The Forsaken Hero

Harmony. That was the only word I had to describe the elemental magic before me. Gaiac spun its shield from its own essence, which I found indistinguishable from mana.

”It’s beautiful,” I whispered, reaching out, laying my hand against the shield. It pulsed with its own heartbeat, warm and soft to the touch. Every vein and strand was impossibly delicate, yet so perfectly spun that each one carried enough to fuel a sixth-circle spell.

The elemental retracted its shield and summoned it again, doing so slowly so I could study it.

There had been several moments in my study of magic that revolutionized the way I cast. The first was when I discovered chants were deliberately designed to help mages learn magic but never master it, and so I transcended them. The next came as I made it into Enusia and learned from the innate magic of monsters. Beginning with the basilisk and culminating in the battle against the Canyon Crawler, where Korra and I almost died in Blue Canyon, I slowly incorporated their techniques until I invented Soul Casting.

Then came arrays, which had taken me to the seventh level. I’d stayed here ever since. Most of my high-level magic was just that–a combination of arrays and copied abilities, like the Shining Aegis I relied on.

I might have been able to replicate some aspects of the Prism Elemental’s shield, but that held no interest for me. What it did was completely different, and if I wanted that power, I needed to strip everything I knew of magic and start from the beginning.

Maybe not the beginning, exactly. The more I watched and began to try with my own mana, the more familiar it felt. Gaiac wasn’t using an effect. It was the effect. The magic was in its very nature, and it wasn’t so much creating a shield as simply revealing itself.

”Is this how all elementals work?” I whispered with awe.

It hummed. ”To some degree. We are merely manifestations of creation, given will and mastery over an aspect.”

”Like demons?”

”No. Demons are as you, only warped and twisted by infernal power. We have been thus since the beginning, before memory and time. The eldest among us claim we were the thoughts, feelings, and intentions of the great creator. We have drifted in our kind and purposes, each to their own, but it is our nature.”

”What about the magic we use to summon elementals?”

”Most of our kind are weak-willed, content to drift upon the laws that order them like leaves in a stream. Your magic simply changes those laws and shifts the direction of the river. To obey is only natural.”

”And when they are destroyed? Does that...?” I hesitated, chewing on my lip.

It hummed in amusement. ”It means nothing. They exist in your realm by using your magic as fuel. Once that magic is destroyed, they return. Elementals have a stable existence; we do not lose our essence or intelligence as demons or mortals do. We change and become, gaining and losing power, but to all extents, we simply are.”

Something about the way he said that made the idea itching in the back of my mind click into place. I nodded slowly and clasped my hands together, drawing on the power of the Oracle of Eternity. My mana rose, instinctively forming the beginnings of runes, but I scattered them. When it had settled, I took a deep breath and let it flow again. This time, I infused it with fate, drawing on the stars of my aura instead of runes.

The spell collapsed, unable to support itself. Runes were essential to magic, after all. They gave mana shape and direction, changing the realm’s laws to allow an effect to occur. A shield, healing, a vision...on a fundamental level, it was all the same.

But the elemental didn’t use runes. It didn’t manipulate mana using the laws of Enusia. Why would it, when it had its own laws, its own reality, to paint with?

Again. And then again. My premonition proved right; it was closer to weaving fate than casting spells, only instead of using raw element as I had on the edge of Oblivion, or mending Luke’s soul, I could use mana. It sounded simpler; I was more comfortable using mana than fate, but it was much, much harder. My way of casting spells was just as integral to my life as knowing how to breathe. Asking myself to set aside one was as hard as the other. Even if I wanted to hold my breath, at some point, I would break and gasp for air.

The passage of time drifted somewhere in the back of my mind, but soon, even thoughts of the battle raging outside my realm were consumed by the effort. But progress was slow, and eventually, I turned from casting spells altogether. My abilities became the new focus, for those were halfway there already, woven into the fabric of my soul without external force or sustenance.

The first glimmer of success came when, for a moment, I managed to manifest a shimmering golden sphere between my hands. My tail stuck straight out, and I stared at it in shock, bordering on disbelief, but before I could celebrate, it winked out again.

”I...I did it,” I whispered, looking up at the elemental, my tail beginning to swish through the swirling dust.

”A start,” it tempered.

Motivated by that first success, I threw myself back into it and, in a few attempts, replicated the feat. This time, I adjusted the flow of mana, shifting it from manifesting to sustaining. That fixed the problem, and the wavering sphere stabilized, pulsing with a steady rhythm. I had equated the elemental’s light to a heartbeat, but now I understood it was actually in time with the natural cycle of mana in its soul. That’s what was happening with mine, at least.

”What is it, my Lady?” Haven asked, appearing again.

I jumped slightly and almost lost control, but caught it again, glaring at him. He seemed unaffected, gazing at me curiously.

”Adaptive Resistance,” I grumbled, though my frown soon smoothed into a smile. ”I’ve never been able to hold it outside of my body or magic like this before. Flare it for a bit, maybe, but to actually see it manifest? It’s beautiful.”

”But what is it meant to accomplish?”

”Nothing, it’s just light. But don’t you see? This isn’t caused by my ability. Well, it is, but...I made it. I always had to force it to obey, but like this, it’s sustained and stabilized by mana. I might even be able to...there!”

The sphere expanded to my nudge, enveloping me completely. It steadied again when it was about a foot away, resembling Gaiac’s shield, if much simpler and cruder.

”I still don’t see the difference between this and weaving it into your magic,” Haven said.

”That’s because you are young and inexperienced. You developed an aura in a hostile world, and didn’t have a chance to realize its potential,” Gaiac said. ”Child of Star and Shadow, would you permit me to show him?”

I nodded, tensing a little as the little chunk of crystal lit up. An intricate magic circle formed, and a ray of pure white light shot out at my chest. It was an eighth-level attack, causing the air to tremble and tear with black spatial fissures.

When it struck the golden sphere, it scattered into ribbons, drawn and dispersed through the web of Adaptive Resistance. That part I was expecting, but the sudden flow of mana took my breath away. I gasped, pressing my hand to my chest, as warmth blossomed in my soul. It spread from the tips of my horns to the end of my tail, causing it to stir.

The mana consolidated quickly, placing a burning stretch on my soul. My aura surged from the excess, and I hurriedly rested my hand on the Aetherial Prism, directing it there instead.

”G-Gentle, next time,” I gasped when I had found my voice again.

”Forgive me. I anticipated the efficiency you displayed during our battle. I was mistaken,” Gaiac replied.

My fingers curled into a loose fist against my chest. Hundreds of hours of training with Emlica, and the best I’d ever been able to manage was roughly fifty percent efficiency, and that was only if I wasn’t overburdened by multiple spells at once. But now? It couldn’t have been lower than eighty. And I wasn’t even trying.

More importantly, this wasn’t a change to Adaptive Resistance, but to the underlying foundation. Just what kind of potential did the rest of my magic have?

”I think,” I said slowly, a small smile spreading. ”I think I’m going to practice some more.”

”You don’t have much time,” Gaiac observed. ”Your war progresses, does it not?”

”In that case, I’ll just have to find some more. Haven, if anyone comes for me, ask them to wait.”

”Where are you going?” It asked, a hint of apprehension creeping into its voice.

”Oblivion. Just don’t tell Fyren, alright?”