Henry and Raven stepped through the glowing doorway first, blinking against the sudden change in light as they emerged into the bright open fields. Jack lingered behind, standing shoulder to shoulder with Petros, the boy’s recent words echoing in his mind.

  “The Source does not exist.”

  Jack opened a private voice chat, his tone low and even:

  Jack: We’ll talk about that later.

  Petros: Understood.

  With that, they stepped through the threshold together. Saul padded close behind them, the faithful wolf’s black fur bristling in the sunlight. The familiar sight of the wide, green clearing greeted them; a serene field dominated by a massive oak tree in full bloom, its leaves whispering in the wind like it had missed them.

  Henry squinted into the sun. “Well, that’s a bit disorienting,” he muttered. “From a shadow-drenched death pit to a peaceful meadow. I’ll never get used to that.”

  Jack gave a faint grin, pointing to the south. “Pendle’s that way. We’re maybe a quarter-day from the outskirts. The road cuts through the hills just beyond that tree.”

  Raven gave a short laugh, dry but genuine. “That was... exciting,” she said, brushing blood from a tear in her sleeve. “Let’s never do it again.”

  Petros stepped forward and, without a word, wrapped Raven in a sudden, heartfelt hug. She stiffened, then let out a breath and returned it. There were no jokes. No sarcastic remarks. Just a quiet moment of shared relief between survivors.

  Henry nodded solemnly. “We’ll need to talk later. About all of it. That arena wasn’t just another fight.”

  “We will,” Jack said, his voice firm but thoughtful. “But first, Petros and I have an old friend to visit. Gondel owes us some answers.”

  Henry gave him a long look, then nodded. “We’ll head back to town. Meet at my workshop at sundown. Raven and I could use a hot meal and a few hours of not bleeding.”

  “Sounds like a plan,” Jack agreed. “We took some hits, but we earned some wins too. Let’s catch our breath and figure out what comes next.”

  Behind them, the door that had brought them from the arena shimmered once and faded, the last ripple of magic vanishing into the breeze.

  Without further fanfare, the group split. Henry and Raven veered east toward Pendle, the road gently sloping away between the trees. Jack and Petros headed west, the shadows of the forest swallowing their silhouettes.

  Saul gave a low huff, circling once before disappearing into the underbrush. Jack didn’t call him. He didn’t need to. The wolf would come when he was needed.

  And just like that, they were off; healing from old wounds, carrying new scars, and heading toward whatever truths waited on the road ahead.

  The dirt road twisted gently through the forest as Jack and Petros made their way west, the midday sun casting dappled shadows across their path. Jack finally broke the silence with Henry and Raven far out of earshot.

  “All right,” he said without looking at the boy. “What did you mean back there, about the Source not existing?”

  Petros shifted uncomfortably, tugging at the strap of his satchel. “It’s… complicated,” he admitted. “I mean, the Source exists; just not in the way we thought. Not in the way they think it does.”

  Jack shot him a sidelong glance but let him continue.

  “In Aerothane, ‘The Source’ is what they’ve always called the wellspring of mana that fuels magic, a singular, unified current. Every spellcaster believed they were tapping into one energy and shaping it with their will; whether healing, fire, enchantment, whatever. However, after studying Gondel’s books, I noticed inconsistencies, especially in his older notes. The theory behind runes and sigils made sense, mostly. But the deeper stuff, the assumptions about how spells are cast... didn’t add up.”

  Petros took a deep breath as Jack remained quiet, his expression unreadable. The only sound was the crunch of their boots along the path and the rustling leaves overhead.

  “I kept digging,” Petros went on. “But the real breakthrough came after you showed me how to use mage meditation and sight; though, we seriously need to workshop those names.”

  Jack gave a faint smirk, but still said nothing.

  “With that sight active, I started watching Raven’s totems during combat. She summoned two: one to enhance strength, one to accelerate healing. I expected the same magical aura for both, just shaped differently. But instead, I saw two completely distinct types of mana.”

  He spread his hands, still struggling to find the right words.

  “The strength totem was pulling what I can only call ‘fortification mana’; dense, heavy, like braided steel. Maybe the healing totem used something lighter, warmer, ‘restoration mana’? I don’t know the proper terms, but I could see it: separate strands of mana woven into the spellwork.”

  “So it’s not one pool of magic being shaped into different spells…” Jack murmured.

  “Exactly!” Petros said, his eyes lighting up. “The Source isn’t singular. It’s a spectrum. Every spell, every element, enhancement, or effect draws from its own thread. Lightning mana. Fire mana. Shielding mana. It’s like a loom of raw potential, and we’re learning to pluck specific threads.”

  Jack absorbed that in silence.

  “I think… I think this is new,” Petros added, more hesitantly. “Like, this system; this stratified Source; it didn’t exist in Aerothane before. Gondel’s texts never mention it. The magic in this world used to be about transforming mana through skill and focus. Now it’s about selection; precision.”

  Jack furrowed his brow. “So the devs changed the rules for the online version?”

  Petros hesitated. “Jack, I don’t know if this is just …,” he said quietly.

  Jack slowed. “What do you mean?”

  “I don’t think…” he tried speaking again, but trailed off as if losing his train of thought.

  “I mean, I had this idea in my head a moment ago. Something important. But it’s gone. Like… something is preventing …” he trailed off again.

  Jack narrowed his eyes. “Finish your thought, kid.”

  “I think we’re..,” Petros said grimly. “Never mind, I had a notion but it’s gone now.”

  Jack didn’t press him further. The weight of that thought was enough to quiet them both as they left the main road and veered onto the hidden trail leading to Gondel’s campsite.

  As they reached the ridge edge overlooking the small valley where Gondel had set up shop, Petros broke the silence again; his voice was lighter this time.

  “Do you know what this means?”

  Jack gave him a sideways glance, then twirled a hand to invite the punchline.

  “This means,” Petros grinned, “I get to write the first-ever book on an entirely new magical theory. Not rediscovered; invented. A living system.”

  This text was taken from Royal Road. Help the author by reading the original version there.

  Jack barked a short laugh and ruffled the boy’s hair. “Nerd.”

  “You say that like it’s an insult,” Petros replied smugly.

  Together, they descended the hill toward the crooked chimney smoke of Gondel’s camp; answers, questions, and perhaps new powers waiting just beyond the next tent flap.

  As Jack and Petros stepped into the clearing, the crooked outline of Gondel’s tent-shack came into view: patched canvas, scorched wood beams, and the ever-present scent of burnt sage. The structure looked more like a collapsing relic than the sanctum of a former high-level arcane practitioner.

  The flap was thrown aside before they could call out, and the old wizard stormed out in a fury.

  “You arrogant ingrates!” Gondel shouted, wild eyes blazing beneath his bushy white brows. “You cannot just wander off in the middle of magical training! Do you realize the damage you could cause without proper instruction, without…without… guidance?!”

  He stumbled on the last word, tripping over his own righteous indignation. His staff rattled uselessly in his grip as he stormed up to Jack, stopping just short of pressing his nose against the man’s face. Spittle flecked Jack’s cheek as Gondel raved on, gesturing with wild, clawed hands.

  Jack stood his ground, silent, unflinching.

  Then, in one swift motion, Jack summoned his staff, Zural’thuren, and let the Obsidian Cloak of the Vanquished, which he received as loot from the fallen cloaked boss of the arena, unfurl around him like smoke on the wind. Dark mist coiled at his feet. Electric arcs snapped from his shoulders. His aura flared with pure, unfiltered menace.

  “NOW SEE HERE!” Jack roared, his voice booming like thunder across the clearing.

  Gondel froze mid-rant, his pupils shrinking to pinpricks. He stumbled backward and fell flat on his rear, the force of Jack’s presence shoving him to the dirt. As the staff crackled with energy and the cloak billowed around Jack’s frame, Gondel scrambled in panic, scooting until his back slammed into the outer wall of his shack.

  “You don’t intimidate me, old man,” Jack said coldly, advancing step by step. “But we’re done playing dumb. We know your game.”

  He pointed the staff directly at the wizard’s chest. “You don’t want to stop the Demon God. You want to release him.”

  Dark mist whipped around Jack’s legs as the electric surge crescendoed, each step causing a crack of thunder beneath his boots.

  Gondel’s breath hitched. “The.. the barrier is weakening,” he stammered, trying to reclaim a shred of authority. “We… we need to release him, yes; but only so we can defeat him. If we don’t act now, he will break through on his own.”

  Jack stopped just short of striking distance, letting the silence build.

  “And how exactly do you expect us to defeat him?” he asked, lowering his staff an inch, but not his glare.

  The old wizard, emboldened by Jack’s slight retreat and the fading of the dark mist, slowly gathered himself and rose to his feet.

  “Once the Demon God emerges, I will be reconnected to the Source. With your strength and my magic, we’ll banish him permanently. With his defeat, the Veil will repair itself, and the Shadow Realm will be sealed off once more.”

  Jack gave no immediate reply. His face was stoic, unreadable.

  But behind his eyes, a voice chat opened.

  Jack: He doesn’t know.

  Petros: Of course not. When he severed the Source, he didn’t just cut it off; he banished it. He doesn’t realize he created a vacuum. That he made way for the new Source, our Source.

  Jack: So everything since then…

  Petros: ...is Aerothane adjusting to a new system. Magic’s evolving; we’re evolving.

  Jack: Then we play along. We let him think he’s in control.

  Petros: Dangerous game, Jack.

  Jack: The best kind.

  The voice chat closed with a quiet chime. Jack stepped forward, the cloak fading from his shoulders, leaving him in his travel gear once more. His staff dimmed to a dull ember in his hand.

  He reached out a hand.

  “Okay, wizard,” Jack said evenly. “We’ll play it your way. For now. But make no mistake; I’m in charge.”

  Gondel hesitated… then took the hand, hauling himself to his feet. His voice had vanished, but his eyes burned; not with fear, but with quiet resentment.

  Inside, he etched Jack Hart’s name onto his mental list of enemies to destroy once his power was fully restored.

  But on the surface, he simply nodded.

  Jack turned away.

  With his arms crossed and doing his best to suppress a grin, Petros fell in beside him. “That was a little dramatic, don’t you think?”

  Jack just smirked. “Never hurts to make an impression.”

  They walked off toward the wizard’s tent, leaving Gondel in the dust, still brushing leaves from his robe and plotting… while the fate of Aerothane swayed ever more on the blade's edge.

  Still drained from the trials of the arena dungeon, Jack and Petros entered Gondel’s crooked shack in silence. The old wizard, visibly shaken by Jack’s display of raw magical force, mumbled something incoherent and wandered off; whether to brood, scheme, or simply regain his composure, they didn’t care.

  The inside of the shack was little more than packed dirt and discarded scrolls, but Jack didn’t need comfort to meditate. He dropped into a cross-legged position, hands resting on his knees, eyes closing with the ease of someone who had practiced stillness amid chaos.

  With a breath, he slipped into his spirit realm.

  It was immediate now; the transition from physical to metaphysical, from stone and scroll to shadow and thought. Jack's subconscious automatically reconstructed the interior of the shack around him, a ghostly echo of the world he’d left behind. He conjured the image to keep watch over his physical body as he walked the depths of his inner self.

  The space was quiet. Still.

  “Gods damn it,” he muttered, pacing around the ghostly copy of Gondel’s walls. “I need to figure out why I can’t remember what I learn here after I wake up.”

  His frustration echoed in the air, unanswered. He turned toward the mana tree; his conduit to power; towering tall and vibrant in the center of his realm. It pulsed with energy, radiant blue mana interwoven with dark tendrils of shadow magic. A strange harmony throbbed between them.

  Then came the voice.

  “Jack...”

  It was barely more than a whisper, but it carried across the spirit realm like a ripple through still water.

  Jack turned, eyes narrowing. “Who’s there?”

  “Xel’dur,” the whisper returned, slightly more solid, as if it were building itself word by word.

  “How are you here?” Jack asked, scanning the air around him. “This is my realm.”

  “I cannot enter it... not fully,” Xel’dur replied, his voice both near and impossibly far. “But in this meditative space, you are outside their influence. I can reach you here... briefly.”

  “Their influence?” Jack echoed. “Who do you mean?”

  “The Old Gods of Aeothane, Jack. The ones clinging to this world with brittle claws. They are afraid. They see what is coming.”

  Jack folded his arms, skeptical. “And what exactly are they afraid of?”

  “You,” Xel’dur said simply. “Your evolution. The new magic that flows through Aerothane. They fear losing their grip... and so they cloud your memory. They cannot let you walk this path with clarity.”

  Jack furrowed his brow. “So, how do I stop them?”

  “Continue,” Xel’dur said. “Walk the path. Forge forward. The truth will outpace their lies.”

  “And what? I should trust you instead? Free you from your prison?” Jack smirked. “Sounds like trading one manipulator for another.”

  Like distant thunder in a forgotten canyon, the voice rumbled with low laughter. “I do not seek your trust, Jack Hart. Only your curiosity.”

  “What if I decide to banish you, Xel... Xelerder?” Jack said, intentionally butchering the name.

  That earned another chuckle. “Then perhaps you are closer to the truth than you know.”

  Silence followed. Jack waited for more, but the voice had gone.

  Typical, he thought. He looked toward the mana tree again, noting how the individual threads Petros described were now clearly visible; fire, lightning, earth, and others, all braided around the tree’s core like strands of a vast, woven tapestry.

  We really need to come up with better names for these, he mused, brushing his hand along the glowing bark.

  Then, something shifted in the projection of the shack.

  In the ghostly image, Jack saw Saul, his wolf companion, poke his head through the door. The beast padded forward and licked the forehead of Jack’s meditating form.

  Jack smiled at the gesture... until he realized Saul wasn’t just being affectionate. The wolf was trying to tell him something.

  He jolted back into the real world.

  The moment his eyes opened, Petros opened his as well. Something was off; they both felt it.

  “What is it, boy?” Jack said, reaching out and cupping Saul’s massive head in his hands. The wolf gave a low, urgent growl; not a warning, but a message.

  Jack stiffened. His connection to the land, to his instincts, flared like a flare in his chest.

  “Pendle’s under attack!” he snapped, already scrambling to his feet.

  Petros was right behind him as they burst through the shack’s tattered entrance.

  Saul bounded ahead; his growl rising to a battle cry. Jack tightened his grip on Zural’thuren, his eyes already flicking eastward.

  No more games.

  Time to protect what was his.