, even his BMW’s heated seats would have been much appreciated.
But at least he had a splendid view.
The ship he rode cruised along the Sundock Confederacy’s coast—a frigid desert. What were initially endless sandy dunes transitioned into snowy fields filled with distant ice-capped mountains. Their pristine white peaks towered over calm waters.
To counteract the arctic chill, Dimitry wore layered blankets over his traditional Coldust dress. They concealed two things: a faerie snuggled warmly against his neck and a body whose circuits had healed substantially ever since he escaped Coldust. Ignacius’ relaxia treatments bore fruit. No longer inflamed, the purple vessels didn’t bulge from his skin.
In addition, Dimitry’s ability to control vol flow through his circuits had increased. Only half escaped as exhaust. Although his progress with efficiency and flow had impressed Ignacius, his control over effect, distance, and precision lacked improvement. Every illumina cast remained a depressing display of scattered glimmers.
That was why he stood on the ship’s deck, leaning over icy rails. With the crew hiding out of sight, probably passing around an incendia-heated stone downstairs, now was his best chance to consult an unlikely magician in private.
“More!” Precious whispered.
Dimitry broke off a pea-sized piece of limroot—a stiff, starchy tuber that resisted rot and frost on extended voyages—and snuck it under his hood. “You’re really liking this stuff, huh?”
“Ish preffy goof,” the faerie said while eating. The crunching came to a halt. “More!”
“Oh, I have plenty more, but first, you’ll tell me everything you know about mastering illumina.”
“I knew you’d ask eventually.” She giggled as a corrupt creature would. “But those who seek tutelage from the best must pay tribute. Don’t make me ask again.”
Dimitry snapped off another piece of limroot and shoved it into Precious’s outstretched hands.
Her golden fingernails clutched it greedily before retreating into their warm space.
He waited until the munching sounds by his ear went silent. “That enough?”
“More!”
“There’ll be no more until you answer me.”
“Fine. Then quit stalling and tell me what you want to know.”
“I’m the one that’s stalling?”
“Well, I’m certainly not.”
He sighed. “I heard from Saphiria that faeries don’t know magic by nature, which means you learned it at some point. I need pointers. Anything that could help me pick it up faster.”
“Wow. You’re pretty motivated, aren’t you?”
He was. Although Dimitry initially considered illumina a low-priority spell, after thinking it over, his opinion changed. Not only did bursts of light create great distractions in combat, but the thought of applying it to medicine excited him, sent shivers down his spine. In a world without endoscopes, the ability to create light inside a patient’s body held immeasurable value.
And illumina was just the beginning.
Preservia—a source of instant sterilization—could lower death rates substantially. Relaxia and snoozia contained the expertise of an anesthesiologist in a single pellet. And those were just the ones Dimitry considered. Who knew what other applications magic held in store?
“You could say I’ve developed a bit of an obsession,” he said.
“And you’ve come to seek my infinite wisdom?”
“Sure. Let’s go with that.”
Precious patted his temple. “You’ve made the right choice, Dumitry.”
“Get to the point.”
“Rushing won’t get you anywhere, my brash apprentice.” Her wings brushed against his neck as she curled into a ball atop his shoulder. “The way I learned was by trying over and over and over and over again until I produced lots of light.”
“That’s it?”
“Yep.”
Why did Dimitry expect anything useful from her? “There’s nothing else you can tell me? Not even a hint?”
“Nope. After watching a guy do it every day for decades, I guess I just kinda picked it up.”
Dimitry paused. “What guy?”
“Oops… I might have said too much.”
He stroked his chin. Everyone who saw the faerie mentioned her uncanny ability to speak—a skill she must have learned from a human. “An old friend?”
“More like an old idiot,” Precious said, her tone somber. A rarity for a haughty individual.
Although curious, he didn’t force information out of her—it seemed that even mystical creatures had histories they preferred not to remember. “If you want to talk about it, I’d be interested in listening.”
“There’s not much to say. A weird man caught a young faerie doing something disgusting…” Precious’s voice trailed off. “A-anyway, have you ever heard of aquatic demons?”
Dimitry laughed out loud. “You’re clumsy at changing topics, but I’ll bite. No, I haven’t. Are they like heathens?”
“Wrong!” She pinched his ear. “They’re monsters that live along the Gestalt Empire’s coast.”
“Sure sounds like heathens to me.”
“No, no. These are different. When I lived in Volmer, I saw them throw spears and cast strange magics.”
“Spears?” Dimitry’s smile vanished. For aquatic demons to wield spears and magic meant they held expertise in sorcery and craftsmanship—abilities one wouldn’t expect from mindless monsters like heathens. “Do they attack people?”
“Why? Are you scared?”
“No, I just prefer not to run for my life if I can avoid it.”
“But it’s so fun when you do,” Precious mused.
“You know that if I die, there’s a good chance you will too, right? And even if you survive, you won’t have anyone to buy you fruit anymore.”
“… that would be bad.” Precious paused. “I’ve overheard humans talking about aquatic demons drowning people that got too close to the beach. There are rumors they attack ships too, but I don’t know if that’s accurate. Dumb humans say all sorts of dumb things.”
Dimitry turned away from a snowy desert and towards the mounted crossbow with glowing limbs by his side—one of several mounted to the ship. The perfect weapon to fend off seaborne enemies. “Is that what these crossbows are for?”
“Crossbows?” Her hair tickling his earlobe, Precious squirmed out from under his clothes. “Huh, maybe.” She looked down over the ship’s railings. “Whoa! The water’s so blue!”
He scanned the ship for witnesses. Thankfully, no one had wandered up to the deck while they spoke. “Can you warn me before you decide to jump out and yell?”
“I just wanted to see the ocean.” Precious retreated to her favorite spot beside his neck. “It’s only my second time at sea. That hussy didn’t even let me look last time!”
“Want me to tell Saphiria you just called her a hussy?”
“Y-you… you wouldn’t.”
“I would.”
“Don’t!” Budding tears in her golden eyes, Precious tugged his collar. “You know how vicious she gets!”
“I don’t want to hurt Saphiria’s feelings, but if I get the sense that you’re mocking her, my tongue might just sl—”
“I’ll never ever say anything ever again! Do you want me to swear to Zera?! I’ll swear to Zera!”
Dimitry laughed once more. Although he learned nothing about magic and knew that Precious would continue babbling into his ear despite her promise, at least he vented some frustration. He felt ready to continue his studies.
Dimitry lost count of how many damn days he spent in the cabin. At least twenty by now. Ocean waves constantly clamored against the ship’s hull, rocking the pellet in his palm. It rolled on his skin, mocking him, telling him his next attempt at illumina would falter just like the hundreds before it. He should have listened. Ignacius warned him that learning magic would be a long, frustrating process, but Dimitry was in too deep. When he started something, he damn well finished it.
He absorbed the vol into his arm, guided its power across his chest, and concentrated the energy in his other hand’s palm. Dimitry imagined the brightest light, surgery lights, Times Square at night, a fucking quasar.
He released the accumulated power. “Illumina.”
And yet, nothing. Nothing except for several fleeting specks of light that vanished as soon as they appeared. An attempt just as shitty as those preceding it.
Frustration accumulated within. Dimitry tightened his grip around the half-consumed pellet and tossed it across the cabin. The weighty petal pounded into the floor, bouncing several times before hitting a drawer with a hollow thud.
The faerie snuggled beneath his clothes shook with suppressed laughter.
A gentle hand landed on his shoulder. Saphiria looked on with compassionate indigo eyes. “Would you like something to drink?”
Dimitry must have concerned her with his sudden outburst. He needed to relax. A series of deep breaths, each slowly released through his mouth, left him with a precarious sense of calm. “I’d appreciate it.”
“It’s normal to get frustrated,” Ignacius said. “I’ve had quite a few pupils give up over the years. I’d understand if you did.”
“I’m not giving up. Just got a little agitated.” Dimitry accepted a cup filled with half-frozen ale from Saphiria. He gulped down the slightly sweet, earthy beverage. “Thank you.”
“How are you?”
“Better now. Sorry about that.”
Accepting his empty cup, Saphiria nodded.
“You should take a break, my boy.”
Dimitry couldn’t. They would arrive in Malten soon, and he still hadn’t learned a single spell. “Let’s continue.”
“Oho. Full of spirit yet.” Ignacius held a pipe with one hand and a half-full pouch of crude vol pellets in the other. It rocked back and forth along with a bobbing ship.
Dread crept down Dimitry’s spine. He tired of failure. However, he had committed to learning magic and wouldn’t stop until he mastered illumina. He sat back down beside Saphiria and retrieved another dark green pellet, whose lustrous surface reflected the light of a nearby lamp. “Are you sure that imagery is the right way to trigger a spell’s effect?”
“That’s how everyone does it.” Ignacius blew an enormous cloud of minty white smoke. “Try not to overthink it. You’re making decent progress.”
Progress? To refer to Dimitry’s results as progress was generous. He respected wizards and sorceresses for willingly undergoing this torturous process for every single spell they learned.
He took another deep breath and absorbed a fourth of the pellet into his right palm’s core like he had done hundreds of times before. The warmth traveled through his circuits until it reached his other hand. Dimitry accumulated the heat into a ball of energy, which he released while thinking of the brightest light he could.
“Illumina.”
The results were the same faint specks of white light he saw before.
An expected yet disappointing conclusion.
Dimitry sighed, looking at the pellet in his hand. It made little sense. Why could vol, a metal, produce light? He glanced up at Ignacius. “How does illumina work?”
“That’s a strange question, my boy.”
“Why does vol transform into light when I use illumina?”
“That’s simple.” Ignacius emptied the charcoaled powder in his pipe and replaced it with fresh feracide. “Whenever we cast a spell, Zera grants us the ability to transmute vol through the power of her words—the chant’s power. Even children know that.”
It was true: chants had power. If Dimitry tried to cast a spell without one, all he would do was waste vol without producing an effect. But he refused to accept the ‘God did it’ explanation. While he couldn’t discount the existence of divine entities, especially given his circumstances, gods too must have operated through rational principles.
Any high schooler knew that visible light came from photons with a frequency within a specific range, released by excited electrons falling from higher to lower energy states. To excite electrons, one needed energy in the form of powerful light or heat. But the former made little sense. For illumina to produce light through excited electrons would require even more powerful light as a catalyst. A circular and pointless endeavor.
The other option was to produce light with heat. Usually, heat required fuel, and there was only one fuel in magic.
Vol.
Whenever Dimitry absorbed the green metal, it would transform into a warmth that traversed his body. What if magic was merely the act of transferring energy? What if he transferred that energy to his surroundings? What if he targeted electrons in the air to produce light?
Anything was worth a try.
Dimitry looked at the shrunken pellet rolling within his palm. Once more, he absorbed the vol, guided it through his body, and into his other hand. After concentrating the warm sensation, he released it through his left palm’s core, thinking of transferring its energy to the electrons of gas in the air.
“Illumina.”
Throughout the cabin, scattered specks of light shone at once. This time, however, they were numerous, luminous, and persistent.
Finally!
Improvement!
“Well done, my boy,” Ignacius said. “I told you that all of your practice would pay off. All plateaus are overcome eventually. You did so sooner than most.”
Was it just a fluke?
Dimitry’s fingers trembled with anticipation as he reached for another crude pellet. What if he visualized something different this time? Something specific?
The pellet quivered on his unsteady palm before he absorbed half of it. While releasing its warmth through his other hand, Dimitry envisioned feeding its energy to electrons in molecules in the air, exciting them, making them rise in energy levels, and releasing the unstable burden via photons.
Another volley of light exploded throughout the cabin. Aside from being more impressive than before, there was another difference. Instead of the bright white he had seen countless times before, this light had a lavender tint.
Ignacius shot his head into Dimitry’s direction with wide-open eyes. The pipe fell out of his mouth and hit the floor with a wooden clack, spilling its burnt orange powder onto oak planks. “Boy! What was that?! How is it that color?!”
Saphiria blinked as if in complete disbelief of what she saw.
Why wasn’t the light white? Was the change because of the fluorescence spectrum of atmospheric gas? Did magic go beyond ‘imagine producing light’? Perhaps a deepened understanding of how light was produced allowed Dimitry to guide his visualization more specifically, leading to aberrant results.
But how far did his discovery go?
Back on Earth, nitrogen comprised the majority of atmospheric gas. Was this world any different? Consuming the rest of the pellet, Dimitry endeavored a specific vision. He thought of vol acting to excite electrons in nitrogen gas, complete with them expelling photons.
“Illumina."
Vibrant violet light erupted throughout the cabin.
Beautiful progress!
Ignacius jumped to his feet in a manner too sprightly for an old man. “How are you…”
Dimitry couldn’t suppress his smile. “That might be a little difficult to explain.”
After all, how long would it take to describe scientific concepts to people raised on religion, astrology, and superstition? Armed with a generous supply of vol, Dimitry prepared himself for extended experimentation.
Suddenly, a long boat ride felt like it would be too short.