Chapter 645: Sand in the Hourglass (Patreon)

Seven days passed after Argrave and his entourage entered into the Shadowlands, and a feeling of unease over all who knew this fact. But unease was something that could be overcome, and overcome it they did. The research team—now headed by Llewellen—marched boldly onward, progressing magic in a period of seven days more than had been done in several decades. Illusion magic, itself an incredibly young field, advanced in countless ways. Druidic magic, too, spread far beyond its source in the Veidimen, disseminating throughout the spellcasters of the world.

But on the eleventh day, there was finally some breakthrough into their target: psychic magic. As Llewellen had hypothesized, it came not in the form of illusion magic but druidic magic. The secret to it came from prodding into how druidic magic differentiated between something of lesser life—like plants, grass, trees, et cetera—and higher beings. Specifically, a spellcaster of the Great Chu managed to translate a spell that affected creatures of lesser intelligence into something that could affect that with higher intelligence. The first attempt was nothing more than a humble D-rank druidic spell that encouraged creatures to approach: [Beckon].

Yet with some significant modifications that made it far more complex and magic-intensive… it proved to function on humanoids.

Its first instance of function set an uproar throughout the entire research team. It had been used on a non-magically inclined individual, and did its task without leaving any sign of damage on its victim. When it was tested on people attuned with magic, a collective sigh of relief was breathed when they discovered that, like illusion magic, it could be resisted by those of higher rank in the magical world. Still, Llewellen cautioned them all that such a thing hardly exempted them from the influence of a greater force like Gerechtigkeit.

The realization that druidic magic could be transformed in such a way not only put ever more attention on the field of study, but also led to a fundamental reevaluation of what it was. If it was capable of affecting intelligent species like men or elves rather than unintelligent creatures alone, its label as ‘druidic’ didn’t suffice. It pertained to a more fundamental force—thus, it quickly turned from being called druidic magic to being called soul magic.

Though some Veidimen were displeased at the name change, that was quickly abated when they were recognized by all as the foundation for this new field. Their centuries of study for how the magic functioned in animals was called upon to relate that knowledge to mortalkind. Rowe, with his inherited generation of study, became the de facto authority in the team. Though some found his arrogance at his new importance a little troubling, none could deny the total mastery the aged snow elf had over his field. He had even tamed one of the indomitable dragons of the world, who themselves were known to have intelligence similar to mortalkind.

A great many rules and dictates of the magic were revealed, but many gravitated toward the simplest solution—and rightfully so. If an animal already had a druidic bond with someone else, it could not gain another. The principle thus arose that, to defend the soul from soul magic, one must either have their soul bound to another, or bind their soul to themselves.

As higher-ranked druidic spells were translated, that first theory was finally confirmed. Another well-paid non-magically inclined human guinea pig was bound to another, whereupon another caster attempted to exert control over his mind. It failed, utterly. Meanwhile, everyone was greatly unsettled by the slave-like state the victims of soul magic fell into immediately. On the bright side, as with druidic magic, the bond between souls was such that the caster felt an affinity with the person, and found it difficult to hurt them. That almost made it worse, in the eyes of most present—such a relationship could become a twisted possessiveness the likes of which would easily be the subject of poetic tragedies.

Elenore was incredibly thorough in keeping all of this under wraps. All involved were escorted by soldiers of the royal army, because rumors of this research spreading beyond its confines could be disastrous. The notion of this deprivation of free will was immensely unsettling, even to her. It took a great deal of skill to cast these spells, and they could be resisted by magic users, yet that was just the problem. It presented an opportunity for spellcasters to become dictators that could seize the very souls of their subjects.  

At once, Artur was called upon to implement a solution that could be distributed for normal people. His Hall of Enchantment was virtually nationalized in that Elenore was very controlling over this project. Artur chafed at first, but once he knew what he was dealing with, cooperated with Elenore. His only request was as it usually was—money and recognition, and much of them both. Elenore obliged in excess.

As quickly as it had been discovered, soul magic was worked to be suppressed. The goal of Artur’s project was simple—create an object that extended to the wearer the protections of being soul-bound. Ideally, it would bind the user’s soul to itself. The theory was that such a thing would create a closed loop, in essence, tying off any mental interference.

For three days and three nights, in close concert with the research team, the Hall of Enchantment ironed out prototypes and empowered enchantments. An ‘outside specialist’ was called in—Raven—to test the effectiveness of their procedures. With his unique constitution, he was suited to testing out whether or not this closed-looped system actually had any effect in preventing his meddling with their mind.

Results seemed discouraging at first. Initially, all attempts at creating a closed-loop bond failed. Additionally, Raven was able to interfere with the minds of those who had been soul-bound by another. With two major setbacks, some thought that all of their research had been invalidated. Llewellen, however, was not convinced.

Boldly subjecting himself to Raven’s mind-meddling for an entire twenty-four hours, Llewellen wrote extensive notes on the relation between the physical mind and the soul as he experienced it. He collaborated closely with Raven, even refusing visits from Onychinusa. Eventually, that forced her to get involved to visit with him. Her similarly unique constitution that was capable of vanishing into magic while retaining her thoughts and memories proved immensely valuable for finalizing his research.

On the sixteenth day, Llewellen withdrew from everyone, escaping even his guards (to Elenore’s panic). He showed up the next day bearing a theory he called the Formless Protocol, and in it, theorized about the function of the mind in relation to the laws of magic. Its ingenuity swept through the research team like fire through dry grass, setting their fervor aflame again.

After an exhausting session wherein the research team and the Hall of Enchantment worked tirelessly, it all seemed to come together like fitting in that final piece to a puzzle. A system to prevent Raven’s mental interference was discovered, effectively warding the soul from all mental interference. Within hours of this, Artur’s Hall of Enchantment created an enchanted ring bearing the spell that had been invented.

Everyone watched with bated breath as it was tested on the non-magically inclined victim. First, soul magic. The ring was worn, and then… it resisted the caster’s soul magic. A cheer spread through the team, but Llewellen and Artur were unanimous in silencing them as Raven stepped forth. People regarded the hulking giant with fearful deference, seeing well the vast reservoirs of magic bursting out of his body. He sunk his fingers into the victim’s head, then went silent for a few moments.

One could hear a pin drop as Raven made his evaluations. Then, he pulled free his hand, looking around.

“It worked,” he told them.

All of them erupted into exuberance.

#####

Orion looked at the ring on his finger. Apparently, this could ward away mental attacks. The research team wasn’t fully disbanded as they considered more options, but this was the main product of their continual research into the subject of mental magic. It had not been as fast as he had expected from his conversation with Llewellen, yet not as slow as he had feared.

In the coming days, this ring would be mass-produced and distributed broadly, starting with the most important elements of the state all the way down to the common people. The spellcasters had such confidence in the items that they insisted to be among the first to receive the artifacts. Orion desperately hoped it did work.

Meanwhile, Orion’s feeling of impending doom had not faded in the slightest. Rather, it was magnifying far more rapidly. After his conversation with Elenore, he had told no one else. He also hadn’t updated her on the matter. She had her concerns, but this was his fate. He could not deny his fate, could not fight against it. Fate was inexorable. His punishment for his misdeeds was inevitable. It was only the way of the world.

For now, he merely guarded Sophia, sitting out front of her room while Vasilisa watched the inside.

He basked in the feeling of impending doom. It felt rather like he had become the bottom half of an hourglass. Above him, the sands of death slowly buried his consciousness. The sand kept falling at a steady pace, but it was not infinite. At some point, it would run out. At some point… the sands would stop.

As if by providence, Orion felt a terrible swell in his chest as the final grain of the sands of his time fell. If he was right, that meant his time had come. He touched his chest in alarm, but hardened his face. Meanwhile, the door in front of him opened, and Sophia ran out. Vasilisa hurried after her as the small girl fell to her knees in her sleeping clothes, breathing heavily.

“What’s wrong, Sophia?!” Vasilisa fell to her side, mothering intensely. “What’s wrong? Tell me!”

“The night… is here,” she said, barely able to catch her breath.

“Did you have a nightmare?” Vasilisa supported her delicately. “Come on, sweetie. Breathe deep. Calm down.”

Orion walked to her and knelt just alongside Vasilisa. Seeing him, Sophia reached out and gripped his armored leg.

“The night is here,” she repeated urgently.

“Yes, honey. It’s nighttime,” Vasilisa soothed. “It’s okay. You’re safe. We’re all here.”

“No! We’re not safe! He’s coming!” She insisted. “The knight!”

Orion realized what she’d been saying—knight, rather than night. It hardened that feeling he possessed not moments ago.

The sands of the hourglass had all reached the bottom. With it, death approached.

Orion stood, ready to face the punishment he deserved. He clenched his gauntleted fists tightly. As if responding to his resolve, there was a deep rumble in the ground. Moments later, Raven appeared beside Orion, teleporting urgently.

“I felt a great surge of power beneath the earth, where the Gilderwatchers had convened. Something is coming. Everyone must be alerted.”

“I know.” Orion smiled sadly. “And I am ready for it.”