There was a time when the arcane was an untamed force—practiced in solemn study, cast through whispered incantations, bound to the will of those with the patience to master it. Artes, as they have long been known, were the tools of scholars and warriors alike, yet their reach was limited by the frailty of the flesh. But no longer. Where once magic stood apart, ethereal and unshaped, now it fuses with metal, bends to the will of industry, and hums through the very bones of civilization itself. Thaumaturgy has left the realm of mere practice and ascended into the age of industry, where metal hums with unseen power—a force as vital as fire, as indispensable as the air we breathe.
It did not emerge into the world gently, nor without cost. No great advancement ever does. War tempered it, fanning its wild growth, forcing artisans and engineers to chase the impossible. The Great War, waged against the eastern empire of Shinhana, drove invention at an unforgiving pace. Battlefields stretched endlessly, supplies ran thin, and armies required more than metal and sheer will to endure. In its final years, the first seeds of thaumaturgy took root—not in grand displays of power, but in the quiet necessities of survival. Arcane-lit lanterns replaced oil-burning torches, ensuring soldiers could march through the night. Heat-emitting devices wove warmth into tents and barracks, shielding men from the bitter cold. Even field forges, once slow and laborious, were given new life by thaumaturgic principles, allowing weapons and armor to be reforged in half the time.
Perhaps nothing exemplifies this transformation more than Bellacian steel. At the war's onset, Bellacia's armies marched with iron swords—sturdy but crude, a poor match against the masterfully forged katanas of Shinhana's warriors. The eastern blades, folded and tempered with meticulous care, carved through Bellacian ranks with ease. But war is a crucible, and from its heat, a new metal was born. The new technology allowed for greater refinement steel emerged—stronger, sharper, unyielding. Gone were the days of dulled blades and shattered armor. Belacia's weakness was reforged into a symbol of power, a testament to how magic and metal, when woven together, could overcome powerful foes.
And when the war ended, its innovations did not fade with the echoes of battle. No, they found new purpose. The same principles that once fueled the engines of war now power the beating heart of modern civilization. City streets are illuminated by ever-burning orbs, homes are warmed by silent, smokeless hearths, and factories hum with unseen energies, turning wheels and gears without the touch of human hands.
But no marvel of thaumaturgy stands greater than the Bellacian train system—a testament to mankind's unrelenting ambition. A decade ago, such a thing would have been unthinkable: a locomotive fueled by the same forces that shape storms and stir the tides. At its heart lies a sealed crucible of refined etheric energy, pulsing with steady luminescence, converting the unseen into motion, speed, and power. The Bellacian trains glide like whispers across the rails, bridging cities in mere days—no longer the weeks of grueling carriage travel—a steel axle upon which the world now turns.
With thaumaturgy at its heart, the world has entered a new era—one of endless possibility, of boundless prosperity. The arcane is no longer the domain of dusty tomes and secretive scholars; it has been harnessed, refined, and set to work. Life has never been more comfortable, more efficient, more advanced. The future has arrived, and it is gilded with the light of thaumaturgy.
Kai stood atop a grassy hill, its height giving him a clear view above the treeline. It was a surreal moment, taking in all that had changed. The region before him was unrecognizable compared to his memories.
The arctic storm had once smothered everything beyond a few paces, a swirling wall of ice and fury. But now, not a trace of snow remained. In its place, verdant grass rippled in the breeze, vibrant flowers speckled the ground, and trees stood thick with lush, green leaves. The air, once filled with the howl of the wind, now pulsed with the lively chorus of birdsong—a striking contrast to the silence he'd endured before.
Farther down the path, he spotted Limdal, its quaint log cabins unchanged, other than the lack of snow. Patty's tavern rose above the others, its towering structure still a dominant presence in the village.
A vast river now flowed beside the village, its width stretching beyond what Kai could see in the fading light. Was this the 'valley' he'd once traversed? He vaguely recalled Patty mentioning a river, but this was far grander than he'd imagined. How could this much water have ever been frozen? The thought lingered uneasily as he turned away from the view. The weight of unfamiliarity settled over him once more, pressing in like the depths of the water that had once swallowed him. A sudden chill ran through him as his mind flickered back to the crushing darkness, the way it had closed over his head, stealing his breath, dragging him down. He forced the memory aside. He needed to check in with Patty—there were too many questions left unanswered.
The path to the village was familiar but felt oddly distant, like walking through a memory that didn't quite belong. He moved quickly, eager to take care of what needed to be done, his thoughts scattered as he strode onwards.
Kai pushed through the door, and the familiar scent of cooked meat greeted him. Patty stood behind the counter, her back turned as she hummed a little tune. He paused for a moment, taking in the sight of the tavern, now bustling with life. Laughter and conversation mingled with the clatter of tankards, and the air carried the rich aroma of ale and sizzling food. More patrons than when he was here last crowded the tables, some engaged in lively discussions, others enjoying their meals with satisfaction.
Patty spun around as the door clicked shut behind him, her eyes widening at the sight of him. For a moment, she froze, unsure whether she was seeing things correctly.
"Kai?" Patty's voice was tentative, searching his face for something she recognized.
Kai blinked, unsure of what to expect. "Uh, yes."He stepped closer, uncomfortable beneath her stare.
"Ye look..." Patty paused, clearly struggling to find the words. "Ye look different. The hair, for one," she added, taking a step back, squinting as if willing him to look more familiar. "Snow-white, like a ghaist."
Kai instinctively reached up, his fingers grazing the pale strands now framing his face. He hadn't noticed—didn't even think to check—but the color was unmistakably different from the dark, matted strands he once had.
Patty chuckled, crossing her arms with a knowing smile. "Aye, barely recognized ye meself. But that tattered look, I knew it. Same as the first time I saw ye. Ye've got a knack for ruining clothes, I'll say that much."
Kai exhaled, the warmth of the tavern wrapping around him. "I don't know how long I've been gone," he admitted, glancing down at his worn, weathered clothes. "But at least the storm stopped."
Patty's expression shifted. Her smile slowly faded into something more concerned. "Ye've been gone for two months, Kai. Two months." Her voice softened. "Everyone thought ye were dead. We were sure of it."
Kai froze. "Two months…" His voice was barely a whisper, stunned. He hadn't realized how much time had passed—how long he had missed. His mind raced. How could he have been gone that long? It didn't make sense.
Patty noticed the color drain from his face and quickly added, "Don't worry, though. We're glad ye're here."
Kai nodded absently, trying to piece it together. He cleared his throat, focusing on something else. "Where's Grant?" He scanned the tavern, instinctively searching for his friend.
"Ca'd awa'," Patty said, her lips thin. "Some noble got attacked by a monster. Grant had tae head oot on business. Cannae say I know the full details, but he said the Wardens are stretched thin just now."
Kai nodded quietly, trying to make sense of everything. "It's good to be alive," he murmured, still reeling from the revelation, "but... I have to ask. Is Fergus alive?"
Patty's expression shifted, the concern deepening. "I… Ah dinnae know. Ah was hopin' ye would," her voice was gentle as she braced for his next words.
Kai ran a hand through his hair, trying to recall everything. "Fergus wanted to show me something he'd built deep in the caves. We were attacked by a monster. He was wounded. Grant held it off while I carried him away," he paused, eyes clouding with the memory. "We got away, but then... we were ambushed by people in masks. I think they took Fergus." He stared off blankly. "I... I don't remember much after that."
A solemn look fell across Patty's face, and Kai could feel the shift in the air. The flicker of hope he'd unknowingly sparked in her seemed to fade as quickly as it had appeared. He saw it in her eyes—he'd taken it away with one simple admission.
"I'm sorry," he murmured, guilt twisting in his chest as he met her gaze.
"Don't be," Patty said, her voice soft but firm. "I'm sure ye did all ye could…"
A heavy silence settled between them, thick and suffocating. Kai became aware of the stillness around them—the hum of conversation had faded, and though not everyone was staring, they were all listening.
"Weel…" Patty's voice broke the silence, hesitant. "Like ye mentioned, the storm finally broke. It happened shortly after ye two went missin', an' Grant—he repelled the… Caernoch." She whispered the beast's name, as if the very mention might summon it. "Sent it back tae the Grine."
Kai could only assume the Grine referred to the nearby river. Could the monster's fur have actually been moss? If it lived in the water, why wreak havoc on land? Edyra had always said that even monsters had their own behaviors and mannerisms—that there was always a reason behind their actions.
"Ye awright, lad?" Patty asked, her brow knitting. "Ye seem far away right noo."
"It doesn't matter," Kai muttered, shaking his head. There was no use speculating about the Caernoch—that was Grant's job. He needed to focus on what truly mattered. But what was that?
For the first time since leaving Vander, he felt lost. He should be moving forward, but in which direction? Should he track down the masked attackers? Or continue investigating the dwindling mana? Would wandering the countryside aimlessly even bring him closer to answers?
"Maybe ye should go lie doon," Patty suggested, waving a hand at him. "Ye're lookin' quite pale. Ye might be comin' doon wi' the sick."
"Maybe, I could use some rest," Kai admitted, still deep in thought. Perhaps he would be able to collect his thoughts better after a good night's sleep.
"Ye've got a lot goin' on in yer heid, Ah'm sure. Ye remember yer room on the top floor? Stay as long as ye need." Patty said with a friendly smile. "Dinnae worry aboot the clothes. Ah'll find ye somethin' new tae wear."
Kai sat on the edge of the bed, lost in his thoughts, sifting through fragmented memories that felt more like shards than pieces of a puzzle. Each recollection triggered another, but none seemed to fit, leaving him with an incomplete picture. Frustration gnawed at him, each failed attempt to focus only deepening the haze. The storm, the monster, the black masks, and Fergus—they haunted him. There was something else, something just out of reach, but no matter how hard he tried, he couldn't bring it into focus.
Kai stood up and began pacing around the room. He wasn't sure if it would help, but walking often helped him concentrate. As he moved, his eyes lazily scanned the furniture and decorations.
The room looked almost the same as when he had last been here. For him, it had only been yesterday, but apparently, winter had passed, and spring flowers were now in bloom. Just another question he had no answer to.
A clack at the window broke his thoughts. Kai turned toward the sound, but the reflection from the artificial light beside the bed obscured his view. He grabbed the contraption and set it on the floor. Two more resounding clacks followed, accompanied by a slight movement just beyond the glass, the fading light of day now a mere memory as the gloom of night takes over.
He reached out, fiddling with the window until he figured out how to open it. With a soft hiss, he slid it upward. Fresh air rushed in, and with it, a blur of black. The crow that had been following him. It landed on the nearby chair as Kai shut the window.
"It's you," Kai murmured, sitting on the bed across from the bird. He had expected it to fly off once he entered the building, but it seemed to have been waiting for him to let it inside.
He stared at the crow for a long moment in silence, a thousand questions bubbling up. But he knew better than to expect an answer.
"I guess I'll go to bed," Kai mumbled. "Tap on the window if you want to go back outside."
As expected, the crow didn't respond. Kai turned in bed to lay down, but the bird made a series of clicking noises, grabbing his attention. Once their eyes met, it swooped off the chair and onto the strange lantern that still illuminated the room.
"Oh, you want this off?" Kai sat back up and reached for the contraption. The crow hopped off to let him scoop it up. He turned it in his hands. "Sorry, but I don't really know how to—" He stopped mid-sentence as a new memory surfaced.
The large machine in the caves. He had forgotten about it.
Kai straightened up, his thoughts returning to the strange devices he had encountered since leaving Vander. Artificial lights, portable cooking fires, and unnatural warmth that had held back a blizzard. It was like magic, but without the incantations or a caster. He didn't understand the mechanisms, but now, some of his memories were starting to fit into place.
He hadn't considered it with everything that had happened, but the Caernoch had destroyed Fergus's machine when it attacked them in the caves. Could that have been its intention? Or had it left the Grine because the river had frozen over?
Kai's mind chased after each new question, one after another.
What about the storm? It had ended after their encounter in the caves. Could the machine have caused the relentless weather? A freezing storm potent enough to turn an entire river into solid ice. It was unnatural, just like the light he held in his hands.
"I need to go back," Kai muttered to himself as he finally figured out how to turn the light off.
Kai waded through the flooded tunnel, holding the lantern aloft to illuminate the pitch-black passageway. Patty had lent him the device so he could navigate the cave system without stumbling through the dark. She had called it a lantern, but it looked nothing like the ones he was accustomed to back home.
Memories resurfaced in sporadic flashes as he ventured deeper beneath the stone. He vaguely recalled his conversation with Fergus—Thaumaturgy, he had called it. All these devices Kai had encountered since leaving home… inventions that didn't just make everyday tasks easier but outright convenient.
The passage narrowed, pressing in on all sides as the ceiling curved lower. His reflection wavered beneath him, distorted by the plodding movement of the water—white hair, hollowed eyes, a face unfamiliar in its pallor. He blinked, and the image shattered into ripples. It was like staring at a stranger, he no longer recognized himself.
He looked up at the ceiling, both to distract himself and to make sure he was still heading in the right direction. Sure enough, bulbs hung overhead, stretching into the darkness. Once, they had cast a bright glow—now, they were nothing more than empty shells.
The tunnel began to slope upward, the waterline receding as Kai trudged forward. His clothes clung to him, their damp weight dragging with every step. There was chill to the water, but it wasn't as bone-chilling as before. The rhythmic slosh of water against his legs faded, replaced by the dull scrape of wet soles on stone, each footfall echoing softly through the narrowing passage.
Lifting the thaumic lamp, he cast its glow along the walls. Shadows stretched and wavered, revealing the rough texture of the rock, the faint mineral sheen left by centuries of dripping erosion. The tunnel felt tighter here—the weight of the earth pressing in, enclosing him.
A faint blue glow pulsed in the distance, barely perceptible beyond the reach of his light. It wavered, shifting as if seen through mist or water, shimmering like a heartbeat in the murk. Kai narrowed his eyes, fingers tightening around the lamp.
That must be the cavern with Fergus's machine.
His gaze dropped to the ground, brow furrowing. This was where they were ambushed by the masks.
"I… died here."
The words barely left his lips, yet they echoed off the nearby walls. It was surreal. He could almost see it—the battle unfolding before him. He had tried to fight, just as Branlen had taught him. But she was better. More experienced. His hand drifted to his chest as the memory resurfaced—her knife, piercing through him.
A stray thought surfaced, abrupt and intrusive. Where is Branlen's sword?
Panic surged through him. His hand shot to his belt—nothing. Dread settled in his chest. How could he have forgotten something so important?
He surveyed the area, sweeping over the damp stone and the water lapping at its edges. He searched desperately, but it was futile. There was nothing.
The faint blue glow ahead pulsed steadily, offering no answers, only questions. Kai's jaw tightened. The sword was gone—someone had to have taken it. These tunnels had been empty since Fergus went missing; Patty had told him as much. There shouldn't have been anyone else down here. Could it have been the masked woman?
He exhaled shakily. There was no use dwelling on it now. The sword was gone, and no amount of speculation would bring it back. For now, he had to focus on what lay ahead.
Kai adjusted his grip on the thaumic lamp and pressed forward. The incline grew steeper, water dripping from his clothes, leaving a faint, uneven trail behind him. The glow ahead remained distant, shifting with an unnatural rhythm—neither growing nor fading. It almost seemed to pulse in time with his own breath, a silent invitation.
His fingers twitched at his side, instinctively reaching for a hilt that was no longer there. The loss weighed heavily on his chest, he forced himself to push past it as he continued forward. Still, a gnawing guilt settled within him.
The glowing cavern opened before him as Kai stepped out of the narrow tunnel, the shift from the claustrophobic passage to the vast, open chamber surprising him once again. His breath caught in his throat as he glanced across the familiar scene. It was almost exactly as he remembered it—the jagged stone walls, the shifting light from the phosphorescent pools—but something felt different. The cavern was alive in a way he couldn't quite place.
The blue light, once faint and eerie, now pulsed with an unnatural vibrancy. Its glow filled the room with a soft, azure haze, casting an ethereal light that shimmered on every surface. The air felt thicker here, charged with something unseen, a subtle hum beneath the stillness.
The foliage, too, was denser than he recalled. Thick vines snaked up the cavern walls, twisting and curling all the way to the ceiling. Great clusters of moss and luminescent flowers clumped together in wild patches, their soft glow like stars in a living sky. The once-barren floor was now carpeted with thick, green tendrils and creeping plants, stretching across the rocks in tangled patterns.
At the heart of the cavern, the Monolithic machine stood, still in the same position as it had been in his memories. But something had changed. The towering structure, once an imposing monument, now looked grotesque in its disrepair. It was torn apart, pieces of its great form strewn about, broken and shattered as though someone—or something—had wrenched it apart with brutal force.
Kai's gaze lingered on the wreckage, a heavy ache settling in his chest. It loomed in the center of the room, its once-pristine surfaces cracked, its intricate mechanisms exposed and vulnerable. The very air around it seemed to hum with a lingering, mournful energy, as if the life it had once commanded had been ripped away. It was like viewing a desecrated corpse.
He crept closer to examine the carnage, pausing just at the edge of the shattered machine. His memories reeled back to the battle, to the Caernoch's frenzied assault. He remembered the jetstream of liquid the creature had used to strike at Grant, the torrential spray of force that had torn through the air with blinding speed. The stream had crashed into the machine, resulting in the explosion that had sent a shockwave through the chamber. The force had been enough to shatter the machine's delicate framework and splinter its hardened exterior. The Caernoch's attack had been chaotic, a flurry of violent energy, and the machine had just happened to be in the way.
But as Kai sifted through the wreckage, scanning over the twisted fragments of metal and torn cables, something else caught his eye.
There, etched into the torn remains of the machine, were deep, jagged claw marks, cutting through the metal like paper. They were uneven, chaotic, as if the monster had savagely raked at the structure with unrelenting force. His fingers brushed over the scars in the metal, and his brow furrowed as he moved further into the wreckage. Among the gouges were indentations—large, circular imprints where teeth had sunk into the once-smooth surfaces, the metal now bent and crushed like tin foil under the weight of an immense bite.
The destruction wasn't just the result of the explosion; it was as if the creature had deliberately attacked the machine, targeting it with mindless yet focused aggression. The claws, the teeth, the blunted edges of the metal—all suggested a different story. Was this the monster's true intention all along? To destroy the machine, not accidentally, but as its original target?
Kai stepped away from the wreckage, his thoughts churned as he absorbed the new information. He observed the sprawling, thriving subterranean ecosystem surrounding him. The vibrant pools of blue light shimmered like ancient sentinels, their glow reflecting off the thick tendrils of ivy and moss that crept up the cavern walls. The once-muted flora now thrived in dense, verdant patches. It was a stark contrast to the desolation of the wrecked machine, a cruel reminder of nature's resilience and the fragile balance it maintained.
As his eyes traced the glistening walls, Kai couldn't help but wonder: What had Fergus been trying to accomplish with this colossal machine? The purpose of the device eluded him. Fergus had mentioned that this place was teeming with spira, but that wasn't possible. Edyra had taught him much about the arcane and the way of the world. Spira, by nature, was in constant flux—an entropic force that flowed through all living things.
If anything, this place reminded him of home. The energy and vibrancy of life were similar to the wyrmwood trees that surrounded Vander. The answer clicked in his mind—this place reminded him so much of his village because it, too, was teeming with life, with a force of nature just beyond the ordinary.
Kai walked over to one of the glowing pools, the soft light encapsulating his face. He didn't have time to think about it before, but upon closer inspection, he realized this wasn't water. He squatted down to look at his reflection, but the image was blurry and unfocused.
"The lifeblood of the world," Kai's mutter echoed off the walls, his stare distant as his mind drifted back to the lessons of his childhood. "The leylines—veins of the world, pulsing with the essence of life itself. Invisible to the untrained eye, hidden beneath the surface of our understanding, they stretch across the land like a silent web, binding all things together. Without them, there would be no magic, no life, no connection between the seen and the unseen."
He rose slowly, his eyes scanning the chamber. "If this is a leyline…" He looked back to the shimmering liquid below. "Then this is mana."