The Glass Orbs

The Dreamer sat, crouched over the network of more than a thousand glass orbs. 

Well. Sat was a relative term. He was in a chair, but only the balls of his feet were touching its cushions. He balanced on them in a low crouch, and squatted with his back arched terribly over the table where the orbs lay. 

Across from him was his fellow dream weaver, the so-called Avatar of Sin. Where the Dreamer was hunched, messy, and plain, the Avatar rippled with the muscle and cockyness of a natural born showman. 

“Well? Are you satisfied with our work?” the Avatar asked, and the Dreamer looked up at him. 

Their violet eyes, the only trait they shared in common, met, and the Dreamer was quiet for a long moment, then his eyes went back down. 

“On dreamlit wings,” the Dreamer finally agreed. 

The Dreamer didn’t need to speak in whispered riddles, or sit like a maniac, or spend half an hour scrutinizing the dreamrealms within the balls of glass. He did it anyway. It was fun to mess with the Avatar of Sin. 

Well, and to conceal just how powerful his seven-petalmind clematis had grown. But even if he didn’t want to keep that trick up his sleeve, then he still would have forced the Avatar to wait. He really did like messing with his thrice hexed mirror.

“Good,” the Avatar said, raising. “If my job is done, I’ll be on my way out then.”

“Let us walk ‘round, lest we never return home.” 

The Avatar grunted and waved, pulling out his teleportation device, doubtless crafted by the man who the Avatar liked to pretend he wasn’t on the leash of. In a flash, he was gone, leaving the Dreamer alone. He straightened slightly, and began loading the glass spheres into his spatial storage bracelet, then stepped into dreams. 

Moving through dreams was not like moving through space or shadow or matter. It was far less reliable, and there were things that lurked only in dreams that no amount of knowledge, might, or mana could vanquish. Deep things, old things, and strange things. 

The Dreamer flitted from dream to dream with the alacrity that he alone in all the world could muster. The Avatar of Sin was a good dream weaver, but he was unwilling to transport himself through dreams. The Death Queen was a more powerful mental mage, but she used her mind magic as a weapon. The Spider wove his webs through dreams, but he could not explore dreams far from that web. 

Across the world, the Dreamer moved. Sometimes, he left the orbs with presidents, with kings, with Magi, and with Occultists. 

Given Elohi’s massive population, there were four spots for both the Spellbinder division and the Arcanist one, but the Sun and Moon Queens were only voices on the senatorial hearings that decided who would be sent to represent Elohi. The orbs were given to the senate. 

In Mossford, who got two of each, Orykson was given one, and the other was given to their elected leader. 

Kijani had no Occultist or Magi, so their single set of trials was delivered to the Rainbow Council.

One set to the Tower-City of a Thousand World’s elite realm, two to Aergarde’s top corporations, and three sent right into the Golden Palace of the Storm King. 

On and on, the Dreamer moved, and people across the world began to find that their orbs had been delivered. 

And then the Dreamer released the independents. 

Many who grew in powers, regardless of what they called themselves, refused to be tied down to a nation. Others had been unnoticed by the powers of the world, through unhappy circumstances, or had bargained away the normal path to arrive at the Elysian Mastery Tournament. 

That was why, even though each division only accepted the top two hundred and fifty six competitors per division, there were five hundred and twelve crafted. 

It was also why the orbs were so delicate and prized. They each contained a copy of the same dreamrealm, where the prospective participant could prove themselves suited for the tournament. They also contained gentle winds fate, fortune, and resolve, complex and delicate in a way that nobody understood fully, but that had come about as the tournament had been created. 

Most of the time, when independent orbs were found, the nation where they were found simply added an extra slot to their competing teams. It was common enough – it might have found its way into the hands of someone with great potential who had slipped aside notice, but the trial finding the person ensured that there were those who got noticed. But not always. Sometimes independent Occultists took apprentices, or the person intentionally did not want to represent their country. 

Whatever the reason, if you found an independent test, or more accurately, if it found you, you had a chance. A shot to prove that you could enter the tournament. 

The Dreamer laughed as he felt winds stirring. The tournament in the Lesser Kingdom of Zhuanzhe, in the Greater Nation of Daocheng, would be interesting. But he thought that the next one, which would doubtless be in Elohi, might be even better. Time would tell…

…

The Knowledge King sat in the Elohian Senate, their curvy frame accentuated by the silken robes they wore. On their left, Atsila and Ama, the Sun and Moon Queens, were practically cuddling in their chairs, and on their right, the Headmaster sat, gently radiating the warmth of his fire. The Spider and Healer were off doing their work, alongside the official Elohian Occultistists, but the magi couldn’t be off the hook so easily. 

The Headmaster and Knowledge King were independent, and advised on any of the library affiliated systems, sects, or colleges that warranted a say in the distribution of a testing orb. Given that Lledrith University was in Elohi, though, that made certain that they too were here. 

The chairman of the senate, a large older woman with dimples, coughed. She was a career politician, and had never attained any power beyond third gate, but she was an excellent data analyst. 

“I have taken a look at the proposals set forth by Lledrith University,” she said. “I have some questions and concerns. First and foremost, this ‘Ming’ girl you spoke of. She is from Feng Chui, correct?” 

“That is where she was born and raised, but she made her way to Lledrith on her own,” the Knowledge King answered smoothly. “She has a student visa, but she is in the process of applying for full Elohian citizenship. And I think she has a chance to win the Spellbinder division. I can almost guarantee that she will at least make the top four.” 

“Hmm. I see. Still, that might hand the Storm King some more power, don’t you think? If she wins, he can claim it was the brutality of his systems that granted her that power. I’m not opposed to letting her join if she finds her way in, but I’m not sure she makes the most convincing person to represent Elohi on the global stage, especially with two of your other top recommendations also being transplants.” 

“Consider that Elohi is renowned for our ability to take in people from across the world,” another senator butted in. “In my opinion…”

…

Orykson picked up the orb the moment his wards detected movement in the dream realms in Mortshire, and teleported it to the hidden nook that Ivy had formed on Crysite. When it came to the spellbinder tournament, Ivy’s power should allow him to dominate, and when he was old enough to enter the Arcanist tournament, it would net Orykson significant political capital that he’d lost by taking on an apprentice without consulting the other Magi. 

He glanced at the Arcanist orb, which hovered in the air across from him, and let out a humming noise. Most of the notable Arcanists in Mossford were either non-combatants – like Jeremy Long, the lead researcher of three of his major research projects – or else were too old to participate, like Azalea. 

He and Aerde pulled up a quick list of options and began running battle simulations based on what they knew, could divine, and could see in the winds. None of the competitors for the Arcanist division would stand a chance against Chen Liyu, but that was fine. He just needed to make sure his pick could compete well enough to land a spot in the top sixteen, preferably top eight.

…

Tom grunted as the set of spheres appeared in the air next to him. As the Director of the Aergarde Corporate Bloc, he could assign them to whoever he wanted, and if one of the other corporations under him wanted to challenge him, they could try. Only MoveCo and United Defense would have a tenth of the standing to argue. 

Tom lifted his veil, and his mana senses smashed over the city. He took enough care to not kill any of the children that his senses hit, but otherwise he allowed himself to invade everything, resonating with the bits of his broken Title that still worked. He checked on the young man who he’d bestowed a portion of his power, and nodded his approval. 

The young man had cultivated the refined abnegation mana that Tom had injected him with, and used it to develop well. Tom turned to the window and lobbed the glass ball out, then seized it with a hand of forged mana and began sending it that way, then kicked the other orbs aside. They could go to the other corporations. 

…

Vivian gripped her delivery and considered. She needed to put on a good showing, enough to remind people that Nightflock was still under the control of a Magi. 

But she couldn’t put on too good of a showing. If she looked too good, people might start looking deeper into her kingdom. 

She knew that her Title wasn’t actually that of Death Queen. She wasn’t strong enough for that, especially when just considering her death magic, but she had a plan to catapult herself much further along than the simple Lady of Death she was now. 

She just needed to wait until everything was ready. The first step of her plan, the barrow writhemetal, should be finished within a few years. The second part… Well, she couldn’t control that, but she could stop people from finding out. 

She didn’t plan to be the laughingstock of the Magi forever.

…

The Spatial King snorted as the Dreamer dropped the dreamrealms off, and fished her hand around for the bottle of whiskey she knew that she’d left somewhere in one of her spatial pockets. She put the bottle to her lips and took a long sip, then glanced at the person across from her desk. 

One, the false Arcanist who had turned himself into a miniature king in the criminal underworld, even challenging the Avatar of Sin on this half of the planet, watched her intently. 

“Do we have a deal?” he asked, and she almost cursed. 

Even the other Magi bought into her drunken, foolish facade. By the sun and stars, what gave a false Arcanist the right to be so perceptive? 

“We do,” she said, burping and wiping her mouth. “You’ll provide someone who can take top four in the Arcanist division and at least top eight in the Spellbinder tourney, and you’ll get a Garden-Rebirth Phial. Count yourself lucky – there are only a few dozen left in the world.” 

“I am afraid that I must insist on payment in advance,” One said, leaning forwards. 

His eyes burned, and she leaned forward, slamming the full weight of her mana senses and ungated mana on him.

Him slamming to the ground wasn’t a lack of control. It was an automatic response that couldn’t entirely be turned off. 

But he did speak. 

“If I do not walk out of this meeting with my body, spirit, and mind fully intact, the dead man’s switch will activate, and an information packet containing no less than four of your treaty violations will be forwarded to the Avatar of Sin.” 

“I can stop that,” she said, but she backed the pressure off. 

She probably could, but there was a chance she might not, however slim. 

Besides, if he was this smart… A smile curled up at the corner of her lips, and the vial of gleaming bronze liquid appeared on the table between them. 

“You have moxie, one, I’ll give you that. I think you should consider working your way to Occultist, if you can. Join the Wardcrafter and the Keeper as one of the city’s ultra-elite. If your underground arena fighters are as good as you claim.” 

… 

The Storm King rarely bothered to use his physical body anymore. Projections made out of storms were much more efficient, and didn’t risk his life. You didn’t wind up as old as he was without having some tricks to return from death, but you also didn’t get to his age without knowing never to rely on them. 

Today was an exception. His body looked young and strong on his throne, and he looked down his hall with keen eyes. 

He shifted the weather patterns overhead to cause thunder to rumble, while bidding the wind to bring him the knowledge he sought. 

The River Lord was hidden from his winds. After all, when completely submerged, even the winds could not reach you. The man was slippery and quiet, but the Storm King was old and powerful, and his mana senses eventually caught the Patriarch of the Silent River Sect swimming through the underground rivers and small seas within the earth on his way to the palace.

The Windrider shot through the capital’s streets on one of those two-wheeled fake horses, shifting winds to let it blaze through lanes of weaker traffic. What were those called again? Manacarts? No, it was something more nonsensical. Manabikes? Something like that. 

The Stormhorn flew under his own power, his half-draconic magic providing him with a beast shape that he often resided in. The combination of sky dragon magic and pure tempest magic was a potent one, and he looked forward to when the Stormhorn broke into ninth gate. It was so rare that he got to contest even a sliver of his skies, and breaking the halfling would be good entertainment.

Patriarchs from sects that had once been Great Sects, the CEOs of major corporations, and the highest levels of bureaucracy also came. They flew on clouds, few of them able to afford a true Immortal Cloud Natural Treasure, but most imitating. They came along the rivers, on lavish riverboats that were adorned with gold and lights. They came through portals, through talisman palanquins, though personal qigong skills. 

His daughter – no, not daughter. He kept forgetting, and honestly barely cared at all these days, with their mind so broken – walked in and set a finely carved box with the glass orbs nestled inside down at his feet.

…

The Amethyst Mask and Meadow stood in a massive cavern of purple and green crystals. The town situated within the crystal caverns was bustling with trade and people, and the pair were sitting on one of the carved crystalline benches. 

“I’ve almost filled the caves with enough mana to draw back into me and overflow my garden for my breakthrough,” Darius, the Amethyst Mask, said. “You’re confident you’ll be able to shield the city from the backlash of my legacy getting even stronger?” 

“I am,” Meadow said. 

There was a faint rippling in the future as she spoke, and she chuckled. It seemed her apprentice might accidentally find his way to an orb through dumb luck. Well, that was all right. If he participated, it would be good practice. If he didn’t make the cut, that would be a good lesson in humility.

“I’m concerned,” Darius said. “I know you can shield it now, but… What about when I ascend to Magi? Eighth gate isn’t that large, the trouble is more in resources, the consolidation of the Title, and the more esoteric requirements, than time. Can we prepare something within the next ten years?” 

“If I die containing your power long enough for you to contain it yourself, it will be a death well spent,” Meadow said gently, putting her hand on his. “Don’t be afraid, and don’t blame yourself.” 

Darius glowered at her, and she continued. 

“I don’t plan to die that way. I’d much rather die peacefully. In my sleep, in my hut by my garden, with you, Malachi, Edward, Erin, Lash, and the rest of my family able to pick things up and move on. But if I must, I will. Still, ten years is a long time. Who knows how the world will change by then?”

She certainly didn’t.