B3 C34: Intent

In a single instant, two balls of mana sprung into existence, floating in the center of the room. Both were easily recognizable, the first the roaring red of fire mana, the second, the much calmer blue of water mana.

“A question,” Xander’Callis chimed. “Certainly you are aware of composite mana types by now. But what exact type do we get if we combine both fire and water?” At his words, the two balls of mana started to drift towards one another. Right before they were about to touch, they seemed to grow agitated by their collective proximity, the fire mana flickering while the water mana rippled and surged about.

For all that the demonstration in front of me was interesting to watch, the actual question felt pretty simple. “I mean, it would be steam, right?” I hadn’t met a steam mage yet, but it was a pretty basic combination.

“Ah! Steam! Of course. Certainly, it couldn’t be anything but steam.” The two balls collided, forming a larger sphere made up of tons of red and blue threads all rubbing against one another. Steam started to pour off of it, slowly filling the room. Somehow despite the appearance of the steam, I felt like I’d said the wrong thing.

The steam sphere vanished, only to be replaced with a trio of mana types this time: a ball of life mana, a ball of earth mana, and a ball of water mana.

“What about when we combine these three then? There must be a similarly simple answer, no?” Had the archmage’s eyes not been lifeless sockets pierced by his own horns, I would have expected to find a twinkle in his eyes as he spoke. I was only more certain that I’d given him the wrong answer now.

I eyed the three mana types, trying to combine them in my head. Uh. Plant mana? Plants use earth and mud and life. Or is it something bigger? Like, maybe swamp or bog or marsh mana. Or what if it’s even something like forest mana?

I answered as honestly as I could: “It kind of feels like it could be a lot of things.”

“Aha!” the archmage shouted. “A lot of things! It does seem that way, now doesn’t it? As a matter of fact, you would be quite correct. And if we return to our previous example of steam mana, there are other ways we could combine water and fire are there not?” He let the question hang there for a time before opting to answer himself. “Why steam, after all? Why wouldn’t it be ‘boiling water mana’? Or ‘hot springs mana’? Or even something more abstract, like ‘liquid fire’ mana? And the correct answer is: It can be! So with all that in mind, here is the question I pose to you: What differentiates ‘steam mana’ from ‘liquid fire mana’ or ‘boiling water’ mana?”

Probably the fact that steam mana sounds reasonable and ‘boiling water mana’ sounds silly? What kind of mage would walk around being like ‘Fear me! I am the boiling water mage!’ More seriously, though, I tried to give the matter some thought, only one real answer coming to mind.

“Is it a ratio thing? Like, 60% fire mana to 40% water mana makes steam, while 40% water mana to 60% fire mana would make boiling water?” It would explain the temperature difference at least.

“A wonderful conjecture,” the archmage replied. “And not entirely without merit: Different types of composite mana often do draw on their constituent parts to different extents. However, there are instances of composite mana types which are entirely separate despite having identical mana ratios.”

I tried to think of any possible examples, but the archmage beat me to the punch.

“This will perhaps sound a touch silly to you, but many years ago I once happened upon a flower farm, of all things, where each member of the staff had mana specific to a single type of flower. There was a Lilly Mage and a Tulip Mage and a Rose Mage, who used lilly mana, tulip mana, and rose mana respectively. Entirely identical ratios of life mana, water mana, and earth mana, but slightly different results. So what gives rise to their difference?”

I tried to imagine what I would do if I wanted to form lilly mana, going so far as to try combining some of the requisite mana types into my mana core. It ultimately did absolutely nothing, and I was left feeling pretty clueless. Which, ultimately, was something I had no trouble fessing up to.

“I don’t know,” I admitted.

“Excellent! The true mark of a scholar is admitting our ignorance. And, after all, that’s the precise reason that you’re here.” He seemed considerably more pleased with my answer than I’d expected. “Now, if you will forgive me some grandiosity, I will give you the proper answer.”

All at once, dozens of different types of mana exploded out from the archmage, a dizzying number of spellforms weaving themselves together. Grass sprouted from the floor; a small lake appeared on the far side of the room; the ceiling shone as though radiating pure sunlight.

“The simplest of magic,” the archmage articulated, “does not need us. Were you and I and every creature, god, and abomination to vanish, mana would still flow. What’s more, it would get used, as well — in natural formations across the world, there are sites that make use of the world’s mana. Never-ending flames which convert fire mana into fire. Waterfalls which spawn in mid-air, conjured straight from water mana. Sprouts which form without seeds as life mana sinks into the soil.”

Leaning into his own showmanship, the archmage illustrated each of his sentences, a flame forming right beside him, a waterfall above the lake, and a few flowers by my feet.

“But true magic — and what separates magic from the sciences — is something more special.”

Without warning, I suddenly found myself staggering and falling to my knees as an incredible oppressive weight filled the room. The breath caught in my throat, and it was all I could do not to pass out.

“Domination,” the archmage intoned.

Just as abruptly as it had appeared, the sensation vanished, replaced by one of a euphoric lightness. Before I could stop myself, I started to giggle.

“Joy!” he cheered.

I tried to pull myself up, but before I could move a muscle, everything in my field of view shifted. The grass at my feet was perfect, every individual stalk sculpted into some impossible ideal. I barely managed to pull my eyes from it to take in the rest of the room, finding that each and every object was blinding, gripping, pulling.

It was as though every work of art there ever was and ever would be had manifested in even the most mundane of the objects around me, and I found myself moved in a way I’d never even known was possible. I began to cry without realizing it, only crying further when I spotted my tears and found that they, too, were utterly perfect.

“Beauty,” the archmage whispered.

The room returned to its previous state, and I felt a certain hollowness, as though I’d just lost something vital or perhaps gained something to strive towards. Oblivious to my inner turmoil, the archmage advanced onwards.

“Mana is not limited to the tangible. It is not simply for that which we see in front of us. There are as many types of mana as there are concepts, constructs, categories. There are mana types for ideals and virtues, emotions and sensations. Anything under the sun, and quite a number of things otherwise.”

The room’s mana flared up and intensified as if to emphasize the archmage’s next words.

“However!” he continued. “You cannot achieve these types of magic by carefully measuring out different varieties of mana and mixing them together. They cannot be created by automata or golems. You cannot grow them in a lab.”

The mana simmered down until the room grew unnervingly quiet, even to my mana senses.

“No, the true heart of magic is intent. Will. It is about cultivating an understanding of the universe. It is about knowing something so fundamentally, so intimately, that you can embody it, mind, heart, and soul. And so if I can leave you with only one thing — if there is only one thing you take away from all of this — let it be that there is a world of difference between a fire mage who simply kills things and levels up, letting the system handle everything for them…”

A standard flame appeared in the center of the room, burning steadily and brightly like your average flame would.

“... and one who has mastered the very essence of fire. Who has stamped it indelibly into their soul, their being.”

The flame did not change in shape or in size, nor in color or intensity. But as I looked upon it, I somehow knew without needing to be told that it had become more.

This was not simply a flame. It was the flame. True fire. Had the archmage let it loose, I knew beyond a shadow of a doubt that no mere bucket of water would be enough to put it out. It would burn and burn and burn, lighting up everything around it as it spread and grew and consumed and-

The flame winked out. The grass and the lake vanished as if they’d never been there. The tension in the room broke all at once, and the archmage merely chuckled before returning to his seat.

“Enough of all that, though. I hope you will forgive me some theatrics in my old age. In your case, the lesson is much simpler: The exact type of your mana is determined by your intent.” As if he hadn’t just etched a number of unforgettable memories into my brain, he waved a hand dismissively.

“This usually first comes into play when you start to learn composite mana types. Often the system will assign you a ‘default’ type of mana — mud magic, steam magic, et cetera — but none of your spell schools are entirely set in stone.

“For example, if a young storm mage were to spend a few decades as a house cleaner, only learned cleaning spells, and meditated deeply enough on the concept of cleaning, he might learn how to create cleaning mana, and his Storm Magic skill would  morph into Cleaning Magic. He might also — if somewhat unrelatedly — wind up as one of the ten chamber heads of this very city.”

Wait, is that how Suds became a cleaning mage? I had wondered exactly how someone wound up with his particular set of spells, but I’d imagined the bulk of it came from his class.

“There is a warning in all of this, however: The chamber head will find himself equally as limited as he is empowered. Regular storm magic will be much weaker for him now, and some varieties of magic — namely, those that cause disorder and uncleanliness — he may not be able to learn at all. It’s also remarkably hard to cultivate multiple intents, and next to impossible to do so for the same combination of mana you’ve already layered an intent onto.

“Furthermore, if he goes far enough along the path of intent-altered mana, it may begin to affect him more drastically in a personality sense as well. He may find the very idea of becoming unclean unbearable and antithetical to who he is or even grow aggressive to those he perceives to be unclean or impure.”

So. Spend a few centuries as a cleaning mage, and you become a neat freak? Probably not the worst thing that could happen. But then again, not everything was as innocuous as cleaning.

“More than that, the intents and concepts that you cultivate are largely permanent after a certain point, much more so than your class. The chamber head could sunder his class and choose something else entirely, and he would largely be fine. He could not suddenly expunge his Cleaning Magic skill.

“All of this to say: You’ve hit level twenty in a spell school. When you do so again, you’ll likely soon learn your first composite spell school, which is where intent-altered mana generally comes into play. You don’t need to do anything quite yet, but I would encourage you to start to think about what you want from life and what speaks to you — what sort of concepts you might wish to shape your magic to embody. And start to pay more attention to your mana. It’s possible you may find that certain spells ‘resonate’ with you, for lack of a better term, which can help point you towards what sort of mage — and what sort of person — you wish to be.”

It was a lot to mull over. More than that, it was kind of daunting. If I didn’t get myself killed too quickly, he was essentially telling me to figure out what kind of traits or concepts I was comfortable committing myself to for possible centuries.

Luckily, it wasn’t something I had to do in a day. Like he said, I’d start thinking and pay attention to my mana.

I considered asking some follow-up questions, but having said his fill, the archmage apparently had a different idea in mind.

“Let that all sit with you for a while, and then next session, you may ask of me whatever you wish. Now. Take your reward with you, and you are dismissed!”

No sooner had he finished than the scene in front of me was swapped out with the base of the rainbow tower. My lesson was apparently over.

“Wait. What was that about a reward, though?”

Halfway through speaking, I realized that, whereas I’d come in empty-handed, I was now suddenly holding a large book.

A little freaky how he can do that.

Still, it was a good distraction from the various layers of whiplash that the archmage had put me through in the last few minutes. Curious to see what I’d won, I hit the book with God’s Eye.

Spellbook of Dark Sphere

Teaches the user the Dark Sphere spell.

Dark Sphere

Create a stationary spherical area of complete darkness with size dependent on spell level and Intelligence. For the duration of the spell, no light can enter or exit the area, and most forms of detection and identification skills will fail.

Prerequisites:

Level 20 Dark Magic

20 Wisdom

25 Intelligence

Wait, that’s actually… a useful spell? That was actually a useful spell! Not that I didn’t enjoy my party tricks and all that, but this felt like the sort of thing I might be able to use in a real fight if I wanted to.

Especially if Illuminated Sight or the dark variant of Arcane Vision lets me see through it…

I put learning and practicing the spell very high up on my to-do list. In fact, I was sorely tempted to go home and learn it immediately, but as it so happened, I did have plans for the day.

Plans that I was at risk of being late for due to my impromptu visit to the archmage. And on top of that, they were plans that I literally could not choose to skip out on, enforced straight into my very soul.

Not that I wasn’t looking forward to them, but I sighed all the same.

Do you think Verin would be mad at me if I used our time together to read my new spellbook? Well. Only one way to find out.

~~~~~~

“Lady Astorius, I must confess, I find myself somewhat displeased with you presently.” Verin laid back in a plush, red velvet chair that was likely worth some mind-bogglingly large sum. Despite her verbal displeasure, her face remained unreadable save for perhaps the faintest hints of the start of a frown.

As for the cause of her present mood, I had a pretty solid guess.

I glanced down at my lap and the chair containing it and even the floor around that, noting the thick coating of dust.

After talking for a good while, both about what I’d been up to lately and about random tidbits from Earth, my willpower had broken down, and I’d asked Verin if it would be okay for me to read the spellbook.

She hadn’t seemed to mind, but the spellbook, as spellbooks were wont to do, had exploded into a cloud of dust the moment I was done with it.

You have learned a new spell: Dark Sphere

Even the joy of reading through the notification wasn’t enough to suppress the nervous chuckle that rose out of me.

Why didn’t I remember that they do that? And more importantly, who the hell designed them to do that!

“Uh, sorry Verin. I can try to clean it up, maybe? Not that I’ve picked up any cleaning magic or anything, but-”

Verin raised a hand, forestalling my attempts to clean her room of the mess I’d made.

“I imagine that would have been somewhat amusing, but I do not mean the dust, Lady Astorius. I assure you that the Sylus mansion does not lack for able cleaners. However, as you were reading the spellbook I began to think over what we’ve discussed today…”

Whatever relief I gained from discovering she wasn’t angry about the dust was overshadowed by a flare-up of nerves as I tried to figure out what I’d said earlier. Nothing immediately came to mind, and seeming to realize that I didn’t know what I’d done to upset her, she gently furrowed her brows, the closest to pouting that I’d likely ever see from her.

“Lady Astorius, did you not just tell me that you took researcher Emin along with you to your settlement?”

I shook my head as if to clear the cobwebs out, somewhat taken aback by the unexpected direction of the conversation.

That’s what she’s angry about? Wait, why? By now, Verin was all caught up on what I’d been doing before coming to Sylum -- considering she knew that I was a Protagonist from another world, letting her know that I was a settlement owner wasn’t that big of a deal.

Actually, is that why she’s mad? It wasn’t a big deal for her to know about Emer’Thalis. Emin, on the other hand, was an entirely separate matter. Maybe she thought I was being reckless by bringing him with me and endangering my secret? I mean it wasn’t like I’d taken no precautions, but she would have a point, I supposed.

Apparently confirming just that, Verin hummed out the start of an admonition. “Taking him was not only a risk to yourself, but also by your own admission was an imposition. You had to set rules for him and restrict his movements during his stay. Unlike I am, he is not aware of your secret, Lady Astorius.”

I mean, it’s sounding like she’s kind of just worried and trying to look out for me? I don’t think I regret taking Emin, but I do appreciate the con-

“As such,” she snapped out, “I will confess I find it somewhat vexing that you thought to invite him before you did me.”

My train of thought ground to a halt.

Wait, that’s what she was worried about?

Oblivious to my disbelief, Verin barreled onwards, leaning forward from the plush velvet.

“Lady Astorius, I am afraid this will not do. I will go have a travel bag packed, and then we will rectify this oversight presently, yes?”