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What Erick called ‘burgers’ and what everyone else called ‘patties’, sizzled on the flat top stove, next to a nice pile of caramelized onions. Those two items alone were enough to fill the kitchen and the rest of the first floor of the house with savory smells. Kiri scattered bright red and black spices on the browning meat, further flavoring the air with dried peppers and crushed peppercorns.

“You know? You’re the only one who doesn’t cook with bluebell,” Erick said, as he washed the lettuce for the salad.  

Kiri tossed the grilling onions, saying, “I don’t see the appeal. It’s too… soft? Not exactly flowery, even though it is a flower, but… it’s like? Eh. It’s too subtle. That’s the word.” She added more ground peppercorns, saying, “I want to taste the spice.”  

Erick said, “There’s this spice on Earth that’s a lot worse than bluebell. It’s called parsley, and I never understood why anyone cooked with it. It’s basically lettuce, but sized for sprinkling—”

The door to the house opened. Someone walked inside.  

Erick glanced over, through the light, his eyes acting as though he was there in person, in the foyer. He spoke through the light, to the arrival, saying, “Welcome home, Teressa!”  

Teressa looked around. “What’s going on?”

Erick, still in the kitchen, but with senses in the foyer, said, “I’m playing around with [Lightwalk]. Dinner will be ready in ten minutes.” He withdrew back to himself, and called out, “I tapped the keg already!”

Teressa walked into the kitchen, saying, “You call it [Lightwalk], but that is not [Lightwalk].”

With a gentle grip of white glows, and while he was chopping onions three meters away, Erick filled a mug of beer for Teressa. He floated it toward her, saying, “A guy has to have some secrets, right?”

Teressa took the mug and a sip, then said, “I’m not complaining. Just sayin’.”

Kiri watched as Erick floated a jar of salad dressing out of the cold box, using nothing but a wrap of white glows. She said, “I think I need to get [Lightwalk]. Is that option for the light dungeon still available?”

“Yes.” Erick said, “As far as I know. Just gotta talk to Merith, the River Mage who oversees the whole thing. You remember her?”

“I remember her.”

“They might have some people currently harvesting it all, so you probably have to put in a request.” Erick said, “But whenever you want to go is fine with me. We can handle you being gone for a week.”

Kiri smiled as she poked at the onions, saying, “Thank you.”

“It’s an option for everyone.” Erick said, “Far as I know, that’s what I asked for and what the Headmaster agreed to.”

“I don’t want it,” Teressa said, walking over to the grill. “No bluebell?”

Kiri smirked, saying, “You can make dinner tomorrow with all the bluebell you want. I’m going to look into getting [Lightwalk]. Maybe they’ll be able to take me tomorrow and I can avoid your bluebell travesties.”

“Have you tried aura work, Kiri?” Erick asked, setting the finished salad aside. “I couldn’t manage any, but you should theoretically be able to remake every spell using that, too.”

Kiri flipped the cooked burgers, then added cheese. As slices of yellow melted into the meat, she said, “Aura work was considered purely esoteric back at the Tower, so I never got the opportunity, and I never had the desire. We mostly just fought with each other and learned how to work the spells necessary to hold the line, to be proper soldiers.” She added, “I mean. Obviously, soldiers are needed, and I learned a lot. But being out in the world had been better for me, I think. The point is: I never heard of anyone remaking any spells with any aura work, either. The only things they taught were how to feel out your aura, so you could avoid hitting your allies with any aura spells.”  

“I still have to try that [Fireball Aura].” Erick said, “I wonder if it would hurt.”

Teressa laughed, then said, “I’ll get the rod of [Treat Wounds] ready.”

Kiri said, “The first time I used my [Fireball Aura] was the last time I ever used that awful thing. I needed a rush to the doctor— That reminds me. I once saw Jane use a [Force Shrapnel] fire aura, and a [Cleanse Aura] at the same time. It was interesting. They worked well together, for reasons I never really considered until recently.”

“Oxygen makes fire burn better.” Erick nodded, saying, “[Cleanse] would restore the oxygen in the air. Seems like an interesting spell?”

Kiri smiled, then added, “I made my first really good spell in a long while, this morning.”

“Oh?!” Erick asked, “Good job, Kiri! What’d you make?”

Kiri popped out a blue box, saying, “It’s… A minor goal that worked itself out, after I watched your [Comet Swarm] last night.”

--

Firelight Assistant, instant, long range, 502 Mana

Designate a target. Firelight Assistant bombards that target with a stream of 15 Firelight Bolts. Each Bolt deals an initial 15 + WIL damage, and WIL firelight damage per second, for 15 seconds. Each patch of firelight on the target will increase firelight damage done, up until the target is completely coated in firelight.

Shadow aspect magic turns solid while firelight burns in the vicinity.

--

Erick said, “That looks nifty.”  

“It’s tier 2, too.” Kiri said, “Mana Altering for Fire and Light, with a focus on damage over time, and then [Conjure Force Elemental]. The second half of the spell is [Force Bolt], and then you have [Force Crash] for the duration and multiple Bolts.” She added, “Joining the parts together, all at once, went a lot easier than I thought it would go. I just harmonized them all, and cast.”

Erick’s smile was that of a happy teacher. While a pleasant warmth spread in his chest, he said, “That’s really good, Kiri.”

Kiri withdrew into herself a little, saying, “It’s no [Firelight Comet Swarm], but it’s great for smaller targets.”

Erick happily said, “You did well! Good job.” He added, “That’s under projected costs, too, isn’t it?”

Kiri smiled to herself, then turned to Erick, saying, “A great deal less than what I thought it would cost. Those effects should have bloomed it to a thousand mana, or more.”

Poi walked into the room. “Dinner ready?”

Kiri said, “Yup!”  

Dinner was good.

Erick read about [Teleport Other] till bedtime.  

The next morning, he saw Kiri off, in the foyer of the house. She had contacted Merith, the woman overseeing the Light Slime dungeon, and had gotten clearance to come on down, and spend a week gaining [Lightwalk]. Kiri would be staying in Windy Manor, with Jane, and maybe they would come back together, when both of them were ready for the trip. Or maybe not? However it happened was fine with Erick. Kiri needed [Lightwalk], and now she was going to go get it.

Erick said, “Good luck! Don’t let anyone take advantage of you.”

“Thank you, Erick. If you need me back for anything, let me know. I shouldn’t take more than a week.”

Sunny floated in the air around Kiri, her serpentine form holding in a swerving, repeating pattern, as her tiny, feathered wings undulated in time with the rest of her. She flickered green, eager to go. Ophiel, for his part, chirped in the air a short ways from Sunny, eyeing the couatl-shaped [Familiar].  

Erick said, “Have fun.”

“I hope so!”

Kiri blipped away in a green flash, followed closely by Sunny. Ophiel just stared at the fading green lights, his chirps turning a bit more sad-flute, than intrigued-harp.  

Erick patted his own shoulder, saying, “Come on, Ophiel.” Ophiel quickly took his perch, as Erick said, “Let’s go read about [Teleport Other].”

- - - -

[Teleport Other] was not like [Teleport Object], in that the former dealt with living, consenting or denying persons, and the later dealt with inert matter. Back on Earth, the difference between the two was largely philosophical, for how could anyone point to a part of the body, and say ‘Lo! This is what makes something alive!’, when there was no single part of the body that was truly any different than any other?  

… Or maybe the instruments of Earth were just not good enough to recognize a living thing?

But whatever the case, on Veird, the difference between Object and Other was solid, irrefutable, and perfectly demonstrable, in the presence, or absence, or degree, of the existence of the aura that all living things possessed. Even plants had auras, but unless they were magical plants, or established plants, or older plants, then those auras were usually overshadowed by the presence of whatever other higher-order lifeform was nearby.  

This was how a person could [Teleport] with fresh produce, and not have all their produce get left behind, or accidentally drop their gut flora whenever they blipped away, leaving messes behind wherever they went. If it wasn’t for this simple, ‘automatic overwriting’ of the various tiny things that were near a person, [Teleport] would simply never work, because it would kill a person in process; either right away, as some of their body mass left them, or slowly, as their insides failed due to massive disruption of the body’s biome.  

(Reading this got Erick instantly excited, as his thoughts turned to the [Teleport Lock] of the Shades. Were there Force constructs, or perhaps bacteria, or something, that populated the air around the Shades, on command, for kilometers in every direction, that took hold of the gut biome, or some other smaller biome, and said ‘no’, to [Teleport]s, thus violating the ‘safety’ of [Teleport], and making it not work? Erick considered a construct as the best option. Some sort of higher-order aura, perhaps?)

(But as he flipped through the Wayfarer book, and read about [Teleport]’s safeties, he started to severely doubt that he had somehow stumbled upon some great secret regarding [Teleport Lock] that no one else had been able to see in all the years of [Teleport]ing on Veird. If the problem was as small, and as large, as corrupting the aura of everyone nearby, then surely someone would have tried that before? Right?)

[Teleport] had a lot of safeties. Violating any of them would cause the spell to not work as intended, and thus cause the spell to not activate as desired. The ability to overwrite smaller auras was only part of these safeties.  

One of the spell’s safeties was regarding destination. [Teleport] did not work if the target location was occupied; the spell would shunt you to the nearest unoccupied space, with preference given to a space that was along the direction that you blipped from, or close by the ‘line’ drawn from point A and point B. (Oddly, the problem of having air or water in the new location was not considered, since [Teleport] did not technically move you, because what blipping did, was put you in the new location as though you got there normally.) Another safety was regarding momentum; blips always bled off momentum, and stabilized the target to their new location. Orientation was another; you always blipped to the new location in roughly the same up-down configuration in which you started.  

But regarding [Teleport Other], there were still safeties to keep in mind with the spell, that if they were not honored, then the spell would not work, or it would, and you would end up with [Partial Teleport Other]. [Partial Teleport Other] was a failure, though. The goal was [Gate], not ‘kill someone by blipping half their body away’, and from what Erick was reading right now, it seemed that people who opted for the killing spell never made it very far with any further [Teleport] magics.

The Wayfarers method of [Teleport Other] was almost ‘tricking the system’, so to speak. Just how like Archmage Opal worked her [Ward Destruction], the Wayfarers had broken down [Teleport Other] into a simple, complicated process. First, a mage had to overwrite the aura of another, or match their aura to the other’s, or find some compromise and force it on the other, and then make them [Teleport]. The problem, then, fully laid out, was thus:

Not only were you reinventing [Teleport], but you were also making someone else make the spell.

Another problem to this process was that other people were not discrete bits of ‘self’, they were sort of like spells, themselves; they were composed to many parts, all working under the power of umbrella of an individual’s soul. But Wayfarers were not soulmages, and [Teleport Other] was not mind magic, either.  

All [Teleport] spells were actually a form of elemental magic.

(It was here, that Erick learned more about Everlin Etherspray, the air Elementassi responsible for the creation of all [Teleport] magics on Veird and the founder of the Wayfarer’s Guild. It was here, that Erick learned of the real importance of the Elemental Bodies.)

(Back before the Sundering, Everlin was born to a slaver elven mother, and fathered by a summoned air elemental. Because of these well established birthing methods, and Everlin’s status as an Elementassi, Everlin should have been born with an innate control of her aura, and control of magic, and thus gotten a large step up on everyone else not born to an Elemental Body. It wasn’t till later in life that she was actually able to harness this innate ability, but that was a side note in the greater story. The point was this: While normal people struggled with aura control in order to work their magic, Everlin could turn her entire body into an ‘aura’ of air, and take direct control of the mana around her.)

(These children, gifted and burdened with Elemental Bodies, was the purpose behind the elven, and other’s, habit of summoning elementals for procreation. But in elven society, these children were not to be prodigies. They were to be slaves to their parents.)

But with regard to what Erick was here for:

Remaking [Teleport Object] was closer to remaking [Blink], since the range was so much shorter. There was also no other auras involved except the caster’s, since rocks and otherwise had no ability to say ‘no’. Because of this, Erick had a relatively easy time remaking [Teleport Object].

But to make [Teleport Other], one had to bring another into one’s own Elemental Body, and then move them. Here lay another problem: just because someone was riding along in your Elemental Body, they could say ‘no’ whenever they wanted. You, in your Elemental Body, were like an amoeba, surrounding and dragging another along for the ride.

This then was the big secret behind [Teleport Other]:

[Teleport] required active, purposeful consent, in order to join in the [Teleport] of another.

[Teleport Other] was slightly different, and very different, all at the same time. [Teleport Other] always had in it some innate assent in order to start the process. This assent, either unintended or accidental or ‘harmless’, was the wound in the natural ‘no’ that most people had, that stopped all undesired [Teleport]s. Exploiting this ingress, expanding it into a full-fledged ‘yes’, was yet another hard part of the spellwork that was made somewhat easier by the amoeba-like nature of all Elemental Bodies.

So to [Teleport Other], one had to fully invade another, and control their probability from the inside.

The good thing, though, if it could be thought of as ‘good’, was that the initial ingress could be as vague as an intruder crossing a threshold, into a place the intruder should not be, or as certain as someone agreeing to something entirely unrelated to the situation. Or a handshake, or raising their hand in class, or accepting an invitation, or anything at all where one person connected to another.  

Erick instantly thought back to Apogee offering him a drink, and him saying ‘okay’.  He laughed, then said, in a friendly sort of way, “That asshole!”

He sat down the Wayfarers book, and thought, while Ophiel twittered on his perch. Erick looked to his feathered, many eyed [Familiar].  

Ophiel did not have the problems of gut biomes or aura control. Ophiel was a single function of mana. Erick could channel mana through [Summon Ophiel], and create a symphony of deep, resonant sound, like that of a portal to a mysticism far older than any location had any right to be; but he didn’t, because Poi was home and that sort of sound made the sapphire scaled man very uncomfortable.  

Instead, Erick channeled pure, untainted mana through his hand. The white flare sticking up from his palm vibrated with the sound of his own soul, filling the room like a memory of a life made manifest. It was a complicated sound that he had heard before, but each moment the sound shifted. It was the same song sung in different voices, or rather the same voice, but with focuses held in different directions, sometimes focusing on difficult times, but then changing to see that same time in a different light, full of moments of growth and change and joy at all existence could be. Hearing himself was emotionally hard to bear, and difficult to understand. Erick cut the channel.  

Whatever this white glow was, it was not something as simple as channeling through a Stat, and producing a light. Stat enchanting produced resonances, for sure, but they were more the resonances of light wavelengths. This, right here, was like channeling through a very complicated spell, or rather, through a person’s soul.  

 Erick wasn’t sure how Kiri had done it, but channeling her soul had made Charisma Stat jewelry. How odd was that?

Erick looked up to Ophiel.  

Channeling through [Summon Ophiel] was much less complicated than channeling unaligned mana.  

But Ophiel would already be on the same wavelength as Ophiel…  

Erick hummed, then shrugged, saying, “Might as well try for the low hanging fruit, first.”

- - - -

Two Ophiel hung out in the air, far north of Spur. With the sun shining down from a clear blue sky, one Ophiel turned into light, and the other one got tossed around. There was much whining, and a veritable cacophony of flute sounds, as Ophiel voiced his displeasure to Ophiel.  

But a spell was made.

In another experiment, a temporary being called Jewels, looking like a crystal and telekinetically carrying around a hundred stone knives, got tossed around, turned to light, and flung back and forth. He broke a few times, but Erick just made another.

He made his second spell of the day, too.

In another bit of fun, Erick, as Ophiel, and with Ophiel as a being of light, hovered near a mimic. Ophiel poked the mimic with a pseudopod of light, half the size of the ten meter tall not-agave. The mimic poked back, lifting a pointed, crystalline stabber into the air, jabbing around at the density that disturbed its camouflage. Stab stab! went the crystalline not-leaf, semi-curious and semi-furious at the same time.  

That was sort of like consent, right?  

Ophiel wrapped the mimic in light, and pulled it inward. The mimic was only briefly confused, as it stumbled, entering the luminous air, but it continued onward, into the brightness, fully into Ophiel’s clutches, mingling itself with its captor, like a fly not aware that it was only tangling itself deeper in the spider’s web.

The mimic ended up scattered across the sand, broken into pieces and parts. Ophiel tried again, on another mimic. This one, too, went flying into pieces.

Again, again, again.  

Eventually, Erick managed to make it work. Back home, in Spur, a blue box appeared.  

- - - -

Erick frowned at his three new, and mostly useless, spells.

[Teleport Familiar], which was basically what it said on the tin. [Teleport Summon], which was also exactly as advertised. And finally, [Teleport Monster], which might be the only good one of the bunch. Each of them were basic spells, too. Just like [Teleport], or [Teleport Object], or [Blink].

--

Teleport Familiar 1, instant, touch, 250 mana

A Familiar reappears in another known location, max 100km distance.

Exp: 0/100

--

Teleport Summon 1, instant, touch, 250 mana

A summoned creature reappears in another known location, max 100km distance.

Exp: 0/100

--

Teleport Monster 1, instant, touch, 250 mana

A monster reappears in another known location, max 100km distance.

Exp: 0/100

--

Erick spoke to no one in particular, “The complexity of the ‘Other’ is an intrinsic part of [Teleport Other], eh?”  

Ophiel squawked; a minor symphony of miffed flutes and concerned guitars.  

“But why is [Teleport Monster] a valid thing?” Erick asked, “Are monsters not as complicated as ‘others’? Or are they less complicated because the soul is solidly in the rad?”

Poi turned the page of his book, not paying too much attention to whatever Erick was going on about; the archmage in residence was not dying from self inflicted magic, nor was he mind controlled, and that was the extent of Poi’s duties.  

Poi spoke without looking to Erick, “I also have to defend you from attack.”

“Right.” Erick playfully waggled a finger, saying, “Can’t forget that one.”  

Poi smirked, turning the page of his book.

Erick asked, “So here’s a hypothetical: Do Wayfarers work with local governments in order to experiment on prisoners fated to die?” He held up the Wayfarer’s book, saying, “Because this is rather light on that specific detail of gaining an ‘other’ to experiment upon.”

Poi asked, nonchalant, “Do you want a prisoner to experiment on?”

“No!” Erick said, “Sheesh!”

Poi just smirked.  

Erick flipped through the book, saying, “But how do they—” Erick had stopped at a random entry for the spell. He had read over this section before, but he had missed something important. “Oh.” Erick read, “Here we go: ‘Contacted a Druid and obtained a map to a grove of failed Arbor trees slated for destruction, for they were becoming deadly to travelers.’ Huh.” He paused. He asked no one in particular, “I could try blipping an old tree? Why isn’t this part bolded more? Ah…” Erick concluded, “They probably expected me to study this book more than I have.”

“Some [Grow]ing experiments, then?”

Erick frowned, as he read what he was reading. “Not just any trees. Arbor trees, meaning failed tree [Familiar]s. Meaning real beings.” Erick said, “I’m not creating a being just to kill it.” He frowned. He added, “I’m not actually sure I’m... comfortable killing a person to continue, either.”

Poi said, “There’s no—” He went silent.

“… What?”

Poi leveled a look at Erick, saying, “There’s no ethical way to [Teleport Other]. The actual spell can be just as deadly as the spell making process.”  

Erick let that sink in for a moment, as he thought. Eventually, he said, “But if it’s just about complexity… Maybe I can cheat.”

- - - -

The garden in front of Erick’s house was as vibrant and as beautiful as ever, even though the sky was grey and cloudy.  

Potatoes grew on vines, spreading across the dark orange soil, while lemons, large and yellow, grew on tall trees. Onions and chives and various herbs scented the air, while red tomatoes grew next to vines of Erick beans; the white beans that originally sprouted from [Exalted Storm Aura]. Corn, tall and ready to be picked, grew on the side of the garden, next to melons of various types.  

But there were a few problems. Overgrown vines. Yellowed shoots. Rotten veggies that had not been picked soon enough. So Erick spent the next hour cleaning up the place. Produce went into baskets, held by Ophiels, to be deposited in the cold storage room, next to the kitchen. Snipped vines and rotten veggies and fruits went into the compost pile, on the other side of the house. And then Erick saw he needed to move around his compost. The first bin of compost was still rotten veggies, but the final bin had lost its smell, entirely, and seemed like good, dark soil. Good compost got tossed around into the garden, while the not-yet-compost each moved over a bin, where it was left to cure how it could. When normal maintenance was done, Erick moved to the rear garden space, where he grew the experimental plants—

Several taps of something dropped across his head.

“What the FU—!” Erick stopped. He looked up. Rain splashed on his face. After a long moment of incomprehension, he laughed at the sky, then calmed to a gentle smile, saying, “I think that’s the first time rain came without me directly calling for it.”

Poi raised a [Weather Ward] over his position, nearer the house, asking, “Are you going to work in the rain?”

“You should already know the answer to that!” Erick said, playfully.

“I was hoping I was wrong...”

Erick just smiled, as held in his hand the lemon he had saved from the compost. It was only partially rotten, and that was fine. The seeds inside were still good. With an expertly held [Greater Lightwalk], Erick held the lemon in front of him, and crushed it apart, pulping it in seconds, while also holding the pulp in place, preventing it from splashing everywhere. The yellow fruit turned into a splashed out globe of bumpy skin, juice, and several slimy seeds.  

Erick gazed upward; the light around him following his sight, and his intention. Hard light formed bowls, and funnels, catching the soft rain into a single collected pool. It was not raining hard, and thus there was not much water, but there was not a need for a torrent, at this time. When he had a pool a meter wide and an inch deep, Erick moved the holding light, separating the single collection of rain into several collections of rain; seven, to be precise. Into each of these, he put a seed, while the remnants of the lemon were blipped over into the proper compost pile.  

If a lack of complexity was the problem of getting [Teleport Other] to come together, then one possible solution to this problem could be create a tree of a thousand fruits, with a hundred different spells. But that was a far off ‘maybe’. For now, Erick would try with several fruits, and maybe one or two spells, and only for the purposes of gaining some functionality that he needed, going forward. He wasn’t about to accidentally create a Daydropper type of plant; not yet. If the spells he made today accidentally managed to soak into the seeds and create a magical life, it wouldn’t be a horrible outcome.

So that’s what Erick did, starting with [Watershape].  

But first, a dry run.

Focusing on the first seed, hovering in the air, in a minor pool of water, Erick cast [Grow], using the purposeful, directed aspect of the spell, transforming and sprouting the seed into a plant similar to the original, but different. A green shoot lifted upward from the tiny seed while white roots descended into a hovering ball of water. Half in the drink and half lifting into the light, the plant grew until it was not much more than a fistful of roots wrapped around droplets of water and a green twig sticking up from it all. Erick hit it with another [Grow]. The plant expanded, until it reached waist-height, and a round, pale yellow grapefruit hung from a branch. This was good. The sprout looked healthy enough, so Erick moved on to the next seed.

Now came the magic.

On the second seed, he first looked to the rainy sky, and opened the funnels of his [Greater Lightwalk], flowing more of the rain into the hovering ball of water around the seed. Then he cast both [Grow] and [Watershape] at the same time, harmonizing their long-known vibrations within himself, attempting to combine them into a proper spell.  

The seed sprouted, and Erick felt a connection to the growth like his connection to the light around him, or his Handy Aura, or any other action-at-a-distance connection of any of his other spells. This was the first time he felt that connection through [Grow], though. The maturation of the tiny plant was in his hands, and he fumbled, not expecting what he had received.  

The green shoots curved, the roots split up and down. The seed became a tangle of direction and growth. Where was the light? Was it not all around?  

Erick grabbed control as soon as he felt what had been placed into his power. Supple green shoots went upward, as water went inward, through roots that went down. A tangle turned upright, and then grew more, and more. The spell, and Erick’s control over it, cut in fractions; a gradual waning of power. When it was over, the lemon tree, or more accurately, the orange tree, had a little orange fruit hanging from the largest branch, while the whole plant was maybe only a meter tall, from roots to tallest leaves. Aside from that rough start, it was an okay work of magic.  

A blue box appeared.

--

Treeshape, medium range, 100 mana

Direct the accelerated growth of a tree for 5 minutes.

--

Erick smiled to himself. [Treeshape] would be good, going forward.  

He looked to the next seed. This one, he wrapped in water and light, and cast [Grow] using both [Watershape] and [Lightshape].

The seed cracked as a tendril of brightness descended into hovering water. Roots spread under guiding light, soaking up the rain in fractal, directed upward growth. Stems turned to twigs, to branches and trunks, as neon green leaves unfolded under grey skies. When the growth stopped, the light barely dimmed. The tree seemed charged by an inner, small radiance. A blue box appeared.  

--

Tree of Light, medium range, 200 mana + Variable

Bless a tree with accelerated growth, the ability to repair itself, and the ability to thrive without the need for sunlight or water. Effect lasts a maximum of 1 week.

--

Erick looked to the third plant. The leaves curled up and out, as roots continued to crawl through into the hovering water, the whole thing supported by Erick’s own [Greater Lightwalk], holding it aloft. Much like how [Control Weather] dissipated as it spread out to influence the rest of the world, Erick suspected that [Tree of Light] would last long enough to grow the tree to a size much larger than what it was, and then stop when it was forced to use up [Tree of Light], making up for a lack of sunlight, or other deficiencies.  

While Erick watched, his theory proved true. The neon-green plant grew up and out, but lost its luminescence as bright, white fruits appeared; lemons, but of a meyer variety, and meant for juicing.

Erick smiled, then went through the remaining four seeds, [Grow]ing them to a normal yellow lemon tree, a red-skinned blood orange tree, a bright green key lime tree, and a dark blue lime tree. Not all of the fruits were their original colors, because Erick wanted to be able to tell them apart.  

Under a rainy sky that did not reach him, but instead flowed around, over a bubble of light, Erick twisted and guided the seven citrus plants together, as he set them into soil and supported their growth, into one, complicated plant.  

Was it actually a complicated plant? With a complicated magical signature? Erick had no idea. Maybe he was just playing around and not getting anywhere. But that would be fine.  

Somewhere after the first hour of directed growth, as the seven-fold citrus reached up into the sky, glowing with seven separate dark brown trunks with separate roots and separate leaves, the plants became a six-fold citrus tree. One spell spread upon two intertwined trunks, where beginning and end were not so simple as a DNA test away.  

And then six became five, as two other trees became one.  

The whole mass of wood and otherwise was now three meters high, and twisted together like a spiral rock carving. Wood wrapped around wood, and branches wrapped into each other, while roots tangled out of sight, but deep and wide, eager to support the growths of their own selves instead of working together for the common good.  

But the individual rebellions of the various citruses were no match for Erick’s gentle guidance. Five plants soon became four, then three, then suddenly a singular plant, all at once. Like a cluster of soap bubbles joining together, wood melded into a singular flow. A single cast of [Tree of Light] soaked into the entire structure, cementing the magic within.

Branches stopped struggling with each other for light and air as they unwrapped and flowed outward, in harmony. The rainy air filled with the scents of citrus flowers and fruit, as tiny blossoms, each of different sizes and shapes and colors, opened up across the full, five meter tall tree, all at once. Flowers fell like Autumn leaves, as fruits took their places, weighing down the tree with two types of round oranges, two types of tapered lemons, two types of pinched limes, and big round grapefruits. Each of the fruits looked very different than the others.  

The whole, fruity thing looked rather odd; like a twist of meter-wide brown-and-tan trunk and a firework of branches above, fractal and reaching, and popping off with different colored fruits here and there. It was almost a work of art.  

Erick watched as the tree settled into itself. Luminous glows stretched out cricks and bends here and there, while branches separated, giving the plant some space for itself, and roots, half out of the soil, wiggled downward into the dirt. As [Tree of Light] came to a conclusion, the citrus tree was definitely not a simple ‘tree’, and it surely did not qualify as an ‘object’. But would [Teleport Object] work on it?

Erick looked outward. On the edges of the Human District, past the intervening half a kilometer of flat orange ground, grew green trees and vegetables and plants. Farmers tended those gardens, as they did every day. Some of them had even stopped to watch Erick [Grow] whatever it was he was [Grow]ing.  

A raised hand from the archmage caused a bubble of white light to appear around the whole tree experiment, covering the garden and everyone inside, including the trees. Rain stopped. Sound ceased. They were secured, in a basic, perfunctory sort of way.

Ophiel hovered around Erick, popping the few floating [Scry] eyes that hovered here and there. Once sight had been denied to everyone else, Erick walked forward and touched the tree. He looked up. Branches reached overhead, like a comforting friend, laden with gifts of fruit both sour and sweet. He paused. He frowned at himself. He didn’t want to harm the tree; it looked rather pretty and smelled really good. It would be a fine addition to any garden; especially his own.  

… Maybe it wasn’t an ‘other’, though?  

Erick had an easy test for that possibility.  

[Teleport Object].

The tree remained where it was. It was not an object! Rejoice!

Erick tried [Teleport Monster], and got the same result; nothing. [Teleport Familiar] and [Teleport Summon] got similar, negative results. Whatever this tree was, it was not any of those things. So maybe it was an ‘Other’?

Erick frowned again. A test right now would probably destroy the tree.  

… He grabbed some rotten fruits from the compost bin, retrieving more seeds. He planted them away from the myriad citrus. A few casts later, and Erick had seven new lemon tree saplings. After twenty minutes of directed growth, both with [Grow] and [Treeshape], and even [Tree of Light], Erick had seven more lemon trees that rivaled the myriad citrus for size and stature. They were normal, brown-barked, green-leaved, laden with lemon, trees, each about five meters tall.  

[Teleport Object] failed to work on them, too.  

Erick stepped away, out of the garden, to stand beside Poi, as he conjured two more Ophiel. The first one expended itself casting a [Prismatic Ward] across Erick, Poi, and the Ophiel on Erick’s shoulder. The second one turned to light, and went to the lemon trees.  

With a bit of [Greater Lightwalk], and some directed possibility curve stretching, five of the trees exploded, but the sixth tree survived the trip through probability. It appeared just to the left of where Erick had planted it, like it had been [Grow]n in that new location, this whole time. Two blue boxes appeared.  

--

Special Quest Complete!

You have remade a Basic Spell.

Since you do not already have Teleport Tree, here you go:

--

Teleport Tree 1, instant, touch, 250 mana

A tree appears in another known location, max 100km distance.

Exp: 0/100

--

“Predictable,” Erick said, looking upon the lemon tree. He turned, and faced the myriad citrus tree. “So! Are you just a tree, too?” He floated Ophiel over to the experiment, and touched the bark. He looked up through his [Familiar]’s eyes, at the branches stretching overhead, and cast.  

[Teleport Tree].

Nothing happened.  

Erick grinned as he uttered, “Huh.” He said, “Might as well try it, then.”

Ophiel turned to light, and touched the myriad citrus with a gentle caress, looking for the openings Erick had experienced several times already. The tree immediately assented, in a way completely at odds with every other time Erick had worked the spell. Ophiel twittered in violin flutes, like he had touched a live wire, as browns and greens and a multitude of colorful fruits turned neon, and the whole thing detached from the soil, lifting into the air.  

An intense, concentrated emotion roiled through Erick’s entire being; he was not going to leave experiment up to chance, or fumbling touch, or accident. While Ophiel held the tree in Erick’s light, Erick spoke a quick desire, vibrating the mana with his intent, and his light,

“A life yet lives, intact yet gives!  

“A course here set, a land once met

“Emplace’d here then and always been  

“a choice; another! [Teleport Other].”

Erick felt a twinge of mana rush through his body, through Ophiel, through the [Greater Lightwalk], like a vibration upon the world. The myriad citrus vanished, like it had never been.  

--

Error!

--

Error!

--

Adjusting...

--

Special Quest Complete!

You have remade a Basic Spell.

Since you do not already have Teleport Other, here you go:

--

Teleport Other 1, instant, touch, 250 mana

A being you touch reappears in another known location, max 100km distance.

Exp: 0/100

--

Erick almost collapsed to his knees as Poi rushed to grab him, to tap him with the rod of [Treat Wounds]. It was a valiant effort on Poi’s part, but a bone deep exhaustion had already spread throughout Erick like a cold, desolate wind.  

Erick looked up at the disintegrating white dome that surrounded the experimental garden, one eye searching for his success, while the other looked askance, unable to be controlled. Double vision showed Erick’s two remaining lemon trees as four, exactly where he had put them, and exactly where he had not. But where was the myriad citrus?  

As his eyes closed and a headache spiked, he tried to say, “I put it right back in the ground,” but the words that came out of his mouth were closer to garbled messes than anything intelligible.  

Sleep came on like a barbarian horde, pummeling Erick into submission and here to stay.  

- - - -

Justine Erholme, first among equals under the Clergy, and representative of Archmage Erick Flatt’s interests in the city of Candlepoint, was having a bad day. All of her days had been bad, but some more than most. This was closer to the second type, and considering her experienced life, that was saying something.  

In a shadow filled room at the edge of the Farms, which was a name that she knew angered Erick something fierce, Justine sat with three other firsts, each of whom represented other aspects of Candlepoint’s continued existence. The meeting right now was not the full count, but it was good enough to discuss the major problem at hand.

Days ago, there had been more voices in this room, but they were gone now; silenced by The Problem.

Mephistopheles, wearing an outrageous blue-feathered ensemble, said, “Master Bulgan killed another Archmage representative today. The woman for Syllea: Britha, I think? I barely knew her.” He said, “Right in front of me, he did it. Ripped Britha apart and scattered the remains on my customers.” He continued, “Three adventurers tried to kill Bulgan for that action. They failed, of course. Everyone left the Garrison after that. Some of them will be back tomorrow, but some of them won’t. And that is a problem. If Bulgan keeps this up, our numbers will drop and stay in the gutter. And then everything is lost.” He laughed at the air, saying. “But you know! I expected to be dead long before now, so I’m having trouble caring.” He looked to the next man, saying, “Why don’t you stop pretending to be a mere shadeling and do something about the man?”

Slip, the Captain of the Guard, just shook his head. His black horns glinted in the shadow filled room, along with his shaved, black scalp. His skin was the color of night. Everything about the man was the color of darkness, except for his eyes. His eyes were radiant pools of bright white. He said, “I cannot. He would kill me.”

In the previous days and weeks of knowing the man, ever since meeting him in Candlepoint, Justine had always known the man was a total liar. He was certainly a Shade, slumming it in Candlepoint, or whatever it was you could call what he was doing. Justine had long given up trying to understand his thoughts. For all his looks and power —And oh yes, he had power! Justine had seen him kill two automatons before and get away with it, while Bulgan was watching!— he never acted like a Shade. He acted like a nobody. A normal shadeling. A perfectly professional Captain of the Guard.  

Justine held her tongue, though. She wasn’t about to openly announce what everyone was thinking. She might have been the only one still with that much sanity left, though.  

“I’m tired of pretending!” Mephistopheles barked a laugh, then said, “You are a liar, Slip! But whatever!”

Slip just scrunched his face, and said nothing.  

The third person in the room cleared her throat, and all eyes turned to her. Zaraanka Checharin was a rather voluptuous woman of human stock who always wore clothes just this side of scandalous. She was the current matron of the pleasure houses of Candlepoint, but she was not always thus. Before she became the contact point for the Headmaster, she was a rather normal shadeling. Power had corrupted her, though; of that, Justine was sure.  

Zaraanka said, “What is the big deal. There is nothing wrong with our lots in life, and there is nothing wrong with Candlepoint. We are here at the pleasure of our betters, and that is all there is to it. If you don’t wish for the spotlight then go and die, and let someone else take your space.”

Mephistopheles grinned at her, saying, “I bet you’d like that, wouldn’t you? To run everything in the city? Instead of just the paths between the legs of the beaten and the damned?” He declared, “You overreach, Zaraanka! I may be losing it, but I will be damned and beaten before I let you have power over me. If you wish to take my Garrison, then you must plan better than you have, and are!”

Slip went, “Hmmph.”

Zaraanka said, “It is a miracle of Melemizargo that you have survived as long as you have, you flamboyant man. Go die, and spare us all your fashion sense.”

Justine tried to get the conversation back on track. “Has anyone seen a way past this trial Melemizargo has given us? Mephistopheles? Has your entreaty to Fallopolis failed?”  

Mephistopheles lost some of his brightness. “She has her domain, and it is not here. Thrice I asked and thrice I was rebuffed; I dare not ask again. If you are thinking of asking others, I don’t think it would work either. I was able to speak to the Toymaker.” He regretfully said, “The Shades of the Spire have spoken, and they do not care for us as individuals at all.” He added, “No adventurer is willing to stand up to Master Bulgan, either. The three that died today was the first action Bulgan has gotten that he hasn’t initiated himself, in over five days.”

“Regretful, but expected of the Spire, and of Fallopolis.” Justine turned to Zaraanka, asking, “Is the Headmaster still opposed?”  

Zaraanka said, “He would lead the charge and kill us if we stepped out of line; his thinking has remained the same since the first day I met him. He will not change for anyone.” She added, “But, if you wanted to enact that final resort, some of us could make it out of sight and out of mind before the Sun Descends. That option will always remain.”

Slip spoke up. “This is the plan I am for. Running and hiding. Some of us would make it.”

Justine said, “And ninety nine percent of us would die. No. That is the Last Resort, and it is not lightly named. It is only to be used when the armies of the world are at our doorsteps.”

Zaraanka said, “We’re going to die either way. Ninety percent here or there, does not matter, though I think we would have a better chance if we do it while the armies are still on the other sides of the world.”

Justine said, “Erick would scan for us, and we would be found. The only way to escape is to join in those armies, and pretend to be other people. It will be difficult, but you know this is the only way.”

Zaraanka said, “Killing Erick would make this thing a whole lot easier.”

“Do you want Melemizargo to fall upon us!?” Mephistopheles asked. “The Headmaster is one thing, but we cannot upset Mel’s plans.”

“Underground, then?” Zaraanka offered.  

Slip said, “Melemizargo would instantly spot us. That is also a failure of a plan.”

“Then you come up with something!” Zaraanka demanded.  

“We could run and hide in the ocean, pretending to be fish.” Slip said, “Half of us would make it to the waters. A further 25 percent would die to beasts down there, but we could make it work. A full quarter of us might run and survive.”

Justine, Mephistopheles, and Zaraanka, all looked at the man like he had suddenly turned into a fish, right then and there.  

“… What?” said Zaraanka. “NO! I am not a fish!”

Mephistopheles laughed.

Justine said, “We’re not ready for such a plan, anyway. Most of us are still sitting in hovels, starving.” She said, “What we need, is a different Shade in charge. Someone to allow us to flourish without the world looking to stomp us back down.” She breathed deep. And then, against all propriety, she looked to Slip.

Everyone looked to Slip.

Slip looked away.

Justine’s words dripped with venom, “Fine.” Justine looked to Mephistopheles. “Here is our only other option: I need to find a way to get a message to Erick. We need him to go after Bulgan, without following through on his threat to end us all. Then, perhaps, if the Problem were solved, I could get Erick to support us again.”

Mephistopheles said, “This will kill you, Justine. Bulgan will know if a message gets out to your archmage. Melemizargo has Erick in his eyes, more than most.”

Justine breathed deep. She said, “I know. I am counting on that.”

Zaraanka asked, “What are you planning? I might be able to steer the Headmaster toward something small.” She added, “Or away from something. I can never quite tell the outcome of the words spoken to that man.”

“The plan?” Justine sighed, and smiled. She said, “I have no plan but to die for those yet to come. Maybe one life, honestly given, will be enough.”

Zaraanka scowled, saying, “So eager for death! Just die then!”

Slip said, “Death for a cause is a fine way to go.”

Everyone scowled at Slip.  

The Shade-in-hiding had the audacity to look ashamed.  

Justine said, “I would prefer not—”

The wall of the room vibrated.

There was no official adjourning of the meeting. Everyone fled at the same time, taking to the shadows; gone.

If the four of them had perhaps been inside a real room, then it would have been possible for the interloper to catch them, but they were not in a real room, and never had been. The vibrating of the walls was not of the interloping variety, anyway. Something had happened back in the real world.

Justine came to herself. Cloudy skies stretched across the roof of the world, bringing shadows and sanity to this bright part of the day. She looked down at her hands, and at the magic flowing through them, into the rich, black soil, she had been preparing. Her brown, working dress, fluttered in the gentle wind. According to all appearances, she had never stopped working. But something had disturbed her hidden séance.  

Not one meter in front of her, the mana pulsed, ripped white, then settled back into place.  

She paused. She looked up.  

A tree had [Teleport]ed into Candlepoint. It was gnarled and old, and faintly glowed. It had not been here, and then it was. Where once was sky, now were fruits, hanging from thick branches, with greenery all throughout. Red fruits, yellow fruits, orange and white fruits. Justine stared up at the unexpected arrival, mostly at a loss for words.  

Some words did come, though.  

She uttered, “What the shit?”

And then she backed up very fast, flitting through shadows to stand a good twenty meters away, only coming out of the half-light when she was the edge of the fields of the new Farm expansion. If there was one thing she learned in her long life, it was to never stand next to unknowns for too long. There were worse things than death, after all, and Justine had experienced more than her fair share.

The tree, if it was just a tree, didn’t seem to care that every single worker had vacated the field. It just grew there, like it had been planted in some other age, and Candlepoint had grown up all around its gnarled form. Candlepoint hadn’t, though; Candlepoint was here, first. Right?

- - - -

Reality floated beyond Erick’s closed eyelids. He was trapped in a sea of darkness that was tangible in parts, but always shifting when it wasn’t watched.  

His butt was cold and numb, though. That sensation was perhaps the most annoying of this dark, unknown land. For some reason, Erick’s memories went backward, to a simpler, difficult time, when he drank every night and woke up happy to do it all again the next day. But he hadn’t gotten piss drunk since Jane came along into his life. So why was his bottom wet?

His face moved into a smile, as he remembered cleaning up little Jane, of wiping her tiny little baby butt as she giggled and laughed, and when she was all clean he would tickle her mercilessly, and then they’d both go down for a nap. He wasn’t able to do that very often, but he remembered those times every now and then. The memory always brought a joy to his day.  

He opened his eyes to see a bluescaled face, and bright, worried eyes.  

Erick said, “Hey, Poi.”

Poi leaned him up against a wall inside the house, his lower half sprawled across the wet floor. He was soaking wet, for some reason, and so was Poi. Ophiel jumped on Erick’s stomach, lightly, as Erick glanced around. He was in the back room, near the doorway to the backyard. Looking over, Erick saw the backyard, just past the open door. Two lemon trees grew from the dark soil, while a light rain fell across the land.

“Welcome back, sir.” Poi said, “Maybe it’s time to purchase some rods of [Greater Treat Wounds].”

Erick laughed, then winced, then said, “But they cost a hundred thousand gold!”

Poi tapped Erick with the rod again, releasing a burst of healing, as he said, “You make million-gold artifacts every day.”

“… Maybe I am being unreasonable.” Erick winced, but it was an easier wince, this time. He breathed, and his lungs filled with air as he relaxed. He held his hand up.  

Poi stepped back and lifted Erick to his feet, as Ophiel flitted up onto Erick’s shoulder.

“Thank you.” Erick looked out to the experimental garden. “Any idea where the myriad citrus went?”

“We’ll either hear about it, or we won’t.”

“Ha! … Yeah.” Erick looked at the torn up garden; the price for gaining [Teleport Tree]. He said, “I hope it’s okay.” He added, “I’m reasonably sure I did not make a magical plant. But...”

Poi repeated, “We’ll either hear about it, or we won’t.” He added, “If you’re concerned, a trip to Atunir’s temple in the Interfaith Church might do you some good?”

Erick thought for a long moment. He said, “No need to go that far.”

- - - -

Under a dark sky, in a land made for shadows, there was a field made for farming, and a tree upon that field. The tree was not grown here, though it looked at home; it just appeared, not five minutes ago.  

Justine stood away from the questionable growth, on the other side of the field. She said, “I would rip it up and throw it away. But...”

Justine, and many other farmers, watched, as two intrepid young men decided to test the tree’s worth. One of them poked it with a finger. Nothing happened. The first man rushed away, having gotten in his test and gotten away without incident. The other man poked the tree with a sword. It was a light touch, but it scratched the surface, and though the bark was deep, the tree did not like this. A bright flash pulsed from the trunk, sending the man and his sword sailing away, into the soft dirt. His sword landed beside his head, point down, stuck in the soil, almost as if the tree wanted to say ‘I could have ended you, but I chose otherwise.’  

The sword was left behind as the man scrambled away to the edge of the field, to wait with all the rest who had gathered since the appearance of the anomaly.  

Valok, the redscaled man who had proven himself as himself, and who had been gifted with this plot of land because of his newfound stability, said, “We can put some stones around it.”  

Justine frowned. “That doesn’t seem like a good solution.”

Valok pointed up at the tree, at the myriad of fruits growing from the boughs. He said, “That’s a lemon. The green one looks like a lime, but it is not. I know my citrus, and those are unknowns. This tree is either a gift from Erick, or something else is going on there.”

Justine perked up. “What!” She saw the tree in a whole new light. “Oh!” And then she lost that light, muttering, “Oh.” Whatever she was looking at, would surely elicit a response from Bulgan. It would be violent, and swift, and someone would die.

Or maybe not?

No. That was wishful thinking. Justine steeled herself for what was sure to come. She asked, “What sort of gift do you think it could be?” She looked up. “I don’t see Ophiel, and no one reported the [Familiar]. But he’s been experimenting with Spatial magics, so… [Teleport Tree]? For what reason?”

“I don’t know about any of that.” Valok said, “But that Myriad Citrus is a magical plant. It’s almost a [Tree of Light], but not. It’s something different. Stuff has obviously happened since I’ve been away from Spur, but I don’t think Erick is the type to accidentally make a magical plant. Not after what he saw happen to Odaali, with the Daydropper.” He added, “So this would have had to have been made on purpose, to fulfill a function.”

“He’s an archmage, Valok.” Justine was not sure of anything, right now, but she had more than enough history and contact with more than enough archmages to draw at least one conclusion between every single one. “They make accidental shit up all the time. That one more than most, and just to see if he can.”

Valok hummed, then nodded, adding, “True. I could be wrong.”

“But you’re right about the Daydropper scare.” Justine thought. She said, “I doubt he would make a plant like that, though.” She declared, “Only one way to find out!” She walked forward, across the turned soil, toward the mysterious tree.

Valok asked, “What are you doing?”

“I’m going to get me a fruit.”

Valok called out, “Lemons are sour!”

Justine smiled, but did not reply. She stared ahead at the seven-fruit tree. Knowing she was about to die was a rather liberating thought. Death by intentional poison or bad fruit or incoming Bulgan, wherever the man might be, it was all rather preferable to what was possible, and the tortures she had experienced long before today. This, right here, might be a way to get a message to Erick, right now, or soon enough.  

She walked up to the tree, and said, “Hello.”

The tree did nothing.  

She asked, “I would like a sweet fruit, if you have one.”

The tree did nothing.

Justine turned back, calling out, “Any suggestions?”

Valok, standing amid the other farmers, called out, “Yellows and greens are sour!”

Justine turned back to the myriad citrus, feeling that she should have paid more attention to the fruits and vegetables Erick had created, but the man had created a lot, and what he created was already being passed around the world through a thousand different vectors. The adoption of the potato by the Greensoil Republic was surely more important than whatever these citruses got up to; no one even cared about lemons. But maybe Justine should have cared.

She looked upon seven different options, up in those branches. Pale yellow, orange, white, yellow, red, bright green, and blue. Each of the fruits were slightly differently shaped and sized. Now, if these colors were the normal Stat colors, then Justine might have had somewhere to start her guess. But they were not.  

White was the color of Erick’s magic? Might as well start there.

Justine lifted her hand up toward the nearest white fruit. She touched it, and the tree let it go. She fumbled the fruit for half a second before securing her grip. And then she breathed again. That had been a tense moment. The tree seemed to be watching her, as old growth forests sometimes surveyed their domains. If she had dropped this white fruit, that could have been bad.  

… If she picked wrong, and she died, that would definitely be bad. But knowing she was about to die anyway was rather freeing. This event had happened right in front of her, and there was a connection to Erick, and Bulgan was already eager to kill her. So, what happened from here was a forgone conclusion.  

Candlepoint would be okay without her. She had made sure of that, long before today. She had guided people to self sufficiency and raised the dretches from full darkness. She had secured rain for Candlepoint, and that was huge.  

Honestly, she should have died long before today.

Justine smiled. She sniffed the fruit.  

It smelled sour. For sure. A hundred percent a sour fruit. She had picked wrong, but that was okay. She would try it, anyway. With a fingernail, she dug into the flesh— Oh. Right. Citrus has rinds. This is how this works. Ah. Good. Discard that. Segmented fruit? Yes, it comes apart easily enough. Seeds inside. Justine’s fingers did not fumble in this peeling. Not a single segment broke. But as she held up a segment and lightly pressed it between her thumb and forefinger, this fruit seemed more like a juicing fruit than an eating fruit; it was very squishy.  

This was okay. She had done rougher things in Ar’Kendrithyst, and had tasted nastier things back when she was alive and working as an alchemist.  

She downed a segment of the fruit.  

Yup. Sour.

Justine’s face contorted as she tasted, and swallowed more than chewed. When it was down, and her mouth tasted of sour sunshine, Justine laughed to herself. It wasn’t bad, actually. Kinda refreshing. A real kick to it, too. She popped the seed out of the second segment and had another—

The tree moved a bough downward, revealing to Justine a full assortment of fruits. Justine smiled again, and happily picked the six other options, transferring them to the front pocket of her farmer’s dress. She tucked the peeled white fruit back into some of its peel, and began smelling each of the other fruits. All of them smelled sour, but the orange and red ones smelled good. Ooh, she wanted to try the red one, for sure.

She looked to the tree, and said, “Thank you.”

The tree was more than a simple tree, but it said nothing. Had it been, perhaps, an attempt at an Arbor? And then gifted to Candlepoint? If that’s what this was, it was an odd choice. Justine turned to rejoin the farmers. She stopped, once again thrown from her normal course of events. She was a girl who rode a boat too far out to sea, only to find that storm on the horizon came to harbor much faster than it had any right to come.

For Bulgan stood at the edge of the field, his dark countenance full of malevolent light. The farmers were gone, but one remained; Valok, his neck and face pressed into the dirt by Bulgan’s booted foot. Valok did not struggle, but Justine saw him hold his hands in fists, also pressed down into the dirt. To struggle was to die, right now; Justine had taught him well.  

The Shade asked, “What have you got there, little Justine?”

Privately, Justine was rather sure of Melemizargo’s plan for Candlepoint, though she had never been fully aware of any such plan. This bully of a former man, standing before her, was obviously set up to fall. To be taken down by someone greater than himself, and in doing so, lead the shadelings to a proper place in society. For Bulgan had to be an example of all that was wrong with the Clergy. Melemizargo must have wanted the Clergy to be cleansed by Bulgan’s bloody, painful passing.  

Hopefully this much was true! But it was hard to say.  

Her Dark God was not an easy, loving God. He did not grant [Cleanse], to ease the burdens of daily life. He did not grant Spatial magic, either, for exploring the world was meant to strengthen one’s self, and hone one’s power; people were meant to tame the world, not hop around, ignoring the monsters all around them.  

Too many gifts bred weakness, and Melemizargo did not suffer weakness in his presence, for he made fools of all he could, including those who knew him best. Justine knew these facts more than most.

Hopefully, today, the fool would be Bulgan.

- - - -

The experimental garden was a mess. Good dirt had been scattered all around by the exploding lemon trees, leaving great holes in the garden, while the two trees that remained had been chipped by wooden shrapnel, their boughs broken by stray flying trunks. But that was all window dressing. The main fact remained obvious for all with eyes to see.

“The Myriad Citrus is gone,” Erick said, standing on the spot where his creation had once been. “The dirt’s not even disturbed.”  

Erick gazed upon the ground for a few moments. Then he reached out toward the two remaining trees, and with a bit of Ophiel oversight on the other side of the house, he [Teleport Tree]’d them over into their new spots, alongside the other surviving citrus. Also through Ophiel, Erick imbued the moved trees with [Tree of Light]. As they both glittered with neon hues, their barks and their branches repaired themselves, swift as magic. They would live a long and fruitful life, unless any Flare Couatls or otherwise came knocking.

Erick turned to Poi. “Can I get a meeting with Irogh?”

Poi nodded, then looked to the air. He looked back, and said, “Yes. Right now, or in three hours.”  

Erick smiled. “Right now, then.” He asked, “You ready?”

“Yes. Uh. Let me just...” He looked askance for a second, then added, “I cleared the way for a [Teleport].”

Erick smiled, then put one Handy Aura hand on Poi, and one on Ophiel. The world flashed white, changing from orange land and dark garden soil, into tall, white stone hallways and pillars. A blue door stood open, and inviting, not four meters away.

An unknown guard down the hall yelped at Erick’s intrusion, while a few people in suits, holding papers, startled. Looks of recognition rapidly passed from one set of eyes to the next. Another guard rushed into the hallway, saying calming words. In moments, everyone went on their ways, including the first, mollified guard, as soon as they saw who it was who had blipped into the Courthouse.

Erick strode into Irogh’s office. The handsome orcol man sat on the other side of his counter, gently smiling.  

“Welcome, Erick.”  

Erick said, “Helloo, Irogh.”

Irogh flipped his hand up, and the blue door closed. Once it clicked in place, he asked, “How can I help you?”

Excitedly, Erick asked, “[Gate] quest! Do I have it? Do I qualify?”

Irogh paused for a brief moment, looking unsure if he had heard Erick correctly. The moment passed. Irogh looked to the air and typed out on an invisible, intangible keyboard. Seemingly surprised himself, he said, “Yes. Yes you do.”

A blue box appeared.  

--

Special Quest!

The Worldly Path 0/1

OR

10 Points

Reward: The ability to cast Gate

--

Erick read. And then he grumbled, “That’s rather vague.”

“Yes. It is.”

“Did I qualify for any other Class Abilities since last time?”

Irogh looked to the air. “… No.”

“Hmm. Hmm...” Erick stood, as he said, “Okay. Thanks, Irogh.”

Irogh lifted his hand, and the door to the room opened. “Anytime.”

- - - -

She wasn’t dead yet.

Justine stood a respectable distance from Bulgan Shadoweater, and the citrus tree.  

Bulgan stood under the tree, looking up at the boughs, inspecting the low hanging fruit with a gentle caress of fingertips, or an upturned nose and a sniff. He had smelled and touched all seven types of fruit, as well as place his hand against the trunk, and tested a slight grip on one of the thicker branches. Justine watched the whole thing, and wondered at the thorns she now saw along the branches, that dappled up the gnarled trunk. Those thorns had certainly not been there before. They had grown when she wasn’t watching. The tree might not have eyes, but it certainly sensed what kind of person was touching it, right now.

Bulgan’s gentle grip turned solid around an orange fruit. The harvest did not drop into his hand, like how the fruits had dropped into hers. Bulgan did not care for the tree’s reluctance. He pulled anyway. The fruit came off. The bough went up, and then slapped back down, further than it had been before. Bulgan’s hand was still there, and still able to receive the long thorn that it did.  

The Shade laughed as the thorn broke against the darkness on his skin; his godly raiment was more than a match for some young, misbehaving plant. He smiled as he ripped the rind off of the orange fruit, breaking segments, scattering juices as he tore, before he enjoyed his meal. Justine almost watched, as orange juices slipped down Bulgan’s chin, but she averted her eyes before he could see her spying.

He saw her anyway, his eyes tracking her aversion. He asked, “A two in seven gift, perhaps? Do you feel we should pay Erick back in kind?”

“My humble opinion is surely wrong, Master Shadoweater.”

Bulgan turned and stared at her. “You weren’t even startled to hear that this came from Erick, were you?”

“It is my job to know such things, and the man you pressed into the ground informed me of this possibility, before you arrived.” Justine said, “Lemons were a variety of citrus not known to the accomplished farmer until after Archmage Flatt came along and created them.”

Bulgan scowled at nothing in particular, then turned to Justine, unerringly hitting her faults, as he said, “Lies. You didn’t know until minutes ago. You’re supposed to know more about your assigned archmage than most. Why did you not know this until now?”

She had been found out.  

Oh well.

If she thought that answering truthfully would help, she would tell Bulgan a true answer; that Justine was not allowed to venture outside of Candlepoint in search of any real sources, Erick hadn’t spoken about lemons in any of the short times he had been here, and listening to the shadows of the Temple was rather hit or miss and a deluge of information all at the same time. Her God kept track of quite a lot, all at once, but Justine was not a god, nor even a Shade. ‘Lemons’ had likely come up once or twice before, but understanding the stream was not a perfect magic.  

But Bulgan would not want to hear any of that. He likely didn’t want to hear anything that wasn’t groveling.

Justine dropped to her knees, dirtying her farmer’s dress further, as she put her hands on the dirt, saying, “Please forgive me, Master Bulgan. I try, but it is difficult to hear of every major thing.”

To call the existence of lemons a major or minor thing would, in either case, draw Bulgan’s ire. The Shade was wild and unpredictable in most ways, save for how he dealt with imagined slights against himself.  

But it was only when the words had already passed her lips, that she considered that she could have said nothing; she could have just apologized and left it at there. As she stared at the ground, she wondered if she was already so far gone that she had allowed her mouth to run away with her life. Had she only mentally chided Mephistopheles before, because she saw in him her own fraying sanity?

“So you say this is my fault? This not knowing?” Bulgan’s voice rumbled with power.  

With her face centimeters from the dirt, Justine had no idea what Bulgan looked like, or how mad he truly was, or how to possibly rectify this situation. But she dared not look up; that much impudence would surely end her, at that very moment.

Bulgan spoke, “Perhaps sitting beside the Well is not good enough. Perhaps I ought to throw you back into the deep, so that you can acquaint yourself fully with God’s Voice.”

Justine sat up, instantly, acting on impulse and need, rather than any modicum of self preservation. She stared Bulgan straight in his bright, white eyes, and spoke, “O’ Holy Daughter Rozeta, this lost one beseeches your sight, and touch. Save me, please.”

Bulgan’s eyes went wide and worried as he reached for her with every shadow in the soil, under the clouds, and even under his own, grasping hand—

But Justine knew only pain. Every part of her was stripped away in flensing, cleansing ribbons of light, that flashed to flame, all at once. Blood, flesh, and bone burned on the pyre of Justine’s soul, freely given, to other, brighter gods.  

If she had existed for a few more seconds, she might have heard Bulgan curse, as he reached for her burning soul and burned himself for his greed, and need to crush. She might have seen his following wrath tear great chunks from the soil of the Farm expansion, and his arm fail to instantly regrow. He’d be sporting that look for a day, at least.  

If she still existed, in any mortal form at all, she might have heard the shadows laugh.  

- - - -

For a long while, Justine knew nothing. She was a space among other spaces, same as any she could think to inhabit. Perhaps she was in a room. Or on a cloud. Or in the black bowl of a long dead volcano. Or perhaps on the Silver Star, looking down upon Veird for the first time in her long, interrupted life.

She was many places, and nowhere at all, for she was being watched not through her own senses, but through those of other, greater eyes.  

She saw herself as a person trying to make the best of a bad situation, and also as a traitor to every other life on Veird. Swiftly, came another thought: That the world is too small, and there was a chance here to expand, if only a chance would be taken.

Dark words boomed.

“Aren’t you tired of this tiny world? This is a compromise.”

Justine’s part in the debate was over.

She dropped down a level. Looking up, she saw ideas and touches and sights, argue in the not-spaces of the world, talking over each other and talking with each other, on multiple levels and through multiple times, adding harmonies and discords as they spoke for an eternity. Her own mind barely understood what she was seeing, and hearing, and feeling, but she saw and felt and heard it all. A part of her lamented; she would never be able to tease out the truths from the enormity she was witnessing. Remembering any of it would be difficult, and mostly impossible.

Ah… But she was no longer constrained by mortal bonds, here. So for now, she could experience. For now, she could participate. But she had no mortal body, and when she found her ability to give voice to her thoughts, her thoughts came out in an existent tumble, that were not at all eloquent or refined, and neither were they words.  

But those truths she spoke sounded, felt, and were, something like this, “I want to live free of torment.”

Existence shifted. Countless voices saw her give voice to her primal need.  

They put her aside for others to deal with, as the debate continued overhead.

Ephemeral became something more substantial. Solid. The nothingness and everything around Justine’s disembodied form became blue sky and white clouds. A silver moon occupied the world down below. Pink Hell and white Celes hung on opposite horizons; they were present, but not in power, in this space. They were merely observers, for now.

A man that was not a man, stepped into the sky, to face Justine from meters away. His skin was pale purple, and fully on display, save for a simple wrap of white cloth around his sex. Tiny horns poked up from his head. His eyes were kind, but resigned.  

A woman that was not a woman stepped onto a cloud beside Justine, close enough to touch. She wore a simple white dress, nothing special and completely utilitarian, but her skin was like a pearl; lustrous and solid as a wrought’s.  

And finally, came a speck of darkness holding in the air to Justine’s side. It resolved into a blot upon the world; unknowable and untouchable, and somehow always in the corners of Justine’s sight.

Melemizargo said, “She is mine, by right of Pledge.”

Rozeta said, “She is mine, by right of Plea.”

Koyabez said, “She is mine, by right of Providence.”

An arbiter came forward, resolving into something more familiar. The same familiar white horns. The same familiar white skin. But this reflection held something Justine had not seen in an age; her red eyes. Seeing them upon another reminded Justine of a simpler time, when the daycrystal would light, sending tickling tendrils of brightness onto her own eyes, waking her for the day. She would spend a good handspan of minutes in front of the mirror every morning, putting up her hair, tending to her horns and ears, applying her makeup how her mother had shown her, before skipping out into town, back to the workshops, or to the herb gardens, or fields.  

Justine hadn’t seen those familiar, unfamiliar red eyes in a long time. Not since the siege, and the breaking of her home city.  

The next time she was existent, she had been pulled from the pile, from the Well, but her eyes were not there. She still remembered the day, much later, when she saw her reflection in the kendrithyst for the first time since death, when she saw that her once ruby red eyes, were now hollow, dark orbs.

Phagar, God of Death and Time, looked upon Justine like a being inspecting themselves, and said, “Pledge, Plea, or Providence. Your choice is thus. Each path is fraught with danger. Each choice leads to a different outcome. But there is another choice, and I give it to you, now:

“Abandon all hope and enter into oblivion.  

“The End is a path outside of those laid down by others. If you have had enough. If you have felt enough horror and known enough despair, the End can be the end to all of this torment. Do not make this choice lightly, for it cannot be undone, but instead take heart in the mark you’ve left on those yet to come. In other lives, yet to exist. In other opportunities you have given those who have witnessed your life.

“But in the End, there is only you, and your life, and your choice. Though you might not have had many of those oft fabled ‘choices’ in your mortal time, you have this one.”

Four gods looked upon Justine, waiting for her answer.

For the briefest of eternities, Justine saw herself, expanded. Her life laid down in every direction, and every choice she ever made. It was yet another moment that she would never remember but always struggle to recall, like a good dream left too soon. There were nightmares in that time, of course, as there would be for anyone, and especially for Justine. But it was still a sight to behold. It was nice, it was awful, it was full of opportunity, and many times, it was full of hard choices between one horror or another. But it was still something.  

Something was better than nothing.  

Pledge, Plea, or Providence. Each choice left down a different path. Justine was allowed a taste of each.  

To rejoin the Darkness. To give up her foray into other options, to come back to the fold, and be in a position to actually help Candlepoint, and those living within, from the inside.

To confront the Darkness. To join the war against Candlepoint. To speak to those who would listen, yet know that most would not. Most would look to end her life, and to cut her tongue from her mouth.

To speak to the Darkness, and hope for something better. A middle path. A confrontation with those who knew the most, both of the shadows and of the light. A life honestly given in the hopes of a more balanced future.

Justine spoke with her soul, “I choose Providence.”

Clouds vanished. Darkness pulled away. All that remained was silver land stretching from moon-capped horizon to horizon, and the world of Veird, high, high above.  

Koyabez spoke, “I see you, Justine Erholme. Do not disappoint.”

The sky, the moons, and Veird, all tumbled together, as gravity took hold of Justine, and dragged her through the void, to her destination. Somewhere in the passage, she regained a body. Was it hers? She did not know. Hands flailed through the void, and she controlled them.  

All she felt was a cold emptiness in her burning lungs.  

A silver-ringed [Gate] appeared. On this side: nothing. On that side: A city full of enemies, a torrential storm of air, and something unexpected.  

Justine hurtled through the silver ring like a white, naked comet.  

- - - -

The world flashed white, and then resolved into the foyer of the house, everything looking exactly as Erick had left it. He dismissed his Handy Aura, releasing Poi and Ophiel, as he walked toward the kitchen, saying, “I’ll get dinner started—”

A crash shook the house. Erick startled as Ophiel squawked. Poi instantly went on high alert, holding a hand to his face, a dozen tendrils of intent radiating from his skull.

Erick started, “What—!”

“Backyard garden.” Poi rushed off in that direction, adding, “Something—”

Erick blipped to the door that faced the rear garden, and threw it open, summoning another Ophiel as he did, preparing to defend himself and his home from whoever had thrown the first punch.  

As the door opened, dirt fell into the house, and dust filled the air. Erick blew the dust away with an [Airshape], partially revealing a crater littered with burning debris. The dense air of the house must have prevented much of the missile’s damage, but it was an indirect attack, anyway. It was never meant to destroy the house…  

Did Erick have that right?

Poi spoke from behind Erick. “The Guard spotted the missile before it entered Spur’s airspace, four seconds ago. It was meant as a direct attack, but they deflected with some last second [Force Wall]s.” He said, “I think we were in the middle of a [Teleport] when the attack started.” Poi looked past the door, down into the crater, but he did not stick his head past the [Prismatic Ward]. “We’re on high alert, now. No other sightings. But… Uh. I think that was the end of it?”

Erick looked down into the crater, and saw what Poi had seen. “Oh!”

As pushed wind cleared the crater, the nature of the missile stood revealed. Down at the bottom of the hole, was broken, burned wood, and fruit covered boughs. Lemons, limes, and otherwise, had ruptured on the orange stone. Surely some rock had been thrown as well, but the missile here was mostly the heavy wood of the myriad citrus; tons and tons of it, if Erick guessed right.

Erick threw a [Tree of Light] out into mess of burned wood, targeting the largest intact section of trunk and root in sight. Light glittered along white roots, but nothing happened. It was dead.

… That part of the tree might be dead, but maybe some part of it might have survived. Erick rapidly [Fireshape]d the flames away, then [Stoneshape]d the land up and out, flattening the crater, floating the destroyed tree to the surface. With the full scope of the full tree exposed for all to see, Erick saw there was no saving his creation. He tried [Tree of Light] again, on several different larger chunks, and got the same, non-result as before. The myriad citrus was dead. But maybe some seeds had survived in those fruits?

But as he sorted through the debris, from the safety of his [Prismatic Ward], a darkness crawled over the burned wood and singed fruits, nibbling at everything it touched. Erick had not noticed it, at first, but the tree was poisoned.  

Poi named it, “Shadowflame. Corrupting fire. Even if you found a seed, you shouldn’t grow it.”

Erick discarded his ideas of saving the plant, or the seeds. He pushed the half-burned, fully tainted wood together, and threw a white flame at the pile. The flame fizzled. He tried again. [Cleansing Flame] took five casts to take hold of the wood, but when it did, the shadow retreated. The remains of the myriad citrus burned away, into nothing.  

Erick sighed. He frowned. He closed the door and left the rest of the cleanup for another day. It was time to make dinner, anyway.

Poi spoke up, “Uh. There’s been another impact.”

Erick scowled. “What?”

“A person this time.” Poi looked to the air. “Justine Erholme. She fell in the Lake. Uh.” Poi, unsure, said, “She’s asking to speak to you?”