Book Three - Chapter Fourteen (Patreon)

“Where would you like to start?” Alarion asked.

“We will work our way down, we think,” CeeCee replied, highlighting his classes as she spoke. “You have seen steady, if unimpressive, growth in your primary class, Fated Warrior, but little to none in your namesake class. Why is that?”

“I need to be alone to earn experience in the Orphan class. As a soldier and a leader, I have found few opportunities.”

“You are also a Warrant Officer. You could easily make some,” she observed. “According to Cyiar, you took the young mistress on quite the adventure. Why not do so yourself?”

“There is little to no challenge to be found in local infestations, even alone. Most of my growth over the last year has been earned through training with my peers,” Alarion answered without hesitation. This was a lie he’d been long prepared to tell.

The truth was that [Orphan] had reached its cap months earlier, as had [Shared Burden]. As it turned out, having a unique skill serve as the source of a cultural renaissance led to considerable experience gains.

Unfortunately, that growth had not translated into advancement. Alarion had been worried when [Orphan] had hit level 40 without his being offered options for a Rank Up, and though he’d held to every bit of guidance ZEKE had to offer in the months that folloed, neither of them was surprised when the final milestone came and went without a Rank Up.

Disappointed, but not surprised.

Alarion had coped with the situation as best he could, but it had done little to soothe the System’s rebuke, or his own sense of failure. Yes, [Orphan] had been a bad fit ever since the Vitrians had taken him in, but he could have done something to stabilize its foundations. Instead he’d treated it as an afterthought and even gone so far as to turn his nose up at class-defining skills such as [Found Family] that might have bridged the divide between his old life and his new circumstance.

It was small wonder [Orphan] had withered on the vine when Alarion had neglected it for so long.

He had no one to blame but himself. ZEKE’s earliest lessons had warned him about the dangers of stagnation, but Alarion had ignored them. It hadn’t even occurred to him that having [Shared Burden] flood his class with unearned experience could be a bad thing until it was far too late.

After all, he was special.

Alarion wasn’t sure when he’d internalized his own growing legend, but once he had, it was damnably hard to shake. The Ashadi treated him like royalty, the Vitrians like a prowling beast—but beneath the worship and the wariness was the same understanding: the System favored him, and he would be a force to be reckoned with, given time.

Up to that point, the System had agreed. Even at a relatively low Rank, it had rewarded Alrion’s efforts with powerful skills such as [Act of Will], [Orphan’s Fated Strike], and [Shared Burden]. Alarion was alive because the System had come to him in his time of need with [Survivor] and [Orphan]. The very idea that it could rebuke him was absurd.

The worst part was that Alarion suffered the failure alone. He’d told his allies, but couldn’t bring himself to reach for the sympathy or commiseration they’d have been sure to offer. For most Awakened, class stagnation was the end of a long road, never to be walked again. To Alarion it was no more than a thorn in his boot. A niggling irritation he’d endure on the journey ahead.

If he complained about it, he’d have been no better than Anastacia, a poor little rich boy upset he didn’t get exactly what he wanted.

Besides, [Orphan] was a survival class that had done its job spectacularly. Without it he’d have starved to death in the Old City, or been slain outright during his training.

And it left him one final skill that was gift, warning, and insult all intertwined.

Everything They Left Behind [Ancient]

Description: You did not ask, but it has been given—the language, the titles, the knowledge, and the following. You have been given strength by bodies who rot, and yet you continue to take.

Requirements: Orphan – Level MAX. Outlive at least five individuals with whom you have a positive Sympathetic bond.

Type: Active/Passive. Sympathetic

Activation Time: Ten seconds.

Duration: Twenty-four hours.

Effects: While able to directly perceive an ally with whom they have an appropriate Sympathetic bond, the user may temporarily borrow one skill known to that ally. The ally does not lose the borrowed skill and suffers no penalties, though they are notified of the use of this skill. The user retains the borrowed skill for twenty-four hours. The borrowed skill is granted at the level of this skill regardless of the subject’s current skill level. The borrowed skill must come from a class no more than one Rank above the user’s highest class Rank.

Most requirements of the borrowed skill are waived, but certain requirements–most notably physiological ones–cannot be circumvented. The user will be notified if they attempt to borrow a skill they would be unable to use.

Should an ally die while this skill is active, the borrowed skill is retained permanently.

The user is innately aware of all individuals with whom they share a sympathetic bond of sufficient strength to serve as a target of this skill.

Growths: LUK +42.

Note: Experience gained toward borrowed skills is applied to this skill instead. Borrowed skills cannot be graded up. Skills retained permanently through the death of a subject are thereafter treated as the user’s own.

[Everything They Left Behind] had been far and away the best skill offered for his final milestone. With the highest grade and strongest ability, the choice was so obvious that it felt like a trap, especially when paired with the System’s scathing tone.

Alarion knew from ZEKE’s lessons—and from previous skills and classes such as [Stubborn Swordsman] and [Pig-Headed Resilience]—that the System tailored its descriptions to the actions, history, and emotions of each reader. For someone else, the description of [Everything They Left Behind] might have been more positive: a stoic description of martial loss, or a ritual sharing of power toward a common goal. But the System knew how he felt about death.

He hadn’t taken any skills with it—Mothers willing, he never would—but even its basic effect was powerful. In combat he cribbed powerful boosting skills from Kali or Lily, or situational enhancements from Archer and Witch. Outside of battle he had nearly endless options for utility: healing, tracking, mobility and more. Even better, it gave him access to a handful of entirely novel Skill Circuits by chaining usually unimpressive skills from the 238th to his own.

But all of that paled in comparison to the potential for growth.

When Alarion had been training to upgrade [Ebb and Flow], he’d had to rely on traditional methods of trial and error to progress his understanding of the Inva-Maie. But with [Everything They Left Behind], Alarion could have adopted Kali’s mastery skill and used it to drastically improve his rate of progress.

He’d actually done something very similar to obtain the first skill CeeCee inquired about.

“Alarion’s Unbound Warding,” the old woman read, her voice caught somewhere between amusement and horror. “A named general skill at your age is impressive, but I rather agree with the description.”

Alarion’s Unbound Warding [Uncommon]

Description: Through stubborn dedication, you have accomplished what simpler minds might have considered impossible—the creation of a warding scheme rooted entirely in the use of Unbound Fields. The real question is, was it worth it?

Requirements: Unbound Student of Isha. Create and maintain an unbound ward for at least 24 hours.

Type: Active.

Duration: Several hours, decaying.

Effects: Through intense effort, this skill allows the creation, maintenance, and empowerment of unbound warding schemes. Due to the transient and unstructured nature of unbound fields, unbound warding schemes are significantly more mana-intensive and require more upkeep than traditional warding schemes—though they are slightly more durable. Unbound warding schemes do not require sigils, anchors, or any other sympathetic signifiers to function, though they do benefit from their presence.

This skill grants basic understanding of a small number of warding schemes. Others can be inscribed into the user’s spellcasting implement as if they were spells.

Growths: INT +2. WIL +2. PER +2.

“It was a challenge. In both senses of the word.” The hint of an inappropriate grin twitched at the corner of Alarion’s lips as he spoke. If his failure with [Orphan] was something to be ashamed of, his success with [Alarion’s Unbound Warding] was something he was very proud of. Even if the System was as skeptical as the Ordinate. “My flaw requires—”

“We can read, Master Sergeant.” Her face was scrunched tight, like she’d taken a sip of something sour. “Surely you did not recommend this, Ordinate?”

“I did not,” Hummingbird said, stiff and annoyed, though seemingly more at Alarion than the question. “I expressed that it was rather foolish, in fact.”

Her words had been less charitable—and considerably more vulgar—if Alarion recalled correctly, but she was being honest in spirit.

“You should listen to your Ordinate,” CeeCee told him with a firm, matronly tone. Alarion had never known his grandparents, but he suspected that a scolding from them would have felt similar. “Was this really a good usage of your time?”

It wouldn’t have been, if he’d tried to learn the skill normally. But borrowing Bergman’s [Intermediate Rune Warding] with [Everything They Left Behind] had adjusted the difficulty from impossible to merely inadvisable.

Pure unbound spellcasting was rare, but not unheard of. There were enough spells that benefited from being cast without a bound field that a few mages had made a scholarly go of it, such as the author of Alarion’s [Thesis of the Unbound Magi]. To his knowledge, however, none of them had been stupid enough to spend time on a skill like [Alarion’s Unbound Warding].

The problem lay in the very nature of the thing.

Wards were structured, ritual magic that straddled the line between permanent enchantment and temporary spellcraft. Creating them involved layer after layer of bound fields stacked atop one another like sediment at the bottom of a river. When fully developed, an effective ward scheme could be activated in an instant while creating effects powerful enough to transcend rank.

[Alarion’s Unbound Warding] had none of those advantages.

As with his imitation of [Whispered Ward], Alarion’s unbound copy of [Intermediate Rune Warding] was subpar, at best. Copying the skill from Bergman gave Alarion an intimate understanding of how impossible it would be to copy existing warding schemes, but it also gave him the insight he needed to create a slapdash alternative.

A typical warding scheme looked similar to the complex pathways inscribed on Alarion’s mace, albeit one writ microscopic. Each layer was akin to a sheet of vellum with a single marking, placed one atop another until an image emerged. Doing it the right way required precision and control Alarion could not hope to match.

As usual, his solution was much more straightforward.

“Certain things are difficult for me because of the damage to my mana circuits,” Alarion said at last. He’d let her question linger for appearances—it wouldn’t do to seem hasty or defensive. “I hoped that new insight might shore up my weaknesses.”

“And did it?” CeeCee asked.

Alarion chuckled. “It did not. The skill is useful though, even as a poor substitute.”

“Mmm.” She made a noncommittal gesture, scrolling further down his Status before she paused and moved back up. Her nose wrinkled again, her lips tight as she considered some conundrum. The internal debate lasted just long enough for Alarion to exchange a worried glance with Hummingbird before CeeCee asked, “May I see it?”

“Pardon?”

“Your skill,” she elucidated. “It is not required of you, of course, as this is a standard—”

“Of course,” Alarion responded, visibly perplexed. “Now? Or…?”

“If you would.”

“Kotone, a book, if—” Alarion winced, realizing his mistake almost a moment too late. His familiar had a collection of loose books he’d used while training this exact skill, but since Anastacia’s arrival Kotone also carried a very particular book he wanted kept out of sight. “—one of my training books, if you please.”

“Yes, Miss! Yes, Miss!”

The creature chanted its arrival with the same delight as always, but her demeanor shifted as she dropped the book onto the desktop and gave her usual side-to-side swivel. Her head canted to one side when she saw CeeCee, her beady eyes locked on the old woman until Alarion dismissed her with a pop.

“So, it is true.” Wrinkled fingertips tapped against one another in a steeple as the Ordinate stared at the now-empty air. “Cyrine mentioned your familiar was familiar, but we did not expect that one. How did she end up in your care?”

“She came when I called.” His tone was far too defensive, especially when he’d done nothing wrong. “She was—”

“Sierra Feln, yes. We know who she belonged to. It is a curious Sympathy that led her to you, though,” CeeCee mused. She looked pleased with herself, but only briefly. “Come now, Orphan, how many daughters of Vitria have died around you? Even with your reputation, I imagine the list is rather small.”

Reputation.

“Master Sergeant.” Hummingbird’s crisp voice cut in before Alarion could say something stupid. “I believe the Ordinate asked for a demonstration.”

“Mm.” Alarion exhaled through his nose and did his best to ignore the heat in his cheeks as he flipped the book to find an empty page. “You may wish to move back slightly. Even with the skill to help, creating a ward can be… difficult.”

CeeCee raised a hairless brow but did not attempt to back away as she nodded for him to continue.

Alarion held his hand a palm’s width above the empty page, relaxed his shoulders, and then fell deep into [Unraveller’s Sense].

Ambient mana flowed through him the way it always did—too easily. He was a fortress with gates unbarred and unguarded, strings and tangles flowing through him as easily as the air around him. He found one and pinned it within his body, grasping and twisting until he had a messy snarl of energy to work with. From there he cut and sculpted, discarding unused strands to create a sigil inside himself, using the same skills he’d learned in Lal Viren’s challenge dungeon so many years ago.

One more thing he’d have to thank Valentina for, should he ever see her again.

The easy part accomplished, Alarion looked outward. He let his mana loose in a burst of concentrated power that scoured any arcane imperfections from the blank page and set the air shimmering like a desert horizon. A squall spun up beneath his hand, scattering a few nearby pages to the floor. Seconds later came a spark, then another, each jolt of compressed mana crackling along the page.

A complex sigil surfaced on the page as though seared there from beneath, black lines surrounded by browned paper that looked ready to burst into flames, but chose to glow instead. The low violet light pulsed in time with Alarion’s efforts, then flickered with his struggles.

The distortion in the air thickened, a sudden gust overturning a cup of pencils and striking a crack in Hummingbird’s careful composure as the Ordinate pressed herself back as far as the chair behind her would allow.

It was going to be close. [Alarion’s Unbound Warding] was far from mastered. Even with the skill to assist him, he failed one in every five attempts. On a good day.

The sigil flickered again, then stabilized along with Alarion’s breathing. Creating the sigil was easy; filling it was not. Bergman had compared the method to starting a fire: deprive it of air and it sputters out. Add too much and… well, there was a reason they’d conducted their experiments in a reinforced cellar.

In keeping with his preferred visualization, Alarion thought of it like fishing. His mana was an unwinding spool, and consistency was key—a little slack, but not too much. A touch of tension, but don’t let it snap.

And give them a good tug when they get close.

His father had taught him to fish when he’d been a boy, but Alarion had been terrible at it—not at catching the fish—but at keeping them. He’d broken down at the sight of the desperate, flopping creatures and sobbed until Bas-Rhin angrily agreed to throw them back.

“Orphan…?” Hummingbird asked.

“I have got it.” Chagrined at his loss of focus, Alarion redoubled his efforts. He let the last of his gathered mana flow into the sigil, then used the final string in his body to pull it taut. The icon flared one last time, then settled into a dull, receding glow.

“Interesting. All of that chaos for…” CeeCee leaned forward, squinting at the page as she deciphered his work. “An alarm ward? One that is bleeding mana like a stuck pig.”

“Part of an alarm,” Alarion corrected. “I need about twenty of these for a proper scheme. And yes, they are inefficient. They dissipate entirely after only a few days without charge.”

“On top of being slower to make. Well, at least we have seen something new. It is not often we see an uncatalogued general skill.” Though her words were condescending, the ancient bureaucrat’s tone was more bemused, like a parent watching their child show off a strange ‘talent’. “I am sure you will find some advantage in it.”

He had, actually. But the Vitrians were the last people he’d ever tell.