Dean hesitated at the door, worry flickering in his eyes.
"You should rest," he said finally.
The latch clicked softly behind him.
Kael sat up the instant he was alone.
Blood streaked the sheets, dried in uneven patches, yet his body felt disturbingly fine—lighter, sharper, alive in a way that felt almost predatory. The Compendium had repaired the vessel… but at what cost?
He could feel it—the emptiness. A hollow carved deep within his being. The Compendium had taken something irreplaceable this time: his identity.
Kael.
That was the name Dean had used. He tried to anchor himself to it, but the connection felt artificial, fractured. Every attempt to recall his true name splintered memory further, like trying to grasp fog through glass.
The memories existed—he knew that much. Archived somewhere in the Compendium's vaults. But they were distant, detached, like watching his own reflection in a window: recognizable yet unreachable.
Enough. Introspection is noise.
Compendium, analyse my condition. Check for residual soul overload and physical stability.
A soft hum resonated in his mind.
[Query Initiated: Host-contained soul energy expended. No overload detected. Mana Gates Open: 5/13. Host physical condition stabilized.]
Relief came with a faint bitterness—literal, clinging to his tongue like the aftertaste of a tonic. Did Dean feed me something? Another question for later.
Physically, he was whole. But the emptiness within was suffocating. To become efficient, must I give everything away? And if he did, would the being that remained still be him?
He forced the thought aside and sank into meditation. Efficiency demanded analysis.
His inner landscape unfolded—a lattice of channels and radiant gates pulsing with light. Then he froze.
Four new gates. All open. All pristine.
These were rooted deep within vital organs—unlike any he had opened before. The first gate still bore traces of spiritual debris, remnants of struggle. But these four? Perfect. Polished. As if they had always been open.
Mana flowed freely through him, circulating without conscious effort. His body had become a self-sustaining conduit. The Compendium had done this—at the cost of his essence.
He steadied his breath. Test 1: controlled Arcane infusion into the heart gate.
Iridescent mana condensed before him in the mental space—liquid starlight swirling in perfect spheres. He guided one toward his heart.
The reaction was immediate.
His chest thundered—not painfully, but with exhilarating force. The infused mana merged with his blood, turning each beat into a carrier of vitality. Microscopic fractures from the overload began knitting together, reforging him from within.
Each pulse carried progress. Each cycle, strength.
When the rhythm settled, he prepared the next phase. Two drops—one for lungs, one for stomach.
Lungs: oxygen no longer required. He exhaled deliberately, watching faint motes of light drift from his lips. Air itself became irrelevant.
He experimented—converted a portion of Arcane mana to elemental Air. Dissipation slowed dramatically; efficiency increased. Useful for future combat or vacuum conditions, he noted, and the Compendium hummed its silent approval.
Stomach: agony. His metabolism ignited, devouring energy with feral hunger. The gate enhanced consumption, not independence. He endured the wave until pain dulled into insight. Lesson logged.
Only one gate remained. The skull. Instinct whispered danger, but curiosity overrode fear.
Single drop—cranial gate.
The world imploded.
Sight, sound, scent, taste, touch—each fractured into a storm of sensation. He could see dust motes swirling like galaxies, smell stale fabric beneath the next bed, hear footsteps echoing far down the corridor.
Too much. His body convulsed, collapsing back onto the cot. Vision splintered into kaleidoscopic light.
Then the Compendium's voice cut through the chaos:
[Alert: Cognitive overload detected. Filtering extraneous data.]
The flood receded. Sensation narrowed to tolerable focus.
Kael exhaled—unnecessary, but grounding. His body was stronger, faster, efficient beyond reason. Yet within that sharpened vessel pulsed the same void—cold, hollow, infinite.
He had survived. Adapted. But as he stared at the ceiling, one truth echoed quietly in the hollow left behind:
The more he gained, the less of him remained.
The hum of the Compendium faded into silence.
Kael lay still, absorbing the aftershock. The world had sharpened again—every sensation indexed, every thought aligned—but the hollowness persisted like a fracture through glass.
He sat up slowly. The dried blood on his hands cracked. Thin veins of crimson webbed the sheets—unsightly, inefficient. It needed erasure.
He stripped off his robes and carried the sheets to the washroom.
First, he summoned water mana, recalling the sensation of Dean's cleansing stone that morning. He tried to replicate it; control faltered. After several minutes, the dried blood finally sloughed off, dissolving into shimmering motes spiralling down the drain.
Next came the sheets. Cyras' earlier demonstration surfaced in memory—the way dark mana had consumed material like hunger given form. Kael channelled a pulse through his palms. The energy gnawed at the fabric, devouring rather than cleansing.
He exhaled, faintly impressed. Even imperfect control yielded results impossible before. Five gates open; power unparalleled. Yet the imperfection irritated him—threads of ash and blood remained. He cleaned them manually, mop and broom scraping rhythmically against the stone floor.
When done, he paused before the mirror.
The boy staring back wore his face—but something in the reflection was alien. Detached. His eyes glimmered faintly with iridescent threads coiling deep within the iris. Beautiful. Terrifying. Unnatural.
He waited until the glow faded, mana dissipating from his organs. No one in the academy could know about the internal gates. Efficiency demanded invisibility, not admiration.
Kael straightened, adjusted his robes, and gathered the clean sheets.
The corridor's air felt cool against his skin, humming with distant mana fields. His movements were measured now—deliberate. Each step grounded him further in borrowed normalcy.
Dean stood at the far end, lost in thought. When he noticed Kael, relief flickered across his face and he hurried forward.
"Kael, are you okay?" he asked, worry lacing his tone. "We can go to the healing ward if you're still not feeling well."
"I am fine," Kael replied, voice calm, detached, precise. Observation first. Assessment second.
Dean studied him. "You look… better. Healthier. And your eyes—they seem clearer. Must be the potion I gave you? It was only for blood loss, though. That's—new."
So, he had fed me a potion. Kael blinked slowly. "Perhaps that—and the life mana I was channelling before I lost consciousness."
Dean's frown deepened. "That was reckless. You shouldn't use life mana unsupervised. Without training, it can backfire."
"I know," Kael said evenly. "But nothing adverse happened. And we're getting late for class."
Dean sighed, concern still shadowing his expression. "Right… then let's go."
The classroom door loomed ahead, carved with softly pulsing runes. Kael pushed it open, and a surge of mana rolled outward. The air here was dense, alive—pressing against his skin like a living current.
The chamber beyond was oval, tiered like an amphitheater. Students sat in neat rows, eyes closed, drawing ambient mana through disciplined meditation.
They're absorbing the excess density, Kael noted. Efficient.
At the front sat Magus Veric—still as carved stone, yet sharp as a drawn blade. His youthful features contrasted Serina's aged countenance. Is her age genuine—or a sign of rank strain? Another variable for later analysis.
Kael and Dean took their seats. When Kael closed his eyes, the hall's mana lattice unfolded around him in geometric clarity. Every pulse aligned to the rhythm of student breaths—a symphony of ordered flow.
Minutes passed before a deliberate ahem echoed across the hall. Kael's eyes opened.
Magus Veric stood now, gaze sweeping the class with calm authority. Despite the small attendance—barely a dozen—the air held the tension of significance.
"Welcome," Magus Veric began, his tone calm yet unyielding. "To Formations and Arrays."
He let the silence linger—sharp, deliberate—his eyes sweeping over the students like a craftsman inspecting flawed material.
"This subject is not for the idle. It is for those who value structure, precision, and perseverance. If that does not describe you, I suggest you reconsider your elective."
No one moved.
Satisfied, Veric inclined his head. "Then let us begin."
He raised a hand, tracing faint sigils in the air. A luminous network unfolded above his palm—lines and nodes weaving into a symmetrical pattern before collapsing back into motes of light.
"Arrays," he said, "are small, personal constructs—temporary patterns of mana woven to perform a limited function. A barrier. A seal. A blade of light. They are concise, functional, and efficient."
He gestured again, and this time a miniature arc of lightning danced between his fingers, forming the same pattern for a split second before fading.
"They can be powered by a single mage or a group. Alternatively, mana stones may be substituted as the energy source. This—" he smiled faintly, "—will be our first focus."
He paused, then turned, chalk hovering at his gesture as a new symbol etched itself across the wall. "Formations, however, are another art entirely. They are bound to the world itself—etched into stone, drawn along ley lines, fuelled by continuous mana flow. Where Arrays act, Formations endure. Entire cities thrive—or collapse—on their stability."
The mana in the air seemed to thrum in resonance with his words. Several students straightened unconsciously.
At the professor's signal, a desk drawer clicked open. Veric withdrew a dull, grey stone—ordinary in every sense.
"This," he said, holding it aloft, "is our starting point. Every crafter must know how to transmute the mundane into the magical. The first lesson: transforming inert matter into a mana-conduit."
He placed the stone on the podium. "You already know how to channel mana into your bodies. The same principle applies to objects—except here, precision defines success."
Brown light gathered in his palm. "Observe."
The hue seeped into the stone, slowly at first. Nothing seemed to happen for several breaths—then the stone began to change. Its surface smoothed, darkened, then shimmered with faint crystalline veins. The transformation spread outward until the plain pebble had become a solid, heavy block that glowed faintly under the classroom light.
"This," Veric said, holding up a rough, unremarkable stone, "is a mundane object. To craft arrays or formations, you must first learn to prepare such materials—to transform them into magical conduits. A true crafter must build his craft from nothing but will, mana, and understanding."
He raised the stone higher. "The principle is simple. You've learned how to infuse mana into your own bodies. The same concept applies to external mediums. Observe carefully—any type of mana can be infused, but the result will differ."
His hand began to glow with an earthen hue. The energy seeped outward, wrapping around the stone like slow-moving sand. For several minutes, nothing appeared to change—then the stone shuddered. Its texture shifted, dull grey darkening into a deep brown sheen as faint veins of light spread through it. The amorphous surface crystallized into a uniform, refined structure.
When the light dimmed, Veric exhaled once. "This stone is now a conduit for earth mana. It has become several times denser and more resilient. No mundane weapon will shatter it. This stone can serve both as construction material and as an array conduit for earth-based spells."
Students murmured in quiet awe.
"But that is only one example," Veric continued, his tone deepening with interest. "Let us test other mana types. Who among you will try?"
A few hesitant hands rose. Veric pointed to a blond-haired girl near the front. "You—fire affinity, yes?"
She nodded, stepping forward. Her fingers trembled slightly as crimson mana flared from her palm. When she pressed it into the stone, a faint glow spread across the surface, but soon cracks appeared—small veins of ember splitting through it.
"Too volatile," Veric said calmly. "Fire mana overwhelms structure. You must guide it, not force it."
He added, "Try again—but keep the structure of the stone in your mind. Will your mana to spread evenly and stay in that pattern."
The girl nodded and tried again. This time, the process was slower—her mana reserves limited compared to the magus. Several minutes passed before the stone began to change. Its shape smoothed into an oval, its color deepened to a soft crimson glow. Then, drained, she collapsed to her knees, pale and shaking.
Veric caught her effortlessly. "It's all right," he said gently. "You've only opened one gate. Your mana isn't yet condensed enough—it will take practice before you can fully infuse the medium."
Next, a tall boy with wind affinity stepped forward. His mana swirled in pale threads around the stone, and when he infused it, the surface rippled faintly, resonating with a low hum.
"Good," Veric said, a hint of approval in his tone. "Wind mana refines structure—adds flexibility rather than density."
Then came a girl with water affinity. Her mana flowed gently, merging with the stone's texture until it shimmered with a glass-like sheen.
"Fluid and stable," Veric noted. "Water mana excels at harmonizing material density."
Dean hesitated before stepping forward, drawing a slow breath. When his mana ignited, it shimmered—not with color, but with distortion. The air around his hand bent, light wavering like a mirage. The edges of the stone warped as if reality itself was unsure where to settle.
A low hum filled the hall. Light fractured along invisible seams, and for an instant, the stone resisted—then condensed into a palm-sized, amethyst-hued crystal.
Magus Veric froze mid-motion. "Spatial…?" he whispered—the single word heavy with disbelief.
A ripple of murmurs coursed through the class.
Recovering, Veric approached slowly, every trace of formality replaced by naked fascination. "Spatial affinity is nearly unheard of among apprentices," he said, tone reverent. "Do you understand what this means, boy?"
Dean swallowed. "Not really, Magus."
Veric's gaze flicked to the still-shimmering stone. "Spatial mana doesn't merely infuse matter—it redefines its boundaries. You didn't strengthen the stone—you folded it inward. Condensed its presence." He exhaled softly, half in awe, half in alarm. "Even a fraction more power, and you could have torn its cohesion apart."
The hall had gone utterly silent. Students stared wide-eyed while Veric straightened, the faintest tremor of excitement in his voice.
"Spatial affinity," he repeated quietly, as if confirming a discovery to himself. "Extremely rare. Handle it with respect, Dean. Space does not forgive carelessness."
Finally, Kael rose. The other students turned as his footsteps echoed faintly. His eyes were steady, detached.
"Earth mana, is it?" Veric asked, curious but cautious.
Kael nodded once.
He placed his palm over the stone. A faint pulse spread—not the sluggish weight of earth, but something deeper, restrained. Inside, he converted the Compendium's stored mana to match the earth attribute before infusion. With his increased capacity, it was simple enough—but he deliberately slowed the flow, masking his precision from the Magus's perception.
After several minutes, the stone began to change. The glow was subdued, almost austere—yet the result was unmistakable. The structure didn't simply harden; it refined. Each layer compressed, fused, condensed until its surface gleamed with quiet, perfect symmetry.
When Kael withdrew his hand, murmurs rippled softly through the hall.
Magus Veric approached, testing the stone's texture with a brief, approving nod. "Nicely done, Mister Voss," he said. "You have a natural feel for earth manipulation. Good work."
Kael's expression remained composed—but inside, his thoughts tightened as the Compendium's familiar voice resonated.
[Compendium Alert: Host mana infusion efficiency—3%.]
Three percent? Kael's mind froze for a heartbeat. That can't be right.
He replayed the process in his mind—control, flow, precision—all aligned perfectly.
Compendium, he thought sharply, what is that supposed to mean? I followed the instructions fully.
[Query Initiated: Host mana control, flow calibration, structural imprinting, and pattern density remain inefficient. Process recorded for later assimilation.]
Then teach me, Kael demanded, irritation flickering beneath his calm façade.
[Not enough CP.]
Kael exhaled slowly, a faint pulse of frustration buried beneath the mask of composure.
Kael exhaled slowly, schooling his expression into calm.
Three percent.
The number echoed like a flaw in an otherwise flawless equation. For all the precision the Compendium claimed to enable, it was telling him he had barely scratched the surface of efficiency. That was unacceptable.
Kael's internal frustration was a perfectly buried coal beneath a surface of ice. He watched Magus Veric move away to critique another student's work, his expression unreadable—a study in composed focus.
Three percent.
The Compendium's assessment was a mockery of the effort he'd expended. He hadn't just refined the stone; he had sculpted the earth's raw power into perfect symmetry. But the system didn't care for effort. It only cared for efficiency.
If what Veric taught was worth only three percent, he thought, what happens when I reach the other ninety-seven?
He brushed his fingertips across the smooth surface of the artifact—cool, flawless, meaningless. The Compendium's response echoed in his mind:
[Not enough CP.]
A flaw in the equation was an opportunity to rewrite the variables.
Perhaps Kellen would reward such refinement. Perhaps not. Either way, he would master the technique—and the system that judged him.
He glanced toward the tall window as the sunset bled across the sky. Students buzzed around him, excited, proud, loud—utterly unaware of the monstrous gap between effort and result that separated them.
Monkeys practicing magic, he thought. What efficiency could they ever reach?
[Query: What actions other than memory absorption generate Compendium Points?]
[Response: Resource Acquisition. All knowledge acceptable. Must be knowledge the host does not possess.]
Kael's lips curved faintly. The mask slipped for a moment, revealing the hunger beneath.
He withdrew his hand from the stone, mind already calculating.
He would get the CP. He would buy the knowledge.
And then—he would see what true, hundred percent efficiency looked like.
No matter what it cost.