To Fly the Soaring Tides

The girl with sunlight in her hair left dawn in her wake. Never a believer of the Final Sky, it was still difficult not to compare her to the rising sun. At best it was cruel irony that forced her to life in one of Earth Vein’s darkest caves, knowing only the taupe radiance of her designated specialty until Cira belligerently stumbled into her life.

What truly makes a sorcerer? Obviously, she inflated her ideology, but the truth lies beyond such musings. Her father’s teachings make that plain as day.

Cira claimed that a sorcerer bears the responsibility of anyone troubled that falls in sight. In short, they help anybody weaker than them who needs it. As someone constantly striving to improve their prowess, wouldn’t this develop into quite the troublesome existence?

Such quandary was thoroughly covered in “The Sorcerer’s Compendium Volume One, Chapter Twelve: Heavy Shoulders of the Morrow”. Despite their primitive society, a young Gazen rose to the top of the ranks of the dragon faithful using the only methods they understood—violence and supremacy. So blinded by their unrivaled power, the fringes of their people fell to ruin.

Starvation, savagery, and misery plagued the great majority of the dragon faithful, but only the poor, the destitute, and the damned survived salvation. Those who claimed dominance over the surrounding skies saw no issue with the state of affairs and were not treated kindly by the tides of change.

Choice few challengers fell swiftly, but the bulk of the local ruling class was dismantled by none other than the people. Gazen shared his knowledge and skills with the peasants of the dragon faithful and those willing to learn brought peace to skies at reaches a thousand leagues beyond the horizon.

Those who wish for salvation from cruel winds and strive to achieve it will receive it, and those who refute the world’s natural order and turn lives into commodity will be left barren in the sky’s vast history. A meaningless scrawl or splash of ink in the margin.

A sorcerer’s purpose is bound to their power, while their heart is their compass. To fall victim to life’s most miserable fates is but a trial to the seasoned sorcerer, but to the merely aspiring, one’s mind weathered with each passing day.

The duo Brindle and Hale seemed like a competent, respectable facet of the regulatory council, but the fact remained that they had shackled her with indemnite bindings. No matter how hard she tried, her aura refused to respond.

Indemnite… I studied it in school. Madam Estelle said it’s a byproduct of imperfect mana crystals. Cira conjured them like they were nothing, but I never saw a speck of indemnite. What would she say if she were bound in the same metal—bound in such materials?

It would be but a trifle, Nanri was sure. But why does it inhibit my aura from responding? It doesn’t make much sense when I think about it. Is it due to physical contact?

The Titan Witch was imprisoned in a cell smaller than those of the New Shore district with a single bed and about a foot of space around it before nullstone bars stretched from the ground to the ceiling. The wooden frame of her bed brought a nice change of scenery, but it was a humbling experience.

She crouched down and caught one bracelet on each post at the foot of her bed. Just these two bands were enough to completely seal her sorcery. Shifting her wrist around with her sleeve so the handcuffs weren’t touching her skin, she unfortunately determined that indemnite worked on altogether different principles than she was familiar with.

Dammit. Even Cira said she knew little about the soul. In her words, the soul is best left ignored if fate allows. Sadly, this doesn’t work for me.

Her test meant that indemnite exuded some manner of aethereal field. Not… entirely unlike deritium, a sort of modified mana frequency radiated from the material.

I see two options. This metal hinders my mana induction or prevents my will from reaching my aura. I don’t feel like I have any leeway, so I think the latter is more likely. What can I do about that? Is my will not strong enough?

Nanri wanted to be able to cast. Not to escape, but to continue her training. This was a goal which had neither deadline nor finish line, so it didn’t seem too urgent. Escaping would have been nice, but it wasn’t practical. She was on a direct route to meet her mother after so long, after all.

Evidently the Silver Witch meant to collect her directly from Fount Salt, but the Gandeux issued an order specifically to prevent Earth Vein witches from investigating the scene. The only one allowed anywhere near the island was the Volcanic Witch who may as well have been an enforcer at this point.

In any case, Nanri could not escape. Her father Nanago, third prince of Earth Vein’s homeland, Urigu, was the primary link between them and the Nightwing Isles. If she did anything but separate herself from the ‘Fount Saint’ incident, it could publicly signify aggressions from the smattering of islands she was born and raised in.

A thorny path to sorcery, is it? I will bear this weight. As Gazen put it, if the coals at your feet don’t smolder, how can you ever hope to grasp the sun?

The only way indemnite could suppress her will was if her will was lacking. This simply could not do. How could she call herself a sorcerer if a little jewelry stopped her from conjuring?

Flesh and bone, Nanri was a witch to the core. This was the state of her birth, and she had lived her entire life thusly. Only recently did she find the need to change that.

A witch’s will was weak. A witch believed they were blessed—that their power was a given. They believed supremacy was their right, not their burden. Was supremacy even within Nanri’s hands? She wasn’t strong enough by any measure when compared to Cira. But one’s will carried weight beyond the present self.

The hope that drove her forward, the burning sensation in her soul, the image of Cira standing next to her—these thoughts all conjured burgeons of determination to reinforce her will.

The distant horizon Nanri strove for was within reach. It was always within reach. No matter how far, the horizon never left her line of sight. Her power couldn’t stack up to even her teacher who the mighty sorcerer toyed with through miles of salt, but that wasn’t what Nanri needed.

She could no longer call herself a witch. The Titan Witch was a relic of the past now. In its place a sorcerous seed took root. Nanri knew this trial would be overcome, so it was a mere trifle. What could the extents of such an obstacle mean in the face of one certain outcome, unclouded by doubt?

Ahh. This is what Cira would do, isn’t it?

Anything which exuded aether in any form could in turn be utilized. Before the sorcerer, indemnite was material to be plundered for its mana.

Nanri gently uncoiled her palm and metallic raindrops rose up in the air. The elusive silver glow of a mastered auxiliary element lit up her prison cell as titanium coagulated against the ceiling.

Nullstone is without element, so no prisoners can manipulate it to their advantage. Unlike any given stone, it’s difficult to manipulate. Almost like orichalcum in its purest form. Thanks to Cira, though… I know it’s the best material I can ask for to enchant.

Titanium dripped from the ceiling and formed a needle in Nanri’s hand.

This first bar will be mana trap, while the second transfers it to me. I have fifteen more to work with. This is mostly for practice, but if anyone attacks me, they’ll be sorry they did.

“Hey, Titan Witch.” -Enforcer Brindle’s youthful voice carried lackadaisically through the door to the stairs. Nanri was three levels below deck in the brig. The titanium dispersed into motes of light as the door swung upon. “What do you make of this?”

He held the first volume of the “Sorcerer’s Compendium” in his hand, open to “Chapter Eight: Sky’s Folly and the Sorcerer’s Grasp”.

“If you need to ask,” Nanri replied with an exasperated sigh. She was due to see the Silver Witch by morning, but this man had had his nose buried in the tomes she swore not to lose for the past week, “You’re better off starting from the beginning.”