Around him, groups gathered before heading towards the stone monoliths. The standing stones should have looked ominous, but the mood refused to match. Festival bunting, glowing magical lanterns and drifting mage-lights washed the field in colour giving the place the feel of a fairground. Once again, Ori was reminded of UCAS fairs or outdoor exhibitions, with dozens of booths spread across the grass, recruiters and guild suppliers hawking products and services to newbie adventurers and craftsmen while hundreds of tourists and onlookers simply soaked in the atmosphere.
With Vision of the Progenitor, the scene sharpened. Enchantments on robes and armour stood out like a second skin. Small groups of low elves in light leathers drifted past, while the occasional stocky dwarf clanked by in heavy plate and mail. The fae were the next largest group after the humans, flouncing around in bright, impractical festival dress. Ori’s silver eyes cut through glamour and illusion to the even more garish and often outright scandalous clothing beneath.
Meanwhile, humans clustered together in groups, often split by class and background. Nobles strode towards the Inheritances surrounded by retainers and friends, while some of the poorest headed for the monoliths alone, hope and desperation written clearly on their faces. For a lucky few, what waited inside could change not only their own lives, but the fortunes of their families and even their hometowns.
Ori wondered how Raven would take in this scene. Would she get swept up in the atmosphere, basking in the irony of a not-so-fake Renaissance-style fantasy setting? Would she be keen to pick up her third class here, or be more blasé about whatever the monoliths had to offer?
From what Ori knew of her, he suspected her interests leaned closer to traditional witchcraft clichés: cauldrons of boiling toads, hexes and the rest. He remembered the dream where she had described her inclinations potentially going down that route, with him calling her out as the complete edgelord she was.
“What’s so amusing?” an unfamiliar voice called, turning Ori’s chuckle into a frown.
Silver eyes caught the illusion of a woman sitting beside him. A plain, almost forgettable face framed by grey-blue hair, neat, undistinctive clothes that matched most of the locals of Thorncross. However, while she appeared to sit mere feet away from his elbow, Ori’s four-fold perception traced the true source of the image to somewhere twenty yards away in the crowd.
“Just someone I know,” Without giving away, he answered cautiously. “Wondering how they’d take all of this in.”
“A lover?” the blue-haired woman asked at once, with coy and knowing eyes.
“That’s a bit personal for small talk. But sure. Whatever.”
“Small talk is for small moments and small people.” Her mouth curved. “You are not small.”
Ori leaned back a little. “You always pry into the relationships of strangers?”
“It is my nature,” she said, as if that explained everything. “If I am curious, I ask. If I am more curious, I pry. If I am truly, deeply curious, I skip the polite noises and get straight to the poking.”
“Good to know I only rank at ‘pry’ then, I don’t fancy getting poked by randoms, or at all really” Ori said.
Her lips curved. “You rank higher than that. Tall, dark, handsome… brooding, and then your smile parts the storm clouds like the sun breaking through days of rain.”
Ori huffed. “That’s a lot of weather chat to a random guy on a bench.”
“If you were random, I wouldn’t be this tempted to see what you’d do if…”
“If?” Ori asked, deciding to play along.
“If… I gave you a reason to chase.”
“Do you always come on this strong?” Ori turned to the illusion, bemused, his skin tingling as he got the same vibes he’d felt from that first conversation with Mel, the one that had started it all.
“You seem like you can handle it.” She smiled, looking off into the crowd.
“Look,” Ori said, folding his arms. “Is there something you want, or are you just here to mess with people?”
“Not people, just you. I want to know who you are. What you’d do if I pushed you just the right amount,” she said.
“Why?” Ori wondered, the odd woman giving him serious antagonist vibes.
She shrugged. “Because you caught my attention.”
“So?” Ori goaded. “Just by sitting here and laughing at something? If that’s all it takes, then you must get fascinated a lot.”
The blue-haired apparition smiled. “And what if I said my eyes have been on you for longer than a few moments?”
Ori’s jaw tightened as he considered the implications. Had she seen through his shrouds, his glamour? And if she had, what did she want?
“Oh yeah? How much longer then?” Ori asked, playing along for now.
“I saw you enter the town.”
“You were watching the gate?”
“All day.” Her eyes glinted. “You came in with the elf. Tall and stringy, a bow on her back. You also had a fae with you,” the illusion went on. “Her glamour was strong; even I couldn’t scratch it.”
“I see.”
“Is that enough for me to get you to chase me?”
“No. So what if you saw me this morning?” Ori said, keeping his voice cool as his heart pounded in his chest.
“Then what if I said I saw more? What if I said I saw you kissing a dra—”
Ori vanished from his spot, dual casting Prismatic Mist and Radiant Step as he raced towards the woman’s true location. She plunged into the crowd, glamour turning her all but invisible, and a second Radiant Step brought him close enough to tackle her. However, with the crowd, he decided not to make a scene. Ori’s transcendent perception cut through the layered illusions as he teleported above the masses, hovering unseen with a combination of mana infusion, Prismatic Mist, Glamour and Greater Feather Fall.
For a moment, he hung above the field of stalls, watching the young dusky-blue, fox-eared, fox-tailed woman slip through the crush of bodies with a vulpine grace, excitement clear on her true, uncommonly attractive face. He weighed her up, trying to decide if she was genuinely malicious, simply opportunistic, if this was just her nature, or some messy tangle of all three.
Her being fae had pushed his thoughts towards the latter. As he replayed their conversation, he remembered Ruenne’del’s earlier words in his mind: that there could be a dozen people whose fates ran alongside his. Would some of them prod and tease just to make him notice, make him react, make him take them seriously? Or was this just Ori’s biases towards a pretty face once again lowering his guard?
He chose to peer into her soul, and saw a pristine white core with hints of a colour or flavour Ori had seen only wisps of in Freya and Ruenne’del, something fae and chaotic and difficult to understand.
He had often felt that jarring dissonance with Ruenne’del, seeing how alien her mindset and outlook could be, how her motives tied themselves in knots he struggled to follow. Now he realised he was staring at a mortal woman whose nature sat ten steps further along that same sliding scale of strange.
Still, despite knowing she was not malicious, with his secrets exposed as they were, Ori had no choice but to deal with her.
He reappeared on the other side of the press of bodies, fourfold perception locking onto the fae’s true form. Her eyes widened as she saw him right behind her before she darted into an alley on the edge of town.
Stepping through the shadows cast by the crowd, Ori cast Void Dance to appear just in front of the woman.
His hand closed around a slim wrist, her pulse racing under his fingers, and the woman spun to face him. Up close, she looked even younger than he expected, yet nothing about her felt harmless. Grey-blue hair framed her face in loose strands, the same shade as the thick fur on the pair of fox ears that twitched atop her head. Behind her, several pale tails stood rigid, the fur puffed out as if in alarm.
Her chest rose and fell beneath a dark embroidered robe, each breath shuddering as if caught between fear and exhilaration. She did not try to pull away as her pale eyes locked on his, unblinking, the freckles across her nose standing out against suddenly flushed skin. As Ori stepped closer, closing the last of the distance, her tails stood rigid, and her lips parted a fraction, until he was near enough that a single lean forward could turn the stare into a slap or a kiss.
“You caught me,” she attempted, with the same coy knowing as before, but with her true self exposed, there was a vulnerability beneath her breathy voice. “What now?”
“That depends on whether or not you want to live.”
She smiled, mustering up as much confidence as she could manage. “You wouldn't—”
“You think I’m messing?” Ori’s eyes turned cold, imagining the chaos and death this girl could cause if what she knew was heard by another. “For my people and me, I’d burn the world. See if I’m lying.”
The Bondweaver spoke, the Progenitor’s aura flared, and the woman flinched, briefly tugging against his hold as she managed a half step back.
“What do you want?” she asked.
“Swear you’ll keep everything you have or ever will hear, see or know about me and the people around me to yourself,” Ori continued.
“And… and then what?” She swallowed.
“And then I let you go.”
“I want to know—” she began, but the Progenitor’s aura and his growing irritation cut her off.
“Swear to me, or else”, Ori all but growled.
The tale has been illicitly lifted; should you spot it on Amazon, report the violation.
“I, Satō Ayame, do swear upon my name to keep all that I have heard, seen or known of you from careless ears, save where my prior oaths—”
Ori felt the oath settle as she spoke, but something in her tone and the feeling of the magic felt off as the spirit behind her words betrayed her intent.
“Last warning.” Ori cut in as he summoned Felsner, Awakened Estoc of the Piercing Void, to his free hand. Meanwhile, his grip around her wrist tightened as he mentally prepared himself to end her.
“Fine, fine, I’ll do it.”
“I, Satō Ayame, do thrice swear upon my name, my strength and my eternal soul, to keep all that I have heard, seen or known, or ever will hear, see or know of you and those around you, to be held in strictest confidence. I shall not speak it, write it, trade it, dream it or hint at it to any other mind or will, mortal or immortal, save by your clear and willing leave. I shall not use it to harm you or yours, nor to guide another hand against you. Should I break this oath, let my name, my strength and my soul be forfeit. Thrice do I so swear.”
Ori felt the weight of the oath settle over them.
“There. Happy?” she asked, and Ori released her hand. As soon as she was free, Satō Ayame darted several paces back, an odd smile replacing her previous wariness as she caressed where he had held her wrist.
“So… what’s next?” Satō Ayame asked, her playful confidence returning.
Thinking better of getting more involved with so much crazy, Ori shook his head and turned away, vanishing before the words fell. “It’s your life. It has nothing to do with me.”
Ori lost himself wandering through the one hundred and eighteen monoliths that made up the main attraction of Thorncross. After a moderate wait and a gold crown paid at the gate, he had entered with no real expectations of the Inheritance itself, drifting aimlessly while his mind fixated on the afternoon. On Satō Ayame, on Merin Tyr, on the likelihood of anyone else knowing what he had done. Had he been too careless? Too trusting in his newfound abilities?
“…though you may misdirect, you will never master deception.”
Crucible’s words echoed in his mind. Ori knew his skill with illusions and concealment was tenuous at best, and that moment where he had revealed himself to the dragon despite keeping up his glamour might have been enough for someone specialised in seeing through such things to catch him. How common that kind of talent was, especially if a mortal could manage it, he was not certain. But now he knew better than to risk doing something so audacious again.
As Ori was about to round another row of monoliths in absent-minded introspection, a thin beam of light erupted from one of the stone pillars. Around him, he heard exclamations of amazement and curiosity as many people changed direction, eager to see who had just got lucky and which soul remnant’s attention they had drawn.
Ori, also curious, turned to follow the crowd. Disguising himself with magic and glamour, he blended in with the dozens of hopefuls streaming in to watch, voices excited, envious and, in many cases, awed echoed through the site as he drew closer.
“It’s Demon Bane's!”
“No! Come off it, it can’t be.”
“Look, it’s lit up. Read there, it says Lucen Locke. There’s a girl in front of the Demon Bane’s pillar.”
Words rippled through the gathering crowd as Ori strained to see beyond the small press of bodies. Thanks to the limit on how many were allowed in at once, the scene had been reduced to dozens instead of thousands, though he was certain word would get out eventually, drawing a level of commotion Ori was happy was not directed at him.
As he drew closer, he suddenly heard a conversation between a man and a woman with an odd clarity that cut above the surrounding din. One voice belonged to an older man he didn’t recognise, while the other he had heard plenty of earlier in the day.
“Yes! Yes! Yes! Fooking yuss!” Eloise fist-pumped as if she had just won the lottery. Or at least that was what Ori thought, until he saw her physical form still kneeling, motionless, on the grassy floor. Around her stood spectral apparitions of the woman and a middle-aged man wearing a wide-brimmed hat and a dark suit and shirt. There was a translucency to their figures that suggested the scene existed only to his transcendent Vision of the Progenitor, which was confirmed when his sight returned to normal. However, despite no longer seeing their spirits, the sound of their conversation remained. Ori resumed Vision of the Progenitor in curiosity.
“Your affinity with the Material is the highest I’ve ever seen. Given a few decades and you might have made a decent chemist all on your own. Perhaps, with some luck, you could handle some mortal alchemy.”
Eloise’s excitement dimmed. “Yes, thank you. I’d really appreciate that, Sir Lucen Locke.”
The stubbled face of the ghostly man smirked, his eyes shadowed by the brim of his hat. “Oh, is that not enough for you, lassie?”
The ghost of Eloise licked her lips as she debated internally. Ori watched, along with the murmuring crowd, as the woman chose to express her desires instead of keeping up the pretence of gratitude.
“I want t’ awaken. More than anything.”
Lucen snorted. “Of course you do. Unfortunately, I can’t help you there.”
“What?” Eloise’s voice cracked as her ghostly face paled.
Lucen chuckled. “Aye. You’re far too lucky to awaken by any method I could give you.”
“What’s that s’posed to mean?” Eloise said, arms crossed, voice sullen as most of her reverence for the man was replaced by frustration.
“Your name, lass?” Lucen asked.
“Eloise, Eloise Smith.”
“Aye, Eloise… Eloise,” Lucen pondered to himself in thought. “…on Twilight, yes… I see. Lucky indeed. Tell me, just how often have you come close to death?”
“Plenty. Loads o’ times. It were a miracle gettin’ here in one piece.”
“And what happened in those times where you weren’t prepared enough, not quick-witted or charismatic enough?”
“I… I guess I got lucky,” Eloise said. “But I’d’ve been dead or worse otherwise.”
“Those are usually the moments mortal people die, yes. But do you know who doesn’t die during those situations?”
“Who?”
“The folks who go on to awaken,” Lucen explained.
“But that doesn’t make any sense.”
“It’s a conundrum, isn’t it? Those who are fated to die, die; those who aren’t, don’t. Yet there’s that narrow band who stand on the knife-edge between what’s fated, and what becomes worthy of a Page. Too able, too clever, too lucky, too careful, and you’re never stretched enough to grow, never truly learn your limits or what it’s like to strive with all that you are and then reach beyond. Yet if you don’t have enough of those things, your story ends before it ever really begins.”
“I… understand,” Eloise said, less resigned to her fate than her words might suggest.
Lucen chuckled. “You truly do, don’t you? I see that gleam in your eyes. Fortunately, before you can go off and get yourself killed, let me just say this. While I can’t offer you a way to awaken, I can see the lines of karma wrapped up in you, and I saw something mighty interesting.”
“Yeah?” Eloise's spine straightened.
“It seems as if you have some fate with my successor.”
Ori’s heart suddenly spiked in alarm as he wondered just what was going on with today. With a subtle glance around, Ori confirmed that the people around him hadn’t reacted, and so he remained otherwise still, listening to the conversation he was now sure he, unlike everyone else, had been intentionally allowed to listen in on.
“Fate with your successor…” Eloise’s downcast look did a one-eighty. “New Demon Bane? So it’s true!?”
“Seems so.” Lucen nodded once in confirmation.
“I’ve heard stories, rumours really. Some folks say he’s nine feet tall, can kill great demons with a slap, others say the demons run screamin’ at the sound of thunder,” Eloise rambled.
Ori cringed at the stories.
“And you say they have fate with me? Do you know who they are? What are they like? Are they an alchemist like you? And… and how do I find ’em?”
“I’m just a wisp of a soul, so I don’t know much.” Lucen chuckled. “Though I’m sure they’ll reveal themselves when they’re good and ready, won’t you, mister High Redeemer?”
The ghost stared Ori dead in the eye.
“Whaat? Is he here? Where? Can you see him?” Eloise called out, spinning around as if she could find him, while Ori considered teleporting out of the crowd.
Lucen chuckled once again. “As I said, I’m sure that when they’re ready to reveal themselves, they will. Until then, Redeemer, go check out Martel’s plinth on lot one hundred and seventeen; he might have something you might find of interest.”
Ori stared at the ghost before the scene blurred and sounds from their conversation muted into silence, leaving the white-haired Eloise kneeling alone, surrounded by a barrier of light.
“Fuck’sake.” Ori muttered to himself before he pushed himself out of the thinning crowd.
“Martel Wheeler, Arch Enchanter, founder of Tesseract Trading Company. Born Esccot, Venimderium, Material Demiplane, year…”
Ori stood outside the plinth Lucen’s soul fragment had named. He had debated even coming, half expecting something else on this bizarre day to go sideways, but if there was something here that could genuinely help him, he would be a fool not to check it out.
His ambivalence about the site was due to two main concerns. First, the risk of exposure and the kind of complications he simply did not have the bandwidth to deal with right now. Second, he had always planned to visit much later, when he was better prepared, had done his homework and knew exactly who to look for or appeal to, rather than his previously aimless wandering.
Set on the very edge of the inheritance grounds, the monolith stood tall against the auroral night. The inscriptions carved into the metal plaque gave just enough detail about the soul within to tell most visitors whether they were in the right place or not.
“So, what now? Am I supposed to kneel or what?” Ori wondered to himself, unsure of whether or not to dismiss his concealment. “Martel Wheeler? You there?” he called out.
A scoff answered him, and suddenly he was standing in a white room. There was a vague sense of dislocation, as if his soul was stretched or split somehow from his body.
“Okay…” Ori said, as he spun around to find an older, rounder man sitting on a chair, legs crossed, arms folded in clear disapproval. He wore a grey herringbone three-piece suit that felt somewhat modern. The man's dark eyes seemed all the more shocking given the man's pale, wizened skin and the wisps of white that made up his hair and full beard.
“The kids these days. Not an ounce of respect,” the man tutted with irritation.
“I’m sorry,” Ori said, going for contrition, then waved in greeting. “Hi?”
“Your name?” Martel’s ghost pressed.
“Ori, Ori Suba.”
“Nascent Ranker. High Redeemer. Beyond that, your details are entirely obscured. Were it not for Lucen’s recommendation, I would have dismissed you out of hand, for everything about you, boy, is concealed. Now speak plainly: what claim do you have upon the path of enchantment? If you have none, depart at once and spare us both the trouble.”
Ori stared at the ground for a moment in consideration before he was prompted once more by Martel’s impatient ghost.
“Well?” the stern voice of the Arch Enchanter called out.
“I made… well, reforged—re-enchanted this,” Ori said, summoning Seraphine’s Beacon to his hand. In the strange soul space, it felt somewhat inert, missing its usual warmth, but it was still enough for Martel to jump out of his seat as if his bum had been burnt, his face moving to be mere inches away from the artefact.
“Well, boy, don’t just stand there, allow me to divine it or show me its page.”
After a moment of hesitation, Ori spoke his condition. “I’ll need an oath of confidentiality.”
“Here’s one better,” Martel said, before a contract of non-disclosure appeared within his Page in the Library of Fate. “More secure, especially when dealing with soul wisps of the already departed,” he continued.
Ori took long minutes reading it, finding most of what the Arch Enchanter’s soul fragment said to be true, with the coverage of the agreement enforcing both parties, meaning neither he nor they could speak about anything that happened here to anyone else. Satisfied, Ori countersigned the document, then sent him the artefact’s details.
Artefact Name: Seraphine's Beacon
Type: Transcendent Channelling Wand of Harmonic Arcana
Characteristic Requirements: Unknown
Other Requirements: Harmonic Affinity, Transcendent Affinity
Effects: Enhances harmonic spells and abilities with 75% reduced mana cost, 99% increased accuracy, and 1000% increased range and coherence. Acts as the living phylactery of Lady Seraphine of Serilian…
“By Gododin's hairy ballsack,” the man gasped several times as he read the item’s full description. “Harmonic… Transcendent Affinity? Cosmic… No… And what’s this lich business?” It was not until several minutes passed before Martel looked up from the item, locking eyes with him. “Are you a Wandsmith, boy?”
Ori nodded.
“And you need my help with what exactly? I’ve dabbled with the casting aids, but I wasn’t exactly known for them.”
Ori shrugged. “I came here a bit unprepared. Erm, I guess what I’ve learned 's come from some elven books, but I never got any proper training though.”
“Well, there are some fundamentals I should teach you, more modern than the elven school, though if that artefact in your hand isn’t some kind of fluke, I’m afraid it would hardly be worth the effort.”
“If I could ask,” Ori began, mind hung up on something he had just said, “what were you known for, exactly?”
“You said you came underprepared, not completely ignorant!" Martel scoffed once more. “The youth these days…”
“Sorry,” Ori said, somewhat abashed.
The Arch Enchanter sighed. “If you must know, I, together with the trading company for which my primary products formed the foundation, was known across Fate as a specialist in Void Storage enchantments.”
Satō Ayame AI character reference image.