The Third Portal: Chapter Sixty-Nine

We were silent after leaving the shop until we had nearly arrived in the middle of the city, where Meadow explained a few key details about the masks. The magic they used was partially suppressive, partially concealing. While they were on, we could choose to make them either, or shift between. 

The concealing function was the easy one, since it would merely shift our appearances. Mine wouldn’t change my tail, but it would make my face look different, which was the main reason most independent competitors used them. Not everyone wanted attention, after all. 

The suppressive function would make using our mana-gardens harder, but it would mask both our mana signature and our identities. The exact degree to which they could be shifted wasn’t much. Not due to the maskmaker’s lack of skill, but rather, tournament rules. 

“It was that suppression that was why I studied with him,” the Amethyst Mask said, striding over to us as we entered the central park of the city. “I needed it to contain my legacy.” 

I froze up. 

It might have sounded stupid, having studied under people who were objectively stronger than the Amethyst Mask was, but the difference was that I’d heard of the Mask. He was famous for his heroic deeds and wanderings. I’d learned about him in school, for the Primes’ sake. 

Meadow, Orykson, and Ikki might be stronger, but this was the man who’d helped to rebuild an entire city in the Redsummer isles after a tsunami had devastated it. He’d pushed back some of the Shining Spirits from killing an innocent woman mistakenly thought to be in violation of their laws. He’d stolen from sects, and defeated a zombie horde threatening to tear apart a small village, and even once turned aside the Wandering Mountain. 

I was sure that my mentors had all done equally impressive things, but I hadn’t learned about them in school. I had learned about him. 

He was tall, and looked to be in his forties. Handsome, for an older man, with sharp features. His mask covered his eyes, but left his mouth exposed, and he was smiling. 

“Pleasure to meet you,” he said, extending his hand. I shook it numbly, and then he shook Ed’s hand, before giving Meadow a hug and leading us deeper into the park. A small crowd had gathered, but much less than I’d expected. Only around fifty people were milling about, most of them either fourth gate or sixth gate, presumably hoping to get a look into higher advancement. 

In my mana senses, though, I could faintly feel the attention of other beings. Orykson – or more likely, Aerde – was watching this, as was Ikki, and a hundred other powers I didn’t know personally. 

“I have a gift from you,” I said, then realized that I’d messed up. “I mean. I have a gift for you. Not from me. From the Terminarch. Elio. Crysite’s new Occultist?” 

It was stilted, but he didn’t seem to mind, giving me a reassuring pat on the shoulder. 

“No rush,” he said, and Dusk drew it out, then presented it to him. The Amethyst Mask studied the gemstone, then whistled and nodded. “Well, he knows how to give good gifts. I’ll send him something in return. Are you his emissary?” 

“Kind of? Meadow’s my mentor. But I’m from there and got a medal, but it wasn’t metal and… I’m babbling, I’m sorry…” 

The Amethyst Mask chuckled and repeated that it was fine, then gestured to a spot on a log, where I spotted Siobhan and Kene already. 

“Why don’t you wait with your partner? It’s best to be back some way from me when I unmask.” 

I nodded mutely and wandered over to Kene, then plopped down on the ground. We watched in silence as the Amethyst Mask walked to the giant crystal and laid his hand on it. Liz darted in, flopping onto Ed’s lap just as the Amethyst Mask began to speak. 

“I’m not much of one for speeches,” he started. “I kept this quiet for that reason. We’ve taken precautions to ensure my power doesn’t spill out and kill anyone, but if you feel faint, it’s better to be safe than to die.”

He reached up and removed his mask, and I felt the suppressive effect that had been keeping his mana in check fall away. I’d heard that the Amethyst Mask’s source of resonance was unique, like my own, but in a different way. That he needed to hold back his power, not amplify it. 

I finally understood just what that meant. 

Power exploded out of him in a violent wave, too much for his body to handle. He was seventh gate, but if I didn’t know that for an absolute fact, I would have thought he was a ninth gate mage, as the power felt more like Orykson’s overwhelming might than Elio’s incredible strength. 

More than that, the entire power resonated in a way that almost reminded me of Foxstep or my body spells. 

Rooted. It was like his mana itself was rooted, rather than specific spells. Like resonance was pumping through every shard and speck of mana he had, and amplifying it, but entirely passively. 

Worse, his mana seemed to be spinning, moving with such violent force that whatever spell he cast would be shattered within his spirit. Like someone had taken a mana meditation that rotated mana to give it more force and amplified it to a nearly crippling degree. 

I scooted backwards just from the feel of it, but the Amethyst Mask seemed undeterred. He laid his hand onto the crystal, and cast a simple harvesting spell. Power began to move in a wave across the city. 

When breaking into second gate, the general rule of thumb was to have double the amount of mana your garden could hold. When breaking into third, four times. Eight to break into fourth, and so on and so forth. Which meant to break into eighth gate, a person needed over a hundred times as much mana as their gates could hold. The power slammed into his form at a scale that practically boggled my mind. 

Across the entire city, the gemstones began to change color. The Amethyst Mask had been keeping the entire city filled with his Title and his mana, and it had tinged all of the crystals of the Crystal Cove with his purple light. 

Now it was like someone had parted a curtain in a dusty and dark room, and now light could refract off all the kicked up dust and fill the room once more. Gemstones and crystals of every color of the rainbow and beyond glistened in the light of the sun, only increasing the sheer scope at which the Mask seemed to be operating. 

The world around the man seemed to shudder as he reached out and did something with his resonance. I heard him look into the sky and say something, but I couldn’t understand what exactly he had said. The world seemed to tremble.

Then it pushed back. 

Power from the world in the form of resonance, not mana or energy, pushed down at the Amethyst Mask, shaking him. This world was not his. No matter how much power he gained, the world would never bow to him. Even if he lived a hundred lifetimes, a thousand lifetimes, he could not make this world anew or break it at his whim. 

This was the edge. The limit. 

A destined child was he, born into the worst of conditions, born to rise up and overthrow the darkness, and he had done as much. His role in the play was over, his story at a close, and to insist on more was selfishness and nothing more.

Even if he passed on a heredimant headstone, or built some trial for the youth, none of it mattered. His power would not flow to them. He might have friends, have allies, have those who depended on him, but to pursue this act was selfishness and nothing more.

Because in the end, he would die. No matter what. No matter how anchored he had become, no matter if he sought out every form of immortality in existence. Nothing was immortal. Even the stars themselves would one day burn out. To try and cling to life was selfishness and nothing more.

And the Amethyst Mask responded. 

He was made to push back against darkness, and he had, but to enter this new stage would let him do more. It would not matter that he was not eternal. If taking this power would save one more life, then he would take it. It was greedy, to think he could hold his head up higher than his fellows, but he did not think that. 

He acknowledged that nothing lasts forever, but his part in the play was not over. There were still too many threats in this world. He would stop them. He’d chosen this long ago, chosen to burn himself alive so that the rest of his fellows could stay warm.

Staring into the note of finality, I felt tears run down my cheek. Everything I ever loved would die and fade away. That was true. 

The notes changed their tune then. They focused on the connections, on the death of them, and on the negative ones. He could surrender. Give up. He could put down his power and relax. It was true that nothing lasted forever, so why burn your life shorter in the attempt to do a tiny little change? Why make enemies? 

Darius had friends. He had loved ones. Nieces and nephews. He’d even had a few lovers. 

He could settle down. Here in his home, he could protect it and usher in a new golden age, settled for his remaining centuries. He could have children of his own, however they came to him. 

Darius hesitated, and I saw the loneliness that came with it. The Amethyst Mask was only seventy, but all his childhood friends were gone. And that hurt. He did not wish to die, but he also didn’t want to be alone. 

It was tempting, but he turned away. He could make those connections on the move, and he could protect more than one city. He had power, it was his responsibility. 

I wasn’t sure how I would resist that lull myself. I wanted to settle, but I wanted to wander. I was caught between them, much like the Amethyst Mask, and I couldn’t just turn aside my connections so easily. 

And the tune changed again. 

If that were true, then surely the world would be better if he took charge. Yes, by taking the power and burning himself up, he could keep people warm, but if he just shattered those who kept the others in the dark and took their place, he could ensure none ever needed the warmth again. 

He was kind. He was clever. He was powerful. He could be a just and wise king. Not a tyrant, no, merely one who had absolute power. He would use it for good. 

It tempted him. I could see the hubris. Because he agreed, in part. Sometimes in order to save people, you had to cut out what was keeping them in pain, even if it created more pain in the short term. Excise the rot to let the healthy wood grow. 

But no.

He might be willing to go that far, but to make himself command others? No. That was too far. He would be a tyrant then, with the power not because he had been chosen, but because he’d taken it himself. How many years could he last? After all, had the world not said that nothing lasted forever? He would eventually cross a line, or die, or fail. 

On and on it went, an endless argument with the tearing at his Title, at his resonance, and at him. The very core of who the Amethyst Mask was shook and fought against the tide of convictions. 

Then the power ended, and the world returned to normal, with one change. 

The Amethyst Mask was now an eighth gate mage.