Michael only had a second to see the identical cracks appearing all over the room, splitting to pieces each and every rune around him. After that second passed, reality died. It warped. He was no longer standing in a room. He was no longer standing, per se. He was… floating. In a colorless void, devoid of shape, feeling and meaning. But that too only lasted for a second.

Textures appeared all around him, like great strokes of a brush on a canvas. They added color and filled the space around him. Shapeless at first, but they gradually solidified into shapes, clearer and clearer. It was like increasing the resolution on an image, until you could start to comprehend what you were seeing. It was still half a dream, but now Michael could see. If not understand right off the bat.

He was seeing… Kelunad. A younger Kelunad. The scenery showed the orc, but it showed him in glimpses, the environment always changing. Almost like watching one’s train of thought as it happened. Or perhaps, memories.

But he saw him. He saw the orc leaving Gnosis, alongside a younger Ravena. He saw him travel with her, until they split, for their destination’s were not the same. And by seeing, Michael thought he also understood. These images were realer than life. They conveyed feelings and understanding, as much as they did sight. Sounds even. Impressions. He saw him smile and wave as she left and he thought the expression on the orc’s face back then was the most earnest he had ever seen, incomparable to the present.

Guess he wasn’t always like this.

He thinking this made the scene change, to his surprise. He caught fast glimpses, blinking scenes of the orc. Alone, in a dark room. Reading a book, while listening to other mages snickering behind his back. Watching his bloody hands after failing to break a target dummy with Spells and flying in a blind rage. Glimpses, but they conveyed emotions. Insights into the younger orc’s life. But with a sudden lurch, the scene shifted again.

Now Kelunad had arrived at his destination. A great horde of orcs, camped over a vast field. As far as the eye could see. Orc young and old, marveling at him and at is magic. But for every green face that looked interested in his path and his Skills, a hundred more scorned him. Called him not-orc. Traitor. Lapdog.

The scene moved again and Kelunad was still there. A little older. Michael thought he couldn’t have been older than himself by more than a couple of years. The vast plain had changed. Buildings had appeared, rough but sturdy. Foundations of brute rock, under great pillars of wood. Metal spikes hammered into them and painted hides acting as decoration. The elders had died and the children had grown and now there wasn’t one face that looked at Kelunad kindly. They scorned him, thought they allowed him to live among them. Petling they called him. Toy orc. His great magic, his prowess at battle… dust. It was cheating in their eyes. Only the shamans used magic and their magic was not his. And he was no shaman.

One more flicker. The orc was no longer young. Somehow, Michael knew that this Kelunad had graduated. Travelled the world. Came into his own, as both a true mage of Gnosis and as a leader of a faction. A warlord, if not one acknowledged by his kin. The horde to which he had returned remained. And the plain. Only now it was a city. Great and terrible, made of iron and stone. Houses like fortresses littered the streets and its people were hardy. Warlike. They had expanded and the rituals which had once blessed the Wild had started anew. They were conquerors. Warriors. Beholden to none.

Damn Gnosis. Damn the elves and their rule. The horde shall rise again and through it the Wild will quench its fangs forevermore.

They saw him come and the once children, now chieftains moved to slay him. Incensed by the orc who was not orc. But the shamans held them back. They were speakers for the Wild and the Wild… did not see a false orc. It only saw one that had strayed from his path. But one who moved through hardships all of its own. And who overcame them. So they beckoned him. Kelunad had chosen magic. All was well. But why labor under it? Why accept it as the whip and the collar? Why guard Gnosis and those who were the first enemies? The shamans showed Kelunad who he could be.

A smaller scene appeared, one fluid and dreamlike. It showed an old Kelunad, but a fearsome one. Leading an army of orcs. Gaining allies, building armies. And breaking magic apart, breaking the elves until their first punishment seemed only like a minor lashing. It showed him not as a king, but as a true warlord.

And the price?

Accept it. Come back to your kin. And smite down all who would presume to be your betters or mine.

The message was so strong, even in this dream of a dream, that Michael recoiled. It felt as if it was speaking to him directly. For a moment… Michael saw himself as a warlord, not Kelunad.

The Wild is real. It’s… real.

It wasn’t an abstract concept. Whatever force it commanded, it seemed able to transcend time and memory and space.

The scene started to change and for a heartbeat Michael glimpsed something… infinite. But it once more lurched back and the vision ended. Back in time, Kelunad had shook away the daydream. He stared at the shamans and answered their offer.

In blood.

He slew the horde. Not by himself. He had allies. Both from Gnosis and from the outer world. And he did form his army, but not from his kin, but from those who would oppose them. No more than a handful of orcs survived the years that followed, those yet to be cured of the Wild.

And the end of it, Kelunad swore the rest to secrecy, though parts of his history would reveal themselves in time. And yet, once it was done, he told no one. Not Ravena, for she was too kind. Not Regitris, for his friend has seen too many wars. And at the time, their hurt had already sent them all on different paths.

So, he came to Gnosis, seeking refuge and comfort. But that was when the true pain began.

The scenes starter to flicker, one after the other. They moved to fast to be understood, but whatever magic evoked them made Michael comprehend them all the same.

The Martials rose and the Martials changed. Too little. He tried so hard those first few years, but all he managed to gain was respect. Fear. Not change. They all loved the battle and the challenge, but that was all they loved. Why did they stop growing? Why did they look at it as a game? Was it… Gnosis? Did they not know what was out there? Was this very academy for which he had fought sheltering them and denying them their growth? Was it… what was it?!

He saw Regitris, so kindly now, after all his fire had been depleted on the world’s battlefields. His Class and magic affecting Gnosis. Magic it more efficient. More studious. More… weak. Their drive extinguished by their happiness. Did he not see the plague he was becoming?

Ravena was trying to adapt the Green to magic and failing. To conserve and protect the remnants of a dead word. Too much heart by half, for a task that could never be completed. For helping the broken pieces of a world that would never help her back.

And all this while… he heard rumors.

Michael saw another scene. Kelunad using great artifacts, scrolls worth entire rooms in Gnosis, for one use. He saw them to see ad hear and learn of the outer world. And the orc saw once more armies gathering. Not only orcs, for the wounds he had inflicted still bled. But armies. The humans had grown in the absence of competitors. They had always been present, had always grown their petty kingdoms and empires.

Humans were a constant presence. Not of the Wild, not of the Green and not of Magic. Just… humans. But look at them now. How they liked to play the leader. The old races of the word came to them. Asking for help. Pointing at the academy that never was and screaming of their plight. How the magic hurt them. How their kind have died. And the humans listened. To their pleas and their offers of help. For humans had no magic traditions of their own, but the old races were desperate enough to trade in secrets. So, helped by industry and coin and army was being born. Of the old races and the new.

Coming for Gnosis.

“Does this convince you of my cause?”

Michael yelped and recoiled.

But there he was. Inside this frozen memory, the real Kelunad stood, a weary smile on his face.

“You… You showed me this?” Michael asked, suddenly suspicious. “Was this even real?”

“The artifact showed you this. It must be trying to understand my wish, I think. I sensed it attempt to reach my mind and let it, since I don’t know if I could have stopped it even had I tried. But you seeing this… this is something I have allowed to happen.”

“Why?”

“I don’t know.” Kelunad said after a moment. “Perhaps its is because I still think of you as my pupil. And I want you to understand what so few do.”

“So… this is real? There’s an army coming?”

“Not right now. It’s years in the making, evidence suggests. But I have seen it, both battlegroups forming and what the future holds.”

“I see.”

“I don’t believe you do. I looked into the real future, Michael. Oracular Spells.”

Michael deadpanned.

“Narana. You actually trusted Narana’s word?”

“I am not a fool.” The orc simply stated. “I used Narana and her faction to predict the coming state of the world and gain a batter understanding of most relevant details. But I do not trust her.”

A sly smile appeared on her face.

“What magic can be cast, can also be bound. The are oracular Spells still remaining in artifact-form. I have only managed to obtain single-use ones only and those cost… years. But I compared Narana and her fellows’ predictions with them. They held true. My own sources out there corroborate these findings. The coming war is real.”

“So why not go to Regitris with this? Or if you don’t trust him, the academy at large?”

“You saw my past, Michael.” Kelunad sighed. “Some must already know, for I am not the only one watching the world beyond Gnosis. Have you heard anything about this before now? Because I have not. And I have kept an ear to the ground for even the most minute of rumors.”

“Because they don’t care?”

“Because their magic has made them grown arrogant, I believe. Or perhaps I hold them in to high of an esteem and they are simply fools. It matters little, in the end.”

“Then tell the whole Academy! You have the power to do it, you’re basically the leader of a three-faction coalition. Tell everyone and get them ready.”

Kelunad waited for him to finish, but Michael could see he was only doing it out of politeness.

“And what do you believe the results of that would be? Endless bickering. Fools attempting to see what there was to gain from this. Arrogance mostly, I believe. A number of traitors. And that is from the weakest. From the strongest?” the orc asked, frowning. “Pity from Ravena and her folk. She would have us talk with them or worse, welcome them. Regitris? He would smite the old races and leave the younger ones to regroup. Of the others, there is little to say. They do not understand, Michael.”

He waved his hand and an image of the predicted army appeared.

“This isn’t the war of an age ago. These will not be the gifts of the Wild and Green. This will be an entre world coming for us, an army forged by the humans. We are mighty in magic, but their numbers will bot out the sun. Steel contraptions, magic resistant projectiles. |Mage| is not the only Class in existence, that is what these fools fail to understand. And no matter how great, no Mage has infinite mana. They will come for us and we will be unprepared.”

Those last words were almost a shout.

“Unless I make my wish and turn the many weak into the few strong.” He finished.

Michael… wavered. He could understand what Kelunad meant. The academy wasn’t built for war. Not anymore, if it ever was. It wasn’t even in control of all of its floors. And the others… Michael thought that he could count on them to get serious. At least the Ascentionalists. A strong hand might even force the Martials to add strategy to their battle-prowess. But the others? Michael could just as clearly see the games of politics and strategy and backstabbing that would occur. All the while, the enemy advanced.

And still he couldn’t let Kelunad do it. He was about to say as much, when the orc spoke.

“And… I guess I knew you would be here. I knew you’d come to stop me. And I let you.”

“…why?”

“Because you are my pupil, no matter how I’ve treated you. Because you understand.” He said, turning to him fully. “Let us not let this opportunity go to waste. I have made plans in case this artifact… does not work out in my favor. In incase I perish.”

Perish?

“But if that comes to be, tell them. Tell them of what will come and carry on my legacy. You will no doubt flinch from what needs to be done, but you understand Gnosis and its current children. Get them ready, as best you can. Now… I believe it is time to find out if I was right.”

Shit!

“No!”

But Kelunad had already imposed his will and the world started to shudder.

“Kelunad! Stop!”

“There is no other way, Michael.” Kelunad’s voice sounded over the hubbub.

“There must be! There has to be!”

“There isn’t.”

“No. No, I- there’s no way we can only do it like this. I can’t accept it. I- I refuse!” he screamed.

And the reality once again broke down. Gone was the shudder and the noise.

Instead, the two of them stood in a void, three glowing windows displaying moving scenes hovered in front of them.

What-

“It seems the artifact doesn’t only listen to the one who activates it.” Kelunad remarked, before letting out a tired laugh. “So be it. Your will was strong enough to force the artifact to display different solutions than my own. For your effort, I will watch them.”

Michael nodded, feeling like he won himself just an extra bit of rope.

Ok. One more step.