“The sun’s already starting to settle,” Avenor said, running a hand along Huanir’s furry neck. The beast snorted softly, the air puffing from its nostrils in thin, warm clouds. “Shouldn’t we wait until morning before visiting them?”
He turned slightly, glancing back. Aria rode a few steps behind on her own tharuun, her cyan eyes darting from tree to tree, drinking in the scenery.
“No,” she replied, her voice soft. “Even with our combined strength, camping in this forest at night is too dangerous.”
Then her attention drifted again to the world around her.
The snow had long melted, replaced by the rich scent of blooming roots and the sweetness of waking grass. The air felt alive, but it wasn’t just the warmth that stirred her mood.
“I haven’t been to this part of the forest in decades,” she murmured, half to herself. “I’d forgotten its beauty. The Velthwyn gathered every kind of plant from the forest and set them to grow here…”
A faint smile softened her usual coldness as her gaze followed the light dancing on the leaves.
Avenor, however, stayed tense; the growing hair on his head as short as his nerves. His senses constantly screamed of something unseen and watching.
“Aria,” he said, narrowing his eyes. “The lower the sun gets, the stranger this place feels. It’s not friendly.” His hand instinctively brushed the hilt of the longsword strapped to Huanir’s side.
“They will not strike first unless we provoke them,” Aria said quickly, not even turning. “What you feel is their magic. It keeps the beasts away.”
Her tone carried a hint of impatience, like someone eager to brush aside worry and sink back into the beauty around her.
Avenor grunted under his breath and kept scanning the surroundings, unwilling to let his guard down. Still, even he had to admit that as far as the visuals went, it was truly mesmerizing. The last threads of sunlight were losing their grasp on the forest floor, their weakened beams struggling to pierce the dense canopy as the night life began to stir.
Plants and even the smallest insects crept out from their nests, their bodies shimmering in a soft mix of yellow and green. The tharuuns, the two of them rode, began to glow as well, the faint crimson runes beneath their skin becoming more distinct against the gathering dusk. Huanir stood out the most; the tiny horns crowning his head glimmered with delicate runes that only revealed themselves once the sun was gone.
“No matter how many times I see this,” Avenor said, watching a tiny insect struggle to carry a leaf, “I still get enchanted.”
Aria chuckled lightly at his words, then leaned forward and pressed her heels into her mount’s sides. The tharuun rumbled and surged ahead.
“Follow me!” Aria called over her shoulder, her voice ringing through the trees.
Before Avenor could decide whether to go after her or keep his caution, Huanir made the choice for him. The tharuun bolted forward, chasing Aria through the glowing woods.
I watched the two having fun, amused. It was rare to see one of my strongest dark magicians allow herself to enjoy life so openly. Aria was usually cold and analytical, every word weighed, every motion controlled. She had claimed it was because of dark magic, which heightened composure and dulled empathy, but I’d noticed more than that. At times, it seemed to drain the entire spectrum of emotion from the Velmoryns. Yet on rare occasions, like now, it had no effect, letting Aria have fun like any normal girl might.
Since I had never experienced magic myself, all I could do was speculate. My guess was that its influence reached its height when a mage was actively casting - when their mind and will were fully exposed to the flow of energy. The rest of the time, its grip weakened, its effect depending on the number of spells the mage had mastered and the strength of their will.
Still, it was only a theory, and theories without proof were little more than thoughts dressed as truth. To verify it, I would need a vessel capable of wielding magic. Until I created one, I doubted I would ever truly understand how magic worked in this world.
Ahead, Aria slowed. Two bright spheres shimmered to life beside her and rose gently into the air, bathing the path in pale light.
“It was enjoyable while it lasted,” she said, turning slightly toward Avenor, “but we must be careful from here. If we’re reckless, the Velthwyn might refuse to let us enter their tribe.”
Avenor barely managed to rein in Huanir, whose restless energy refused to settle. The tharuun pawed at the ground, eager to start another race until a quick flick to the head earned him a sulking growl and reluctant obedience.
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Silence lingered between the two for a while. Then Avenor spoke.
“Aria, are you excited to leave the forest and to see the world outside?”
Aria turned her head, a small smile curving her lips.
“I am eager to see the world beyond these woods and study their magic,” she said. “But our task now is different. I prefer to focus on what lies ahead rather than let dreams take root and turn to false expectations. Disappointment is a dangerous seed once it takes root in the heart.”
“That’s true,” Avenor admitted with a slow nod. “But if we limit ourselves to the present and never dream of the future, aren’t we crippling ourselves? Don’t we need a vision of what we want to build, so we can reach for it?”
Aria’s eyes widened slightly. She kept her gaze on her tharuun’s back, thinking in silence for a few moments before turning toward him.
“You know, Avenor,” she said at last, “I never imagined we’d grow this close, or speak so freely. When we first met, I thought you were cowardly.”
“Cowardly?” Avenor muttered, genuinely stung. “You thought I was a coward and still dragged me into that dungeon?”
“I had no choice,” Aria replied with a faint shrug. “There was no one else willing to go in. Besides, once inside, you would have no path to flee.”
Avenor exhaled sharply, half amused, half offended. “And I thought you were manipulative and venomous.”
“That I am,” Aria said without missing a beat, turning her eyes back to the faintly glowing path ahead.
“I didn’t mean it that way,” Avenor muttered after a pause, nudging Huanir closer.
“But I did,” Aria replied flatly. “I am both manipulative and venomous. Such is the nature of dark magicians, Avenor.”
“Well, I don’t see you like that anymore,” he said with a shrug.
“Oh?” she asked, amusement clear in her voice. “And how do you see me, then?”
“A reliable comrade, someone who taught me everything I know about magic.”
Aria laughed, as if she had expected something else entirely. “And I still find you cowardly.”
Avenor shot her a cold look, which only made her laugh harder.
“You are right, you are indeed venomous…” he grumbled.
They shared the joke for a few moments before the laughter faded and the silence of the glowing forest returned, filled only by the soft steps of the tharuuns.
After a while, Avenor spoke again. “Aria… is there a way to check one’s growth? I mean, my rank or skills?”
“Yes, there is,” Aria said, glancing over. “Did I not tell you before? Once, we had an artifact that revealed a person’s Rank - that was how we measured our own growth.”
“Then where is it?” Avenor asked, hope brightening his face.
“The Blue Tribe took it,” she answered. “But as far as I know, it stopped working just like the artifacts of the other tribes.”
That gave me an idea. One that could benefit not just me but my believers as well.
I had already confirmed before that I could create clones of myself and assign them simple tasks. The first attempt, however, was a failure. I’d made one that could listen and analyze prayers, but while it could hear every word, it couldn’t understand any of them. It was like speaking to an empty shell - no thought, no awareness, no real mind.
But what if that was exactly the problem? Maybe I didn’t need something that could think. Maybe it only needed to return whatever information reached it, nothing more.
I shifted the Window aside with a thought and focused on my hand. Slowly, I split off my entire right palm and channeled divine power through it.
This time, the sensation was different. Maybe it was because my divinity had grown, or maybe because I’d learned to control it better, but there was no strain, no hollow feeling of losing something vital. It felt… right. Even satisfying.
The crimson mist that broke free began to swirl, struggling to hold form until I guided it with my will. I shaped it into a sphere - dense and smooth, glowing faintly from within. For some reason, the image of a Palantir crossed my mind, and I decided to keep it that way.
The first step was a success. The sphere stabilized, hovering gently in place. Now it only needed a purpose.
I kept it simple. Whenever one of my believers placed an offering on an altar and uttered a specific prayer, the sphere would respond by activating Guidance on that believer. And when the system revealed their status window, the sphere would relay that information back.
But not everything.
I wasn’t going to expose their faith and more importantly, my name. The sphere would only show the essentials - basic information, attributes, and skills.
I narrowed my focus, controlling divine energy in the sphere to impose structure, rules, and limits. It wasn’t difficult. After spending so much time restricting my own mind to control the strange multitasking ability that once nearly crippled me, shaping a small fragment felt almost natural.
[Warning: Creation consumed 0.1 Divinity Points!]
The previous one didn’t consume any. Does this mean it was a success?
My gaze shifted toward the faint crimson silhouette drifting aimlessly in the distance - a wraithlike remnant of my previous experiment. I had ignored it for far too long, like many other things, but it would have to wait a little longer.
The new sphere was rotating slowly now, humming. It looked like a miniature planet made of swirling red mist. More importantly, the link between us had settled. I felt no trace of chaos inside it - only a calm, steady rhythm.
But there was still one issue.
How am I supposed to test it?
I couldn’t verify if it worked without a believer to activate it. So I looked for the one I trusted most, the one whose faith had never once wavered.