by Cale Plamann
Micah’s only question was how to convince the local nobles and the capital to take the threat seriously. All he could think to do was reveal himself and some of his abilities. This time, if he showed up at the door of the Golden Drakes and revealed his affinity for Time magic as well as an unnaturally high level and skillset, hopefully they’d believe him when he said he had a message from the future.
With a high enough level, he would even feel comfortable revealing that his blessing was Mythic. If nothing else, a Mythic blessing associated with the primal element of Time would get their attention. Maybe then they’d believe that his gift included a “message from the future.”
There was plenty of room to go wrong, but it wasn’t like Micah had another choice. Even with only sleeping half of the night and constantly fighting monsters outside of Basil’s Cove, he’d be lucky to reach level 20 by the time the Durgh arrived. The leaders of the midsized guilds that led the defense were all in their mid-forties, and at least one of them had died without fanfare in the first clash with the Durgh. Micah had no way of knowing how powerful the leaders of the incursion were, but he wouldn’t be able to fight them on his own.
As uncertain a prospect as going to the Golden Drakes—a generally arrogant and elitist guild in his previous life—was, it seemed like Micah’s only option. He just needed to make himself look like a valuable enough asset that they would drop their veneer of haughtiness to invest in him. After all, Micah thought darkly, the Golden Drakes were well acquainted with looking the other way for some of their more unsavory candidates so long as they showed enough potential to justify such discretion.
Slinging his backpack over his shoulder, he started off into the forest once more. He would need blood sacrifices to create the second teleportation beacon, and he had limited time before the sun set.
18
Prodigy
Micah walked back from the library. Once again, it was his sixteenth birthday, but this time, there wasn’t any tension. Briefly, he relived the moment from his previous timeline. It had seemed so pivotal then; his very future hung on events outside of his control. For some reason, he’d wanted to hurry them forward rather than take a couple minutes to enjoy his last day as a youth.
He chuckled slightly to himself as he took in the setting sun. He already had his blessing as well as enough skill levels to impress any recruitment officer. The past couple years had given him enough time to hone his skills and gain the levels he’d need to prevent being overlooked. Even Micah’s body had filled out, his solo escapades giving him the tone and definition that he’d lacked in his last timeline. Already, even with his extensive time in the library, his Body and Agility attributes were at 6 each.
Home was just as he remembered. Trevor wasn’t there, occupied on some sort of mission beyond the city walls. His family threw a small party. Also, as he remembered, Esther was excited for cake and his mother pushed him too hard while his father hinted that he’d accept Micah no matter what. It was a touchingly nostalgic moment.
Even though he’d relived this timeline for the last three years, it never seemed as real as the first. The party unfurled like a play, scene by scene mimicking his first time through, almost to the point where he could recite his mother’s speech before she said it. The entire experience felt surreal, almost like a dream. His responses were the same, but he felt disconnected, like he was miles away from his family’s kitchen.
Micah didn’t know when he started thinking of his “new” family as placeholders for his “real” family, but it’d happened. Maybe it was the constant training. He just didn’t have the same free time to spend with his family as he’d had in his previous life. Micah knew that his beliefs were irrational and unfair to them, but that didn’t mean he could slack on his training. He vowed, probably for the tenth time, to make it up to them once this timeline was fixed and the Durgh attack was averted.
He went through the motions, eating dinner while pretending to be excited and nervous about his blessing. His family bought it. They spent the entirety of the dinner reassuring him rather than noticing that Micah’s actions were slightly off. Even if they did notice, they clearly just chalked it up to nerves and didn’t mention it out of politeness.
Really, he just wanted to get everything over with. He never loved being the center of attention, and his mother’s investment with his blessing bordered on desperate. Finally, Micah escaped and went to bed. Relief filled his body as the starchy cloth of the sheets surrounded him. He fell asleep almost as soon as his eyes closed.
“Micaaaaaaaaaaaah!”
He woke up the next morning to the sound of Esther screaming at him and jumping on his bed. Somehow she’d gotten his door open without waking him, and now he had a squirming younger sister whipping the pillow out from under his head and beating him soundly with it.
“WakeupwakeupwakeupWAKEUP!” she shrieked at him in elation as he tried to roll over to avoid her blows. “Tell me what your blessing is. Luxos says you have to tell me. I’m still a youth.”
“Hold on,” Micah croaked out, shielding his head with his right arm as he tried to rub the sleep from his eye with his left hand. “Just give me a second here. I’m still basically asleep.”
Esther scurried back on his bed, giving Micah some room to get his bearings, but still holding on to his pillow. He suspected that any efforts to fall back asleep would be swiftly thwarted. Out of options, he shook the last of the sleep out of his system and smiled at her.
“My blessing?” he asked, feigning confusion. “I do recall having some sort of dream about that, but I can’t put my finger on it…”
He dodged the pillow thrown at his head and leaned forward to ruffle Esther’s hair. She wriggled out of his grasp with snake-like agility and jumped out of his bed, pouting and stomping a foot on his bedroom floor.
“Micah.” She put her hands on her hips, mimicking their mother’s favorite scolding pose. “You promised.”
“I’m not sure I did.” He chuckled, pulling the blankets off of himself and letting his feet dangle onto the cold floor. “But I’ll let you know anyway. Mythic Blessing of Mursa. She granted me limited power of prophecy, some decent affinities, and a book that has notes and the story of a possible future. Better yet, I got a class and 10 levels. I’m already higher leveled than Trevor.”
This time, lying to Esther barely even fazed him. If he was going to join the Golden Drakes, he’d need to demonstrate the rarity of his blessing. Of course, they didn’t need to know about the actual time travel. That seemed like the sort of thing he should keep secret just in case it came in handy. Prophecy was a good compromise. Powerful, useful, and given the fact that he’d just lived through the future, not entirely wrong.
“What?” Esther’s eyes grew into dinner plates. “Wait until I tell Sandy!” She sprinted out of his room, not even closing the door behind her.
Micah chuckled to himself and walked into the kitchen. His mother was mixing the ingredients for their morning pancakes, but for once, Micah was up early enough to see his father chewing away thoughtfully at his morning eggs and toast.
“You’re up early.” Jon chuckled, brushing some crumbs from the toast from his bushy mustache. “I take it from your sister’s reaction that she had something to do with that?”
“She didn’t want to wait to hear my blessing.” Micah pulled out a chair and sat down across from his father. “Strange that she’s more excited about it than I am.”
“Well,” his mother called from where she was preparing the pancakes, “don’t leave us in suspense either. Tell us what the Sixteen saw fit to give you.”
“It’s a Mythic Blessing from Mursa.” Micah winced at the sound of his mother dropping her cast-iron pan on the floor. She loved that godsdamned pan. “Limited prophecy in the form of a book that details possible futures along with a starting class, 10 levels, and some pretty good affinities.”
“Mythic.” Micah’s mother lurched forward toward the wash basin, her knees giving
out under her as she clutched at the counter to avoid following the pan to the ground. “My boy has a Mythic blessing. This changes everything. There’s so much to do. I, I have to tell someone.”
“Are you certain, Micah?” Jon set down his toast, focusing entirely on Micah. “You don’t seem all that excited about your ability. Please tell me you didn’t just make something up to get your mother excited. You know she’s sensitive on this topic.”
“The goddess was quite clear.” Micah shrugged, glancing guiltily at his mother as her babbling segued into sobbing with joy. “I just know that a Mythic ability from a Major Deity is going to come with its own problems. There’s no way I’ll be able to join the Lancers with Trevor, and there’s a good chance that I’m going to be sent to the capital for training. I’m not exactly excited to leave everything I know behind.”
“Trevor was excited to try and rope you into the Lancers,” his father replied with a chuckle. “He was trying to be cagey. He didn’t want to pressure you into it, but it sounds like you’ve picked up on his plans anyway.
“You’ve got the right of it, though,” Micah’s dad continued. “Everyone looks at the greater blessings as a gift, but they come with their own share of responsibility. You’ll likely end up with your fair share of wealth and fame, but the King is almost certainly going to want to make you a Royal Knight. I don’t think I’ve heard of a common-born with a Mythic gift that hasn’t been snapped up by a noble house or the royal family.”
“I know,” Micah replied. “I don’t think I have a choice but to get wrapped up in court politics, and I barely know what’s going on. It’s like being forced to play a game, but nobody has bothered to explain the rules.”
“Another apt description.” His dad chuckled. “It’s hard to go wrong with the royal family. They have most of the power around here and a pretty decent system for developing new talents. You might be able to get better benefits for yourself by joining a noble house, but it’s too easy to piss off the kind of people you can’t afford to annoy. If you go that route, it will be all too easy for you to make the kind of enemies that you just can’t afford to make. I certainly don’t know enough to advise you.
“Don’t worry too much about your brother,” Jon continued, edging a slice of egg onto his toast before bringing it to his mouth. “He’ll understand. As heartbroken as he’ll be that you have to leave, he’ll be twice as proud for you. I say you join the Golden Drakes. They’re a high-tier adventuring guild headquartered in Basil’s Cove, but they have ties to the royal family. They’ll get you the training you need without ruffling some noble’s feathers.”
“Thanks,” Micah replied sincerely, slightly surprised at the depth of his father’s knowledge and analysis. He’d never really thought about it, but Jon made some of the finest tailored suits in Basil’s Cove. He likely rubbed shoulders with the same elite that Micah would be dealing with shortly on almost a monthly basis.
“What about Mom?” he asked, eyes flickering back to his mother, who was still mumbling to herself on the floor. “She’s taking this a little… differently than I expected.”
“Don’t worry about her either,” his dad said with a chuckle. “You should probably grab some fruit or something for breakfast before you head over to the Golden Drakes’ guild hall. I don’t see your pancakes being done anytime soon. Other than leaving you to starve, she’ll be fine and bragging about your gift to the neighbors in a couple hours.”
Smiling and whistling a tune, Micah grabbed two slices of fresh bread and an apple before setting out. The sun was barely up and the regular morning noises of Basil’s Cove were rather muted. He took advantage of the lack of foot traffic to cut through the usually busy market district.
The Golden Drakes’ guild hall stood right at the border of the Noble Quarter. You didn’t need a letter of recommendation to get past the nobles’ guards, but they certainly watched Micah like a hawk as he walked up to the door.
Registering with the Golden Drakes was a very different experience. Micah was given roughly the same questionnaire as the Lancers, but after turning it in, he was left to cool his heels for almost four hours. Finally, a plump man, sweat beading on his face and wearing a cloak embroidered with gold thread, entered Micah’s waiting room.
“Mr. Silver.” The stranger pulled out a handkerchief and blotted his damp forehead. “I’ve been assigned to talk to you about your application. You’ve indicated that you have a Mythic gift for prophecy and 10 Time affinity. Obviously, these abilities are incredibly powerful. It isn’t uncommon for people to fake having a powerful ability in order to gain wealth and acclaim.”
The man sat down in a chair across from Micah with some relief. During his entire rippling descent, Micah couldn’t help but notice how very pink this man was. Whoever he was, he certainly wasn’t accustomed to missing a meal or traveling outdoors.
“At this time,” the man continued, “you can withdraw or modify your application without penalty. Be aware that I am a certified Truth Seer. If you refuse to withdraw your application and you are found to be lying, I will be quite cross and the penalties will be very strict.”
“I understand.” Micah nodded. “Just tell me what I have to do.”
“Simply put both hands on the table,” the man replied, slightly breathlessly. Apparently, he struggled for oxygen after the simple act of pouring himself into the chair. “I will need to hold both of your wrists while you recite your abilities, and I will be able to tell if you’re telling the truth or not. Very simple.”
Micah extended his hands. The stranger took them in his own and muttered something. Micah felt his arms goosebump as a static charge went up them. He shuddered briefly from the sensation before making eye contact with the stranger, who nodded at him.
“My name is Micah Silver.” He chose his words carefully. “I have a Mythic Blessing from Mursa, Goddess of the Moon and Magic. Part of that blessing includes a 10 affinity in Time magic and limited knowledge of future events, specifically in the next two years. I am a level 10 Magi. I also have a book that aids me in learning new spells and abilities. This book contains details about the spells I have learned.”
“Truth,” the man replied, his mood lightening considerably. “Please state your other affinities for the record and I’ll send in the next inspector.”
“Before I state my affinities,” Micah continued, steeling himself, “I feel obliged to let you know that there will be a Durgh incursion in about two years. I believe they are amassing now, but when they come, their numbers will be sufficient to overwhelm both Westmarch and Basil’s Cove. As for my affinities, Wood is 6 and Wind is 5.”
“Truth and truth.” The man frowned. “Unless your actual gift is one related to deception or hiding your abilities, you believe in all of the statements you’ve made today. Obviously, I am not in a position to make a decision on your prophecy, but I will escalate your claim. You can be sure that a committee will investigate its veracity as soon as possible.”
19
With Great Purpose
Micah thrust his spear into the shade ogre’s chest, sinking the head deep through the tightly coiled muscles to its heart. The creature bucked against the daemons holding it steady once or twice and died, slumping in their grip. One of them leaned forward, sniffing the ogre with its great wolflike head before releasing the inert body.
“Very good, Micah,” Brenden complimented, the slight hint of an accent clipping his voice as he nodded approvingly. “You slightly overextended on Gale Thrust, but that was a superb exercise in mana control.”
Micah planted the butt of the spear in the ground and held it vertically, leaning against the weapon as he panted, sweat streaming down his face. The other daemon prodded the dead shade ogre, whining softly. Both of them were Onkerts, the weakest of the five known daemon breeds. Resembling gorillas with the head of wolves, they were by far the most summoned daemon due to their “low” energy costs.
He shuddered remembering that cost. Four pi
gs. A half-hour per daemon per life, cut and bled in accordance with the ritual and cast into the flames. The Church of Luxos disapproved of daemon summoning, but they’d never gotten around to banning it entirely. The summoned daemons were too useful to the ruling class, both as shock troops and magically enhanced laborers.
Their weakness was relative. Ritual magic could be used to summon other lesser creatures such as elementals or spirits. The spells were easier and the costs were lower. Of course, someone as arrogant as Brenden would never stoop to such half-measures. The difficulty of the ritual, price, and unruliness of the creature were half of the point behind summoning daemons. It was almost a status symbol to the man.
“Now, Mr. Silver,” Brenden said as he continued down the dungeon’s hallway, motioning for Micah to follow him, “for the next target, I want you to disable it using Paralytic Sting. We need to make sure that your Wood magic doesn’t fall behind. We both know that the actual goal is for you to earn enough mana to cast fifth-tier spells so you can start learning Time magic, but there’s no reason for us to neglect your Spellcasting skill and weaker affinities.”
“Sure, Mr. Thrakos,” Micah agreed, trotting to keep up. “I still think it’d be quicker to let me fight the monsters.”
“You”—Brenden Thrakos turned, an eyebrow raised, and snorted at Micah while looking him over dismissively—“are an investment, Micah. You’re level 12, but we’re in a level 15 dungeon. I’m not even sure if you’d be able to solo any of the monsters in here, let alone beat them in a timely fashion. No, we need you to gain levels so you have the mana for Time magic. You’ll land the killing blow on each monster as we’ve been doing up until now.”
“But what about my skill levels?” Micah frowned. “If I’m only delivering killing blows, I’m only going to gain levels. Sure, my mana pools will increase, but that’ll be it. I won’t gain any skill levels in Spellcasting, let alone in a specific spell.”