With a single snap of his fingers, the noise came to an abrupt stop.

  “Quiet down, everybody,” Talin deadpanned. “I am sure you all know who I am. Your fathers, masters, kings, emperors, and even your servants have most likely warned you of my views.”

  Talin eyed each and every student surrounding him in the completely white spherical classroom. Nearly five hundred students floated on individual desks, all their eyes focused on him alone.

  He’d written the introductory speech over a hundred years ago for the first open class he’d ever handled. It was as much a warning to the noble children then, as it was an encouragement for the commoners.

  And now with only nobles in the class, it was nothing but a threat.

  His passion was gone. Not for teaching itself—never that. But that of having to teach these noble-born parasites.

  They were an embarrassment to his name. To what he stood for. To the academy he built to spread knowledge to even the most impoverished people.

  Yet they’d won.

  He’d never been good at politicking, always preferring to earn people’s trust by virtue of his wit or might.

  But through their insidious manipulation of society, intimidation, and old-fashioned bullying, they had finally gotten their wish and set a dangerous precedent: a fully noble freshman class.

  A young boy not even fifteen sat in the first row, the spitting image of a duke he’d personally gutted in his youth. The dead man’s soul was probably cheering and looking at him with unmasked schadenfreude by now.

  Talin scoffed at the thought. You’re still dead.

  With his mood soured, he skipped what was supposed to be a five-thousand word encouragement speech.

  “They have surely taught you how to act around me,” he spat, pacing. “I will tell you now. Abandon ALL of it. Your fake pleasantries have not, and will not work on me. In fact, it will only make me actively hate you.”

  Talin paused and let the silence stretch. He couldn’t care less if the parasites went running to their mommies. And by how their eyes bored into him, and some breaking out into a cold sweat. Others were even looking at him with barely disguised hatred. And yet, even with all that, there was still one emotion that they all shared:

  Reverence.

  “Primus! I… I—” the duke’s kin spoke up with his head held high, but with sweat dripping down his forehead. The burden of rank. “We all know what you think of us. I only wish you would do your—”

  The child showed deference, but didn’t even bow.

  “My what?” Talin’s voice boomed. Faint spell circles around the far walls lighting up to amplify words.

  Of course, he already knew what the child was going to say. Surely taught to him by his more scheming relatives.

  “Y… Your job… sir. Primus, sir,” the child choked out through sheer power of practice.

  Talin sighed.

  And Primus. The title grated on his ears. Once, he was proud to be called such—Primus, the First. The peak of the world. He’d gained it a decade before deciding to build an academy. Now, though, the title only meant one thing to him: incompetence. Not his, of course, but everyone else’s.

  Especially when no one dared to claim the ranks up to Sextus. And Septimus, being the Royal Mage, was only claimed to save face for the Empire.

  Given all that, how could he expect any magical development to be made?

  Only a handful of powerful mages had emerged from his students over the years. Both former commoners. Though neither could rival him in talent. And with the nobles trying their damndest to lessen the power of the commoners both directly and indirectly, he didn’t expect any more promising talents to appear out of nowhere.

  It was partly his fault, he knew. A singular academy taught personally by him and a few others was inefficient to say the least.

  His brows relaxed as he sighed. The children had all shrunk back after his small outburst. Fear giving way to whatever other emotion they felt for him just a moment before. Perhaps he was too hard on them? He couldn’t quite fault these young puppets. Not fully, at least.

  “Get out. Class is dismissed for today. There will be no demerits. And—” an alert sounded in his head. He snapped his fingers and teleported everybody out, then tapped his left temple twice. In the wake of their lingering gasps, a spell circle on his glove glowed briefly as images transferred to his mind.

  Talin saw a complete family of sinewy green deer. Five, to be exact. A father, a mother, two slightly smaller fawns, and what looked like a newborn. All their heads snapped toward him, then nodded in code.

  It was a signal. A long desired signal.

  He tapped again and severed the connection.

  Finally, he thought, allowing himself a small smile and a scoff. My job, huh? Soon, teachers won’t be necessary.

  His eyes unfocused as his smile grew wider.

  Neither will all of you.

  ***

  Talin strolled through the halls of his academy at a leisurely pace. He greeted students and staff with a nod as they looked at him with horror on their faces.

  He wondered why. This was the happiest he’d ever been for at least the last eight decades. The possibility of them knowing what he had planned didn’t even cross his mind.

  The nobles were busy with their territorial disputes. Their children were too busy with proxy familial conflicts. And the others were simply not in the know.

  “Grandfather!” a cute voice chimed in his ears.

  His smile grew wider. A teasing switch flipped in his mind.

  Talin continued his even steps, stopping for a few seconds to smell a flower. It was repugnant. He marked it for immediate replacement, but it was worth the annoyance of the one struggling to catch up to him with her short legs.

  “Grandfather, you’re scaring everyone!”

  He froze mid-step. “I don’t think I’ve done anything too bad,” he mumbled under his breath. “Yet.”

  With a flourish of his purple teaching robes, he turned to his granddaughter and picked her up.

  “Tell me, Bee, why are the dunces scared, hm?”

  “Because you’ve been smiling too much!” she futilely screamed and squirmed in his arms, her pigtails flying wildly. “They said you’re only ever happy if you’re about to kill someone!”

  Bee tilted her head in confusion. “…or a lot of someones? Least that’s what Zeke said.”

  Zeke? Talin rummaged through his mind to remember which child that was. Ah! The Lifesbane’s great grand… something then?

  He stopped himself before he went down the “people should stop having so many children” hole. Refocusing on the adorable child in front of him, he noticed her pointing at a corner where a lizard head had just finished masking itself in shadows. Unfortunately, Zeke forgot that his Draconic gaze was active and his eyes were still visible—and obviously in a panic.

  “Want a ride, Bee?” he said, turning back to his granddaughter. She always loved riding on his shoulders.

  A fleeting moment of hesitation passed the barely eleven-year-old girl's face before she nodded. Eagerly.

  Reading on this site? This novel is published elsewhere. Support the author by seeking out the original.

  Talin chuckled as he skillfully turned her around and put her on his shoulders. Having her around meant teleportation was off limits, but he didn’t care. Few beings in the world could catch up to him anyway.

  With a pep in his step and a snap of his fingers, he gently floated upwards and out a nearby window. They flew back up to his tower in barely ten seconds with Bee pulling at his hair for leverage.

  “Aw. I kinda wanted to fly a bit more…” Bee said, pouting after crossing through the doors.

  “Oh, sad already?” Talin mischievously smirked. “Aren’t you curious why I’ve been so happy?”

  The girl’s eyes shined—sparkled—at his words and looked around to try to figure it out before he told her.

  “We’re going to The Forest, Bee. I need to have a talk with your granduncle,” he said, bobbing up and down for Bee’s enjoyment as he floated closer to a cylinder at least thrice his height. He could already feel his granddaughter’s excitement.

  “We’re taking Jimmy?! YAY!”

  He winced at the adorable yet ear-piercing squeal and the not-so-painful hair pulling before swiftly hopping feet first inside the Jubilant Murder Tube or, as he and his granddaughter liked to call it, Jimmy.

  A swipe and glow of his fingers later, Jimmy hummed as its own spell circles sequentially lit up from butt to tip in preparation for ‘Beeterfly mode’. Said Bee started jumping up and down on his shoulders as the cannon spun and pointed east at a seventy-five-degree angle.

  Warm sunlight shone down on his face as a hole only a meter across slowly opened in the ceiling above.

  “Grab on Bee! Wings are materializing!” Talin said, his granddaughter not even daring to speak, and hugging his skull as hard as she could.

  Her eyes, though, were only filled with excitement.

  He felt a gentle pressure around his feet as metal materialized to encase it, then spread to just shy of filling the cylinder from edge to edge. Thin mana wings formed on his granddaughter’s back as Jimmy’s hum intensified. His hands caressed her hair as he positioned to protect her head.

  SNAP!

  His fingers glowed as they launched out of the cannon, seamlessly passed through the hole and shot through the air at a speed that would even put the Imperial Halcyon to shame. He ignored the groan of his tower’s foundations and focused on putting linked mana shields on both their heads.

  As soon as he did, the only thing he could hear was more squealing and peals of joy.

  He smiled, then laughed along with her.

  ***

  Land, ocean, and several unlucky former flying beasts blurred past them as a truly massive shadow rose in the distance.

  “Uncleeeeeeee!!!” Bee scream-sung at the top of her lungs. “I need fruuuuuit!”

  Talin tightened his grip as she raised her arms above her head—an action that turned out to be useless as a soft green energy engulfed them and gradually slowed them down to a stop mid-air, finally giving them an opportunity to savor the sight around them.

  Lush green tree crowns as far as the eye could see. Interspersed among the normal trees were their more living cousins—the Sentinels. They stood tall at least twice a regular tree’s height, with bodies that looked oddly humanoid, their hands holding up their massive canopies as if holding up a whole green island themselves.

  However, one thing stole the attention from everything else. At the center of it all, towering at a height that was hard to fathom a singular tree could ever reach, was… a tree. Only, this one was taller than any mountain anyone would ever see, with a crown that darkened a wider swath of land than even the floating city of Xadum.

  It was also his old friend.

  He’d known his friend for well over two hundred years by now, back when—

  “Two hundred and sixty-eight to be exact,” a deep, ancient voice reverberated in his mind. Talin expected it, but it always felt odd to hear that type of precision (and mind-reading) from a being as ancient as the fourteen thousand year old tree.

  “Fourteen thousand five hundred and seventy-one, child.”

  It also felt weird to him how it seemed to still have the humor and pettiness of a child at its advanced age. Hmmm… Weird seems too soft a word. Absurd? Bizarre? Surreal would fit too if it wasn’t so…

  Talin eyed the giant tree up and down. Well, large.

  “Still with the rude thoughts I see,” the tree sent an image of a child rolling his eyes.

  “Uncle! You grew again! Can I have some of the blue fruit from last time?!” Bee shouted as she floated off his shoulders and onto a newly stretched out vine.

  As the hungry, hungry traitor said, Talin did notice that the tree had grown. At least a few inches in just the past seventy-three days since their last meeting. He doubted that the child actually noticed that though. Especially with the shamelessly expectant look she had on her face. A look that was immediately rewarded when a basket of blue star-shaped fruits arrived in an intricately woven vine basket.

  “You spoil her as always,” Talin said, adding an exaggerated sigh at the end.

  “Remind me again, who exactly made his granddaughter a recording artifact leagues better than the empire’s own?” The tree asked, amusement obvious in its tone-shifting mental voice.

  Talin scoffed. “I’m the grandfather here. That’s different.”

  “You also made her a cannon.”

  “That’s educational. Teaches runic interaction. Multiple Spell circle craft. Physics. Trajectory Calculation—”

  “Uhuh, and what was it called again?”

  Talin opened his mouth. Closed it. Almost opened it again before giving up. He knew he’d lost this battle.

  The tree’s laughter rumbled through his mind. Even the newly formed vine swing Bee sat on shook slightly, making her struggle to keep her delight in check as dark blue fruit juice dripped down her full mouth.

  Shaking his head, Talin wiped the small smile he didn’t know he had off his face and shifted his tone.

  “I take it it’s done?” he said, nodding to his old friend.

  The vine swing slowly distanced itself as green animals of all types appeared to play with his granddaughter.

  “Indeed,” the tree replied. “It took a bit longer than expected, but it should be more than enough for what you have planned. Just…”

  “Just?”

  The tree sighed. “Just that this has never been attempted before. Not for as long as I’ve lived, anyway.”

  Talin grinned and flourished his hand in a particular gesture. As he did, a rune outlined in pure mana was left floating in the air. It glowed for a second and almost morphed into something else before fading away into nothing.

  He clicked his tongue. “I’m close. I can feel it right there. But I can also feel something getting in the way. Some wall… or maybe a rule that I have no knowledge of. Yes, a rule sounds more apt.”

  “…and that doesn’t frighten you?” his old friend asked.

  “Should it?” Talin asked, his gaze firm and unyielding. “Perhaps it should! But I have never once been frightened of the unknown. And I am surely not starting now.”

  He paused, his face turning serious.

  “Not to mention whatever’s happening with my son,” he gazed into the distance. “It all needs to come down, friend.”

  The tree took a moment before he sighed. “Very well. Don’t act like I never warned you when this all goes to shit.”

  “Vulgar as always, I see, old friend.”

  “If only my age made you more respectful, young friend.”

  Talin winked at the tree before flying closer, and entering into its thick crown. Branches and leaves made way for him as they formed a winding route into the depths. Animals, both markedly green and the more normal variants, watched on as he arrived at the center. There, a pulsing, glowing seed the size of his head lay still connected to a vine akin to an umbilical cord.

  Each pulse sent a wave of energy that resonated with his very being. He could’ve sworn that his own heartbeat had changed its own cadence to match the seed’s pulse.

  “Fascinating,” he whispered.

  “As it should be,” the tree chuckled. “One thousand years of life energy will never not be fascinating.”

  Talin ignored his snarky friend and put both his hands around the treasure. He thought he’d need special tools or magic to disconnect it from its vine, but he didn’t even need to put in any strength before it popped off on its own.

  A single wave of life energy escaped in that split second of separation and caused everything to grow. His previously short and styled hair on his head and chin grew an inch. Even his own auto-heal flickered off and on as it felt itself unneeded for that brief moment.

  The leaves and branches, of course, also saw themselves multiply, even if it was just a comparative few.

  “It’s almost… intoxicating,” he said.

  “It probably is,” the tree teasingly said. “Maybe use it now before you grow addicted? Hmm?”

  Talin nodded solemnly as he cast a simple telekinesis spell and willed the seed to float in front of him. Then, he pulled his hands back and gently took off his war gloves, riddled with miniature spell circles.

  He took a deep breath as he cracked his fingers for the first time in a long time.

  Sharp jets of dense, golden mana blasted out of the tips of his fingers as he hovered them in position just above the seed.

  “Can you bring Bee here? Kind of promised her I’d show her this,” he said. “Just… protect her, yes? As a precaution. Not that I think it’ll all go to shit, as you said.”

  Talin heard vines moving and felt Bee’s presence draw closer. He heard her mumble in awe as he focused fully on the seed. Breathing in, then out, he calmed himself and waited until he felt a mental nod from his friend before he started.

  In one fell swoop, all ten of his fingers stabbed into the seed and began carving away at its flesh. Complex yet incredibly minuscule geometrical shapes formed with each swipe of his fingers, forming an outline of unprecedented intricacy.

  It didn’t take long before a basic shape could be recognized by even the most primitively developed brains—a circle. A circle with a simple line that stretched from its center, down to its bottommost point.

  It was simple.

  Yet when he was finished, the simple rune he’d poured decades of his life into… morphed. And this time, there was no fading in sight.

  The seed morphed along with it as its flesh changed in a way that conformed more to the shape of the rune. Moments later, it now fully imitated the rune, just that it extended a meter more straight behind it.

  It wasn’t done.

  The thing that looked like a green cylinder separated itself into ten linked rings. Each one then put themselves next to each other as they angled upwards, forming a circular chain.

  Then, silence.

  It stilled for a few seconds as Talin was starting to think that he’d failed. Then he heard a whisper. It wasn’t a normal whisper. It wasn’t even in any language that he knew or ever even heard of. But he understood it. Somehow.

  ‘Custom Runic Array registered.’

  “That…” Talin hesitated as his heart skipped a beat. “What was that?”

  “What was what?!” his friend screamed inside his head. “Wipe that grin off your face and tell what that was!”

  Talin’s grin grew wider as his heart beat faster and faster. “Truly fucking interesting! Ha!”

  The pressure that had unknowingly built up behind his eyes had suddenly disappeared. It all came and went in the blink of an eye. Like the thing—whatever it was—had always been there, watching. Waiting.

  He laughed and laughed until he sensed his friend’s patience grow thin enough that it could snap with a small breeze.

  “Was it a—no, definitely not a god. At least not like any that I’ve interacted with. It felt more ancient? No,” he shook his head. “More… just somehow more. It felt almost… perfect?” he chuckled at the word. “Let’s discuss this after I try the rune array out.”

  Talin put his gloves back on and snapped his right and left middle fingers at the same time. Suddenly, golden words appeared at the center of his vision.

  [Quantifying…]