To Fly the Soaring Tides

This was an incredible opportunity to gather mana. It didn’t seem to matter that she lacked an aura right now because it wasn’t even making its way to her meager body, and she wondered if the immortal lord she met below felt shadows like clay in his hands too.

I guess he said he did, so he must have broached upon innate control. I sure wish I could ask him some questions…

A sphere of superdense darkness congealed in an ever-enlarging chamber below the soul forge, but beyond that, she only had fifty feet or so before reaching the sky below. This was remedied by creating an underground river of shadows that became darker by the second.

Cira decided that Captain Wick probably felt some sense of security with his heinous deeds being shrouded by mist since as far back as he could remember, so directly above Hangman’s Cove felt like the right spot to condense light. At first, the town only got brighter, still blanched in thick fog. It didn’t take long for the first of the mist to begin to burn off as a blurry sun started to form, clearing up the streets and providing clear vistas of the surrounding mountaintops and open sky.

Beyond that, it was only natural to condense the earth at each of Cira’s landforms. The waterfalls even gave her an inlet toward the spring where her newfound powers could leech off that too. She didn’t know where that particular mana was going, but she felt it grow rapidly.

The mages and Kristof all looked like they were on the verge of death, so Cira loosened up the space around their chests and let the product of nepotism relax his jaw. Of course, offer an inch, be robbed of ten-thousandths of a mile—apparently this worked out to six inches or so.

“Bitch! How dare you disrespect the Order like this—GLRUGHHHDHGHGH”

“I did not give you permission to speak.” Cira’s voice was cold as she withdrew her water. “I just didn’t want to kill Eliza’s subordinates on accident. I suggest you start thinking about how the Order could possibly dare to disrespect me like this.”

Four bottles of thick, red liquid floated before Cira, glistening in the sun. She turned back to a wary Eliza before continuing, “Of course, I am a sorcerer of my word, but have you not figured out what I did with the deritium by now?”

A subtle frown grew on Eliza’s face, but it didn’t seem like she cared too much. More that she had expected such an answer and was therefore worried. Cira let her gaze fall on the trainee.

“You… where did you hide it, cur?” There was unfounded hate in his eyes.

“I used it all, you dolt.” Cira reeled back incredulously, “Surely you don’t mean to tell me your precious Order hasn’t seen Fount Salt?”

Now that he had caught his breath, Cira stiffened the space around his jaw.

“I was afraid of that… and I really hate to say it, but…” Eliza was looking at the ground and glanced up, “the Order is very interested in knowing how you did all that. I don’t think they will leave you alone so easily.”

Why does she speak as if she’s not one of them? Is it that her goals are so far removed from the organization? Honestly, that demeanor gives me a little hope for them since she’s held the position so long. It turns out I made the right call with my heavy-handed approach after all.

“By tomorrow morning I will either be dead or far away from this place. Let them follow me if they wish to become one with the sky—”

“You arrogant bitch—” Kristof forced words through clenched teeth but was sharply cut off.

“Silence!” Eliza threw her cup at his face and teeth scattered across the sand. Blood dripped from his mouth. “The pursuit of the Lost Archive does not exist for fame nor prestige. If I have to tell you one more time to shut your damn mouth, you will be forever expelled from our halls.”

She was seriously pissed, and Cira did them both a favor by tossing a rock at him. The young man was out cold. A fearful look fell over the remaining mages who could not speak.

“Now… has our business concluded—” Cira’s words were interrupted by the sound of shattering glass. It lasted only a moment, and she followed the noise to its source—Kristof.

Spatial fluctuations fell in on him like two opposing vortexes. Cira raised her brow at the unexpected interference and quickly zeroed in on a strange charm that seemed to be broken in half at his feet. When he stood up, space somehow ruptured around him like divergent light. Without herself putting any effort in yet, he was outside Cira’s grasp.

“Do you think you can walk all over me?!” Eliza held out her hand as if to cast, but it appeared Kristof was stopping her. “I’ll show you what it means to oppose the son of an arbiter!”

The world shifted again. As if a horizontal axis in space slid in opposite directions from top to bottom, the island shattered cleanly, only to revert in less than the blink of an eye. The only difference which remained was the two halves of Kristof, roughly a foot apart from each other.

“To oppose the daughter of a sage,” Cira glared into his eyes as they lost focus, “You seek death.”

“K-kristof—” Eliza’s eyes went wide in honest surprise before turning to Cira in a panic. Right then, the strangest thing happened.

Another disturbance in Cira’s space tore itself a hole in the world, “ENOUGH. Please!” A man materialized next to Kristof wearing robes nearly as extravagant as Eliza’s in a more subdued tone. His head was balding on top but was almost masked by his pointed hat were it not for his flustered movements as he cradled the boy’s torso and turned to Cira with tears in his eyes.

I thought there was something strange lingering around… What a thorough phase shift.

The boy’s legs and waist slowly floated back into place with great resistance as holy magic exploded at the wounds’ edges.

“My son is not undeserving of your treatment, but I refuse to watch him die—” The island was bathed in pure light and when it receded to a thin pillar, there was a naked man covered in burns at its center. Kristof alone was somehow shielded.

The man rapidly healed and his body was encompassed in some kind of illusory shawl. He was back on his feet so quickly that it even shocked Cira. What put her off more than anything was the rapturous smile on his face. “Remarkable… This entire island may as well be a gem atop your staff.”

It felt a little more intimate than that, but Cira didn’t feel the need to correct him.

“So, another arbiter reveals himself…” Cira squinted her eyes, “but aren’t you lower in station than Eliza? Why are you able to move?”

“Young Roman here is a master of the passive spatial domain.” Eliza supplied, “It’s been active for at least a century.”

“I guess it may be Kristof who’s the exception rather than you.” Cira chuckled in response, and Roman glared at his son from their exchange.

“It would seem my boy has given you the entirely wrong impression of us—”

The world cracked again, and his body fell limp while his head landed on the table with a crimson squelch.

“I always knew he was an exceptional idiot. It is you and your presumptuous arbiters who have given me the wrong impression.” His raised eyebrows looked like they would be accompanied by hands on the hips as his severed head leaned toward her. “Did you really think I was just some wayward girl whose wisdom could be plucked from the Lost Cloud as easily as a plum off its branch?”

Cira watched as his lips flapped until his head finally fell over and began to roll toward the edge of the table. His body behind turned to dust and golden light flared out of his neck. In the span of about ten seconds, his entire body was reformed with illusory robes intact. He coughed up blood and cleared his throat, “Ahem, of course not. I merely came here to negotiate—geh…”

Cira smirked as his head fell off and split in two. The halves fell flat on the table like sliced grapefruit in the sun then forced themselves together through a shapeless force. Once they were whole, his body again turned to dust and reformed in holy light.

Strange. His body reforms through holy mana, but he has to restore his head manually first. There was a flicker of nature and blood mana, but how was he even conscious enough to do that in the first place?

“Goodness,” Cira couldn’t contain a grin, which was significant in contrast as she gazed upon a stone statue of herself in the residential district of Archaeum. She never knew one eye alone could frown until this day. “Perhaps I was too hasty. You have some tricks I would certainly love to consider.”

Wait, couldn’t I just turn into—

Cira watched from above as glops of cerulean jelly congealed into herself. When she focused back into her solidified eyes, they jolted open wide. Her chest heaved as she planted a palm on the table, panting.

“Hooooo, hoooo….. Damn… Hahhhhhh. I guess I should leave that for later.”

Roman and Eliza were horrified, the former deliberately clearing his throat again, “As I was just saying… I came to negotiate. It was obvious what happened to the deritium once I investigated Fount Salt.”

That makes sense. A man with such fine control over space could tell in a few hours at worst if there was any left on the island. He must have noticed that there wasn’t even the slightest trace of it. It was only natural to conclude that I had done as much deliberately. Given the state I left Fount Salt in, it wouldn’t be hard to imagine I had to draw a great deal of mana from somewhere.

When Cira didn’t speak, Roman thought he found a leg up, as if his tricks were so impressive Cira couldn’t feel them out over a few nights in the forbidden archive. Wait, they might be.

“It is not easy to join the Third Order of the Lost Archive,” He sat cross-legged on the table a mere few feet from Cira with his legs crossed. His expression was an off-putting blend of shit-eating compassion, “But you have the recommendation of multiple arbiters. All of my ‘tricks’ and more knowledge than you could even imagine can be yours… All you would need is to take a trial, but that’s only a formality. With your talent, you’re a shoe-in. Any sorcery you want is within your grasp—”

“Who says it’s not already within my grasp?” Her father made a point to specifically warn her against people who had things she wanted. ‘The candle who yearns for flame must cast a large shadow, lest flame’s bearer see themselves too bright’. “I know there’s a catch. What you offer varies greatly depending on what I am willing to relinquish.”

Since their initial business was through, the four jars of vestigial nectar disappeared into thin air. Cira took this chance to remove Prismagora from a ring to hover above her head while Conduit took its place as Cira’s backdrop. It glimmered in the misty light like a pale blue sun disk. The orichalcum staff’s geometric finial cast golden spotlights around the sandbar as it materialized. It found a pedestal when the sand below burned brighter than Hangman’s Cove’s sun and turned into an obsidian claw reaching for the sky.

Dad always just called it “My staff”… I really need to give it a name soon.

The nearby flock of Third Order mages had grown by a few and half of them passed out at the sudden fluctuations of mana beneath the great palm.

Prismagora burned up the surrounding fog and solidified Cira’s domain to restrict all space and light within proximity. The hair on Roman’s wrist stood on end and he shuddered at the realizations that only his jaw could move.

“W-well… All we ask is for you to share what you know.” His voice shook, but Cira had to admit his demeanor was stalwart, “It is a reciprocal deliberation of knowledge through which we all grow stronger and wiser.”

The island shook but didn’t split this time. It merely trembled as if to drive Cira’s point home. Her accompanying tone was brusque enough to fear the sky were about to fall.

“There is only one issue with your proposal,” Similar to the one in Uru, a field of stars subconsciously formed above Cira. She didn’t notice until they began pushing against each other as their mass formed incipient suns brighter than the one above when put together. “Much of the wisdom I possess is not to be freely given or traded as goods, but to be earned.”