Chapter 11: Magic
Within the old stone chamber where the Test of Shadows had been held, three maesters lingered. Their robes, marked with the chains of study and service, stirred faintly in the low torchlight. The once-glowing orb at the room's center now lay dormant, its surface cracked like ancient glass.
Maester Garwyn stared down at it with a furrowed brow.
"This test... it was never meant to crack the orb. Not physically."
Maester Oswyn snorted lightly.
"It was never meant to be used at all. A relic more than a tool. But one some of us—"
He cast a side glance at the quietest among them, "—once wielded to measure genius."
Rynalds said nothing.
He stood closest to the orb, his eyes distant. He remembered.
A long time ago, full of pride and accolades, he had stepped into this very room, confident in his knowledge. Back then, they had called him a prodigy. His alchemical formulas had outpaced peers twice his age. He'd taken the test out of vanity—to prove it.
And came out… lesser. Not broken, but hollowed. The illusion had shown him the vastness of what he didn't know. The terrifying truth that knowledge was a sea, and he had not even left the shore.
He'd never spoken of it since.
Garwyn murmured, breaking the silence,
"I suppose we have little choice but to keep an eye on him now. A cracked orb, a completed test, and a boy still standing…"
Oswyn adjusted his chain, nodding.
"If nothing else, we watch. Quietly."
The three exchanged no further words.
There was no need. The orb's silence said enough.
---
Back at home, Kaelion sat on the floor of his room, hair damp from the shower, dressed simply in undergarments. The moonlight filtered in through the window, brushing silver across the stone floor.
He didn't move.
His eyes were distant, locked not on the world before him, but the memory behind his eyelids.
The illusion.
His doppelganger. The battle. The words.
He had always known—deep down—that pursuing magic in this world came with risk. The power to bend the world was a coin with two faces. It could elevate. Liberate. But it could also annihilate, as it had in his old world—guns, bombs, biological weapons that razed cities and turned men into monsters.
He hadn't been blind to that. He'd just… shelved it. Locked that possibility in a corner of his mind and thrown the key somewhere between ambition and hope. Chosen to focus on the good, the potential.
But the test had forced the truth in front of him.
And for the first time, Kaelion didn't flinch.
He accepted it.
'Power will always have a price. I'll carry it.'
Yet something else nagged at him.
Raphael.
She hadn't spoken during the test—not once. But not because she couldn't. She had helped in her own quiet way—granting him thought acceleration, parallel processing—but the silence was too pointed. He could feel her holding back.
And he knew why.
This wasn't the first time she had hesitated.
Even in his past life—in the stories of Tensura—Raphael sometimes refrained from speaking, trusting her master to draw the conclusions he already suspected. She wasn't hiding the truth. She was waiting for him to admit he already knew.
And he did.
The orb. The illusion. The bypassing of his mental barriers. It shouldn't have been possible.
With Raphael anchored to his consciousness, outside intrusions were nearly impossible. Not just rare—impossible. Yet something had slipped past. Something native to this world—a world that could barely be called magically advanced.
And though she hadn't said it, he knew what she wanted to confirm.
But he shelved that thought too.
Not out of fear.
But because he needed to focus on creation.
---
He sat cross-legged, spine straight, hands resting lightly on his knees. The room was silent save for the slow rhythm of his breath.
Magic in Westeros was… accessible. Not bound by blood, as in some worlds. Anyone could wield it—in theory. But in truth, few ever did.
The barriers were subtler:
Knowledge, first and foremost.
Mental clarity, to properly visualize and direct power.
Spiritual sensitivity, the ability to sense the energies around them.
Emotional balance, to keep from being overwhelmed or consumed.
And a connection—either to the land, the stars, or deeper truths.
Kaelion built on those foundations.
He had spent a time akin to a thousand years, with parallel thoughts and thought acceleration, to properly refine this magic system—developing something that merged the truths of this world with what he had known before. With Raphael's help, he forged something new. A discipline. A structure.
'Cultivation,' if you would.
Magic was formed by the interaction of two forces:
Mana: the energy in the environment, ethereal and infinite.
Aura: the energy within, tied to one's life force and soul signature.
When a practitioner synchronized the two, they could awaken their aura nodes, opening a link to a mana core—a construct that existed not in the body, but in an adjoining dimension, tethered to the self.
These mana cores followed a path of development, marked by color:
Black – lowest, unstable, but full of raw potential.
Red – passionate and forceful.
Orange – adaptive and volatile.
Yellow – balanced and efficient.
Blue – intellectual and methodical.
Silver – rare, refined, intensely precise.
White – the pinnacle, harmonizing all traits.
Each individual also manifested an affinity, akin to the Nen types:
Enhancer – strengthens self and magic.
Emitter – projects aura externally.
Conjurer – creates objects or constructs from aura.
Manipulator – controls forces or elements.
Transmuter – alters the properties of aura.
Specialist – anomalies; unpredictable, often bending the rules entirely.
Kaelion inhaled slowly.
And then… he reached.
He tapped into the ambient mana—felt it brush against his skin like warm mist—and opened himself to it. His aura responded in turn, vibrating as nodes cracked open along his spine, chest, and forehead.
Then—
He saw it.
Felt it.
A shift in consciousness. A veil pulled back.
There, in the space between thoughts and existence, floated his core.
Black.
Unrefined.
Raw.
He smiled faintly.
' I won't stay black for long.'
He opened his eyes and exhaled slowly, as if the breath carried the last of his hesitation away.
Now all that remained was to find his affinity and—
Knock knock.
"Teacher?"
The voice was high and familiar—too familiar.
"Your mother says dinner is ready!" the girl chimed. "Come quick before it gets cold!"
Kaelion couldn't help but chuckle.
That had to be Saera, the talkative disciple who had introduced herself moments after Jon. She had clung to the title 'teacher' like it was a badge of honor.
He stood, shaking off the remnants of his meditation.
"I'll be right there," he called back.
For now, the path could wait.
But only for a little while.
---
Author's Note:
Hey everyone, sorry for the late update! Had some real-life work and job commitments to deal with. I don't like making excuses, but I felt you all deserved a little transparency.
Now, I know some of you might experience a bit of whiplash with the changes to Westeros' magic system. Yes—I tweaked it! I wanted it to mesh better with the themes I'm exploring, and honestly, this might happen a few more times down the line. Don't worry though—by the time we're done with this prologue-arc, canon will barely matter anymore!
Thank you so much for the support so far. I really appreciate all your reads, comments, votes, and reviews—it keeps me motivated and helps more people find the book.
As for the magic system itself, it draws heavy inspiration from:
Nen (Hunter x Hunter)
Cursed Energy (Jujutsu Kaisen, which borrows a bit from Nen too)
Mana from The Beginning After The End (TBATE).
(Seriously, if you haven't read TBATE, go check it out—you'll thank me later. But uh... skip the anime. Please. For your dignity.)
Now tell me—what do you think Kaelion's affinity is?
Drop your theories in the comments below. See you in the next chapter!