Eiden grabbed a few chicken thighs for their short trek. The boy of sixteen winters had his face and fingers coated in grease. His lips curled into a smile when he wasn’t stuffing them with food.

Fin smiled, his body relaxing, and aura becoming only a degree less sharp. Though the Exorcist wished he could make it less threatening, he could not truly do so. He had been forged in the fire of adversity when too young in his awakening. Habits were hard to shake, and those branded upon the spirit and soul were much harder still.

Eiden had stopped receiving stares for his rough clothes. Instead, he now got stared at because of the smacking of his lips. Fin almost admonished him, but couldn’t bring himself to do it. By the Seven, he’s enjoying himself too much for me to stop him.

Eiden finished his food and started to attempt to clean his fingers on his coat. Fin manifested a globe of water in front of Eiden, making the boy smile sheepishly as he rubbed his hands and fingers together inside the orb of water mana.

“Sorry, Fin.” Said Eiden.

“Twenty coppers for my services.” Said Fin. “An Exorcist needs to make a living in these hard times.”

“Ha, Ha.” Said Eiden sarcastically. “Trying to pilfer copper off an orphan, how unscrupulous.”

Fin smiled at Eiden’s remark.

“How, in the Nine Hells, did an urchin such as yourself learn the word ‘unscrupulous’?”

“A mage has their secrets, Fin.”

The Exorcist and his apprentice reached the lord’s manor—a sprawling square of opulence with four towers jutting into the heavens. The manor looked more like a miniature castle than a proper lord’s manor. Utilitarian and strict like its lord, the manor stood like a bulwark awaiting a wave of attackers.

A man with argent hair and a clean grey tunic stood near the entrance to the manor. He had excellent posture boarding on military standards, his back standing straight like an aspen dagger cutting into the skyline. He had glasses on—a rare sight in such a small town such as Arvenpyre. Two circular pieces of green-tinted glass on a black metal frame. It was probably mass-produced in one of the many cities of free Kedwen. A small, nondescript pouch was held in between his hands.

“Sir Exorcist, I am majordomo Eltris.” Said the servant with the argent hair. “Here is your due payment.”

Majordomo Eltris extended the brown pouch towards the Exorcist.

“We distributed the payment in different demarcations of Kedweni crowns and sorcerous coin: a minor spirit-coin, two large silvers, one medium silver, and twenty-five small silvers.

“If you’d like, you can check that the payment is accurate.”

Fin took the bag from the hands of the majordomo. The Exorcist prodded at the spirit-coin inside the pouch with his aura. The coin’s aura responded back with the correct signature that demarcated fifty silver crowns. And yet, the Exorcist was still thorough, delving inside the coin's structure; it was packed with the correct density of life mana. Excellent.

“You have my thanks, majordomo Eltris. Our business is concluded. Bid your master my thanks and farewell.”

“May Fortuna bid you well.” Said majordomo Eltris, bowing at a few degrees.

“May Solaris warm your home and hearth.” Responded Fin.

The majordomo turned to Eiden and gave him a bow as well.

“May Fortuna bless your travels, young exorcist.” Said the majordomo.

“Thank you. You as well.” Said Eiden.

The majordomo’s face lit up in confusion before he quickly corrected his expression.

Eiden and Fin left the manor for a place to train in seclusion. Along the way, Eiden asked Fin about the majordomo’s reaction.

“He reacted that way because Fortuna is associated with sorcerers. A lowly servant such as himself wouldn’t generally be awakened. If he did, it could mean the local nobility could either recruit or cull him. The latter would result in his death and the death of his entire family to the third degree.

“Nobility in the Four Corners like being the only ones with access to magic. It makes them better able to bully their serfs into line.”

“So, it sounded like a threat?” Asked Eiden.

“Not entirely. He probably thought it was just a verbal misstep.”

The two mages reached Eiden’s chosen spot by the early afternoon. A piece of cliff overlooking the sea. It was the same place he had seen in his soul-dreams. The sun burned hot on their backs.

“Aye, this’ll do, Lad.” Said Fin.

The Exorcist sat down, crossing his legs and prompting Eiden to do the same.

“Today, we’ll manifest your affinity magic.” Said Fin. “By the way, how much have you read through?”

“Read through the aura section, magical awakenings, and arcanums.” Answered Eiden.

“Good, I should’ve told you to read the arcanums section.” Said Fin. “Thankfully, you took the initiative yourself.

“Now, close your eyes and focus on your spirit.”

Eiden closed his eyes, projecting his awareness into his spirit. Today, he felt something he hadn’t entirely felt before or at least recognized. It was his very soul, an intense flame-shaped tear into somewhere else. Mana leaked through the tear between worlds like a rend in the ocean, spilling out the endless waters that lay within. Eiden felt he could simply will the tear to spill more mana into his spirit. People bleed mana from their skin, forming an aura. But, so much is just wasted, thought the young man.

Eiden focused on his aura, the fog that bled through his skin. He pulled the mist together, hardening it. The mana stubbornly obeyed, slowly forming a shroud around Eiden. Any mana that tried to escape came in contact with the barrier, pilling up against the transparent membrane.

Eiden opened his eyes to the world. A translucent, white barrier floated a few finger-widths around his skin like a warm bubble. It looks just like the same stuff as the dagger, but I don’t feel tired.

“Fin, why doesn’t this make me tired, but the dagger did?” Asked Eiden.

“You didn’t use any mana from the vital parts of the spirit. You, instead, simply prevented mana from leaving.” Said Fin.

“Huh. So, how do I manifest my affinity arcanum?”

“I was going to guide you through it, but I decided against that when you formed a shroud. I was curious about what you’d do.

“This’ll help with the next part. Retreat back into your mind and manifest your soul-marks.”

Eiden closed his eyes, shutting himself off from the world around him, leaving only his breath. There was no ground for his feet, no light for his eyes. Only the cool afternoon air that entered his lungs like a windy balm. In the black of his mind, Eiden saw the marble throne. It rose up from the dark waters around him, its roots resting in the depths of the abyss. Eiden reached for the marble crown. The crown slowly turned to marble roots, reaching for the young mage.

Eiden opened his eyes to his right arm glowing white. Argent tendrils branched and coiled around his arms. Blue leaves dotted the coiling branches.

“Why did my soul-mark change its appearance?”

“I’m not certain, that'll be for you to find out. But, I'd reckon that must be their ‘normal’ appearance when not being actively used.

“Try manifesting its power. First, form a bubble of aura around your hand, and then will your arcanum to appear.”

Eiden closed his eyes. He expanded the bubble of aura around his hand, syphoning mana from his inner source. Mana pooled in his hand, becoming a dense white sphere of tension and pressure.

Eiden focused on the image of the white crown. A whisper of knowledge and guidance breezed through his mind. The wind, the flame, and the cold. Intertwined eternal in its iterations throughout the cosmos. In one of the layers of existence lies motion. In the movement of spheres smaller than the lights in the sky lies the power of change. Sound, movement, heat, cold. They are all but in aspect in the movement of the spheres. There is no life without movement, without change. Life is but entropy given form and function. Take up the regency of the base aspects of life. The Crown of Order shall weigh heavy on your head.

“Crown of Order.” Muttered Eiden under his breath, sending a ripple of white light through his soul Mark.

Eiden focused on the three facets of power of the crown. The swirling wind, the scarlet flame, and the azure fog. The facets became more substantial, transforming into beacons in the night of Eiden’s psyche. He reached towards the facet of wind, willing it to bleed into his shroud of aura.

From the depths of his soul came the whispers of knowledge. The wind that soars through the heavens knows no ruler but motion, for it is freedom incarnate. The wind is pressure made manifest. Differential areas under the oppressive hand of the heavens birth the manifestation of freedom. The tempest shall roar around you, encasing your form in the eye of the storm. Those stuck in the calm are apathetic to the chaos but a few steps away. The free wind and the cerulean hand of oppression are yours.

Eiden’s right soul-mark came to life, its blue leaves shimmering with white light. Small gusts of wind emanated from his aura. The shroud of mana on his hand transformed into the wind, forming a sphere of sharp tempest. The ball collapsed on itself, becoming smaller and floating a hand-with away from Eiden’s palm. The orb was the seed of a hurricane. It promised the power to rend the skies above and tear the earth below.

“Amazing.” Said Eiden. “What do I do with it?”

“Throw it at that small jutting of stone over there and see what happens.” Answered Fin.

Eiden threw the sphere of condensed mana. It flew like an arrow, stopping when it hit the boulder. The orb collapsed on itself, disappearing from sight. In a flicker of a butterfly’s wings, a shroud of gale surrounded the boulder. Cutting winds sliced the stone, forming small nicks along its surface. The mana ate away at itself before dispersing throughout the surrounding area in a gust of wind and cloud of white dust.

Eiden approached the boulder. He cautiously touched it with a finger. The stone would be forever scarred with the web of nicks along its surface. A small orb-sized hole was left where the sphere of condensed mana touched the boulder, web-line fractures branching outwards from the contact point.

“A wind arcanum, wouldn’t have guessed it.” Said Fin.

“I don’t think it is.” Said Eiden. “At least, not entirely. It feels much more than just wind. Let me try something else.”

Eiden sat in front of the boulder, transposing his awareness towards the black of his mind. Eiden envisioned the white crown made of petrified oak. He reached for the scarlet flame with the finger-tips of his mind. The fire reached back, searing the stuff of thoughts that made Eiden’s immaterial self— a mental shell made of darkness with a contour of light. The flames seeped into the shell as if it were made of wood, forming cracks of intense red. Hatred, anger, and sadistic glee sprouted roots in his psyche, self-propagating their noxious existence. Argent roots, like those of the marble throne, emerged from the murky abyss, wrapping around Eiden’s mental form of light and shadow. The roots turned to marble chains as they slithered across the mental shell.

The cracks made of flame shifted to a deep azure, the stuff of ancient stars—weak, but stalwart. A flame may exhaust itself in mere moments, but an ember may last forever. The flames grew substantially cooler but easier to control. Eiden held out his mental shell’s hand, manifesting a blue flame with a purple core.

The cerulean flames whispered their knowledge as they flickered their cool light. The Arcana of fire is one of destruction and conversion. Those that command the flames are forever balancing on the knife’s edge. Take heed to your caution, for the flames may assimilate you in their conquest for more fuel. The azure ember is yours. It is the twin of the red, roaring pyre that is short-lived. As you exhaust the blue embers, the red flames will crawl their way through the cracks, seeping their vitriol into your very core. The flame is life, and thus entropy given form and function. There is no order without chaos. Both ember and flame are yours.

Blue cracks formed on the surface of Eiden’s soul-mark. Its argent roots became more metallic than marble, the white turning to grey with cracks filled with burning cerulean embers. The blue leaves burned, slowly pulsing with azure light. A minuscule blue flame with a purple core floated above Eiden’s palm.

Eiden stood up and touched the boulder with the flame. The energy seeped through the web of cracks and rends, making the stone glow blue. A trickle of agitation pooled in the back of Eiden’s mind, spiraling his thoughts over the edge. The precarious, shabby veil that kept Eiden from breaking had come undone as the flames removed it from existence.

I could’ve burned that thing to ashes. A wave of bright purple coursed through the boulder, the heat increasing. I could’ve saved Bert, my brother, my only true friend. The wave of flames turned orange as the rock started to sizzle. I could’ve saved Lisa. I could’ve killed it. I could’ve saved them. Killed it. Saved them. Killed them all.

The fire inside the rock turned blood-red, staining the marble black with its noxious fumes. The ambient mana came flooding into the flames, transforming them into a roaring pyre of scarlet. Eiden’s aura turned vibrant red, his vitality bleeding from his very skin. His veins turned black, his sclera turned midnight, and his irises turned into the stuff of heart's blood. The black mark made of twin serpents slowly appeared on his skin, branding themselves into existence. From between their scales came vibrant, ruby-red light. Claws of black iron appeared on his finger-tips with black scales crawling outwards from his bestial digits and eyes. A feral roar came out from Eiden’s throat, echoing out into the horizon.

A hand touched Eiden’s shoulder. The familiar aura and presence pull him back over the edge. A white crown made of aura manifested onto Eiden’s head. It pulsed with rhythmic soft, blue light. His Aura slowly cooled down, and his irises shone light blue, banishing the scales and claws. Iron dust fell to the ground as his twin soul-marks shined cold blue.

Eiden collapsed to his knees, tears streamed down his face. The hurt, the grief, and everything he had been holding came out in a flash flood upon his face. Eiden was pulled back into the blackness of his psyche. Where he stood, the black and murky water turned to grey ice. The ice spread out like a calm infestation, claiming the depths for itself. Eiden’s tears turned to stone, freezing on his cheeks. Apathy took its hold as true order made its way into his spirit. His skin turned cold and clammy, and from his aura was encased in hoarfrost.

Whispers in the black came like the biting cold through his bones. Order in its truest sense is not life, but its anathema. The void claims all for its still and macabre dance. Take heed in the cold for it spreads like the flame, converting all to its cause. It slows down reality to its very core. The unyielding cold and apathetic hoarfrost are yours.

A web of cracks formed on the grey ice. Eiden fell through the surface of his mind, darkness shrouding his sight as he spiraled into the depths. There was no light for his eyes, no ground for his feet, and no warmth for his skin. There was almost no breath, Eiden’s vitality slowly turning cold, true order claiming it for its unyielding cause. No one could save him—no facsimile of Lisa to give him strength. No one was coming to pull him from the abyss.

A ball of stalwart steel thrummed in place of Eiden’s heart. He was not a fighter—he was a runner. He was a survivor. He was… a struggler, defiant against the currents of the river that was his life. He flowed with the waves, adapting to survive, for, at the core of life, there was only struggle. There was no underlying reason other than survival for him to live. Neither Lisa nor Bert walked the earth any longer. Eiden had no parents. The cold ball of steel in his chest thrummed its staccato rhythm of defiance. Apathy and vitriolic rage could succeed in claiming him, but he would make them pay hell for it.

The core of all life is to struggle, and to Eiden, there was no better reason to struggle than to continue living. The circular logic of struggle and life took root in the core of Eiden’s being. The fibers of his self were drenched in psychological acid so that they may be strengthened. A blade could not be properly forged without a fire. Life could not advance without adversity. Under the weight of fire and ice, the will of a newly-born mage was tested. Flame and hoarfrost took their turns, destroying his mental shell again and again. It was burned to dust and frozen till shattering—each iteration of the test left behind a steel orb.

Order and chaos, entropy and negentropy, ice and fire, heat and cold. They had all tried their luck and not shattered the stalwart-steel core of his being. Scratches were left behind on its surface, recording the battle, but the shape had been the same. The scratches had not even torn away steel fillings. Instead, they pushed the steel closer together. Stubbornness was never won by fighting it head-on. It only served to strengthen its stalwart will.

No one was coming to save Eiden, but perhaps he could save himself? At the center of the steel heart, a fire started. Branches made of cold steel stormed out from the center, forming veins of metal. Hoarfrost emanated from the veins, creating a mental shell with the skin of winter. A wave of crimson thrummed underneath the translucent hoarfrost. A gust of wind came out of Eiden’s mental lungs. Its first breath had been taken, and its steel heart had been forged.

Understanding flooded into Eiden’s consciousness. Transforming a depressive quote he had read into one that was uplifting. Or, at least, had the chance to do so. The core of the soul is black, like fresh blood under the moonlight. Those that gaze upon it must hold onto their sanity with claw and fetter. Falling into the depths cannot be undone. But, those that survive the plunge and the knowledge branded upon their minds come out forged like steel. A mind is a blade that must be quenched in the acid of the soul. The metal either decomposes into the acid or comes out stronger. It is either broken or strengthened. There is no in-between—zero-sum. Eiden’s stalwart heart resonated in the darkness, growing stronger with each whisper. The once dull-red glow became vibrant. His eyes became beacons in the mind’s night. Grey irises that held the strength of steel and unbending defiance.

Steel is stalwartness given form—a manifestation of defiance. Take care not to harden your heart for long. Inflexible steel shatters where malleable metal does not. Those that defy might end up struggling against themselves. Cold steel and stalwart flame are yours.

Eiden opened his eyes to the world. Scorched stone, ice-encased ground, and dark storm clouds. Eiden’s skin was grey and metallic. The steel slowly peeled away, disappearing as it scattered in the wind. Eiden could still feel the storm of vitriol and the cold of apathy at the back of his mind. But, they were far away. For now, he had survived. And that was enough.

Eiden collapsed onto the ground. Fin rushed to catch him, doing so in a blink of the eye.

“The Maelstrom will have a struggle with you.” Said Fin softly as he cradled Eiden in his arms.

Eiden’s lips moved into a slight smile. Content with his survival. Everything else would have to wait for he would not defy his need for rest.