The sounds of clashing steel echoed through the trees.
Grunts, sharp footfalls, and the rhythmic clang of weapons cut through the quiet morning air of Jurra Forest. Birds scattered. Leaves shook. Somewhere in the underbrush, a startled skyhopper chirped and vanished.
In a small clearing surrounded by towering trees and thick moss, three figures danced in combat.
The next morning, instead of going through our usual routine, we trained. No chores, no scouting, no firewood. Just sparring—deep in the heart of Jurra Forest.
It was two versus one. Matt and I against El.
Unfair, maybe. But even with our numbers, we were overwhelmed.
El's combat experience outclassed ours by miles. Even with Matt's strength and my agility working in tandem, she handled us like we were first-timers.
Matt lunged forward first, taking a powerful step and swinging his sword in a heavy arc. El braced herself, met his strike mid-air, and parried with such force that Matt stumbled backward. Her blade vibrates violently from the impact.
I took my shot then, aiming from behind.
She didn't even turn around.
With a flick of her wrist, El twisted her sword behind her back and blocked me without looking. In the same motion, she dropped low and swept her leg across the ground—sending me tumbling face-first into the dirt.
But I didn't let go.
I wrapped my arms around her ankle. "Now, Matt!" I shouted, ignoring her surprise, "Hey!"
Matt recovered quickly and surged forward again, sword raised, ready to bring it down like before. Just as he prepared to strike, El mumbled something under her breath.
A gust of wind exploded from her position.
It hit us like a wall.
Matt and I were thrown across the field like rag dolls.
"What the heck was that?!" Matt shouted, groaning as he hit the ground.
El stood in the center of the field, hair tousled, arms crossed, looking slightly annoyed. "Really? Pinning me down? That's your grand strategy? You two are the unfair ones."
I sat up, dazed. "Was that… magic?"
Before she could reply, Old Man Tavon spoke up behind us, casually holding four skyhoppers by their ears. "Domari," he said.
El nodded. "It's called a Domari. When you speak one's true name, using the spirit essence, you can conjure force or elements."
"You mean like actual magic?" Matt's eyes were already sparkling.
"Something like that," she replied with a shrug.
But Matt wasn't the only one who looked excited. I could feel it too. That old childhood thrill—back when we were obsessed with fantasy books and games. Back when magic was just imagination.
And now it was real.
I remembered the old man's fight with the Swordbear. The way he moved. The way the air itself shifted. That must've been True name.
A grin tugged at the corners of my lips.
Tavon dropped the skyhoppers to the ground. "Well, that's one way to introduce your next training."
My eyes widened. "Wait—you mean… you're going to teach us sorcery?!"
Before he could answer, Matt and I scrambled forward and sat cross-legged in front of him like kids at storytime. Practically wagging our tails.
The old man chuckled, low and amused. "Maybe just the basics. But before you can learn how to speak True Names, you need to understand what they really are."
"And," he added, "we'll need to learn your Classifications."
We nodded in unison, exaggeratedly eager.
Old Man Tavon lowered himself onto the mossy ground with a slow, deliberate sigh, crossing his legs in front of us like a teacher preparing to tell an ancient tale.
"Every creature, entity, force, or element has a True Name," he began, picking up one of the limp skyhoppers from the nearby bundle. "The plants, the monsters, fire, water—even the wind. All of them."
Matt leaned forward. "So… what exactly is a True Name? And why is it called that?"
"I'm getting there," Tavon said, his voice dry with patience.
He unsheathed a small blade from his belt and began skinning the skyhopper with precise movements, the sound of the blade cutting through fur and flesh oddly rhythmic against the backdrop of chirping forest insects.
"El," he said, without looking up, "do you know the story of the First Mortal?"
Leaning against a tree with her arms crossed, El gave a slow nod. "…Yes."
Matt and I both turned to her with wide, expectant eyes.
She rolled hers. "Fine."
She stepped forward slightly, her tone taking on a practiced calm—as though she'd told this story before, maybe once as a child at someone else's campfire.
"The Realm was created by the words of the Supreme Being. Every mountain, river, flame, and animals. But when the Supreme Being created the First Mortal, He molded him using His own Spirit Essence—not words to bring him to life."
She paused a beat before continuing.
"And because of that, the First Mortal was given dominion over all of creation. His first task… was to name everything."
"Exactly," Tavon said, nodding. "That's where True Names came from. The origin of language itself. But those original words—the primal language—were eventually forgotten. Replaced by what we speak now."
Matt glanced sideways at me. "How do they even know that?"
I shrugged. "From some sacred book, maybe?"
"It's literally common knowledge," El said, raising an eyebrow. "They teach it to kids. It's basically a bedtime story."
Matt and I groaned in unison.
I rubbed my head, trying to follow all this. "Okay, but how do you actually learn a True Name?"
"By memorizing it," El answered. "But that's not enough. Knowing the name lets you conjure the force—but to control it, you need to learn the primal language too."
She opened her palm and whispered a word. A spark flickered, then fire danced gently above her skin, floating like a flame cradled in air.
Then she extended her arm toward a nearby tree and spoke again—same language, but this time it sounded sharper, deeper, the tone completely different.
The fire shot outward like a dart.
It fizzled out just before striking the bark.
"That second part…" she said, "that's how you command it."
Matt's jaw hung open, his eyes practically glowing.
"So," I said slowly, "if I want to summon fire, I speak its True Name. But if I want it to move, or explode, or... I don't know, wrap around me—I need to speak the primal command, in its language?"
"Exactly," Tavon confirmed, still carefully cutting skyhopper meat. "But it's not as simple as learning the words. The primal language is based on pitch, tone, and intention. Even a slight mistake changes the result."
He sighed. "That's why I can only conjure one element. The more you try to master, the harder it gets."
It was complex—but it made a strange kind of sense.
Conjuring was like calling someone's name. But commanding? That required a conversation. A relationship.
A thought struck me.
"So if I memorize every True Name," I asked, eyes narrowing, "does that mean I can conjure all the elements?"
Tavon chuckled. "No one's done that. Or… almost no one. See, it's not just about memorizing or pronouncing the names. The problem lies in your Spirit Essence."
"Spirit what?" Matt asked, frowning.
Tavon picked up a stick and began drawing in the dirt.
"Let's say this little figure is you," he said, sketching a rough shape. "Inside all creation have a unique kind of energy. For mortals, it's Spirit Essence."
He drew a symbol beside it. A flicker. A flame.
"Fire has its own essence. So does water. Wind. Stone. Now, if your essence is weaker than the element you're calling… you can still summon it or not. But only a small part."
"How?"
"Because it instinctively balance itself. It'll lower its output to match your strength—or rather, beneath it. Not equal. Lower. That's how nature preserves balance."
Matt scratched his head, staring at the stick figures like they were cursed runes. "I still don't get it."
"Basically," El said calmly, "the weaker your Spirit Essence, the weaker the force you can summon. The stronger your essence… the stronger the spell."
I leaned in, absorbing every detail. My mind was turning faster than I could keep up.
"But wait," I asked. "Why doesn't the element just equal the caster's essence? Wouldn't that make more sense?"
Tavon pointed his stick at me like I'd just passed a riddle test.
"Good question. Remember what El said about the First Mortal?"
I nodded slowly. "Created from the Spirit Essence of the Supreme being…"
"Right," Tavon replied. "And the rest of creation was made through the words of the Supreme being. Spoken into being. That means—"
"Spirit Essence is the original source," I said, the realization hitting me like a bolt. "The creator can't be equal to what it creates."
"Exactly," Tavon said with a proud smile. "A creation can't match its origin."
"I see," Matthew said, nodding slowly as understanding dawned on his face. "So the reason we can command what we conjure—through the primal language—is because Spirit essence has the authority over it."
Old Man Tavon let out a deep, hearty laugh. "Exactly!" he said, reaching over and giving Matt a firm tap on the shoulder. "Now you're getting it."
"The act of commanding a True Name," Tavon said, "is called Domari."
He looked between us, voice steady. "Only those with Spirit Essence can perform the Domari. Without it, the elements won't listen—no matter how many names you know."
Then with a grunt, Tavon pushed himself up to his feet, brushing moss from his pants. "Now, if you want to know whether you even have Spirit Essence... let's do a Domarus Trial."
"Wait—" Matt's brows furrowed. "You mean there's a chance mortals might not have Spirit Essence at all?"
"Oh yes," Tavon replied, casually. "Not everyone's born with it. Those without are called Hollowborne."
He chuckled to himself, the sound raspy and amused. "Some are born overflowing with essence... and some barely have enough to summon a spark. Just like me." He wheezed through another laugh. "Poor old fool."
Discovering whether one possesses Spirit Essence is, according to Old Man Tavon, a simple task—at least in theory.
He had Matthew and me sit cross-legged on the soft earth, our backs straight, palms resting on our knees. The Sun cast long shadows on the surrounding trees as the old man stood between us, arms crossed.
"The first step," he said, "is not in conjuring... but in sensing. Awareness is everything." Then came the Domari — the primordial command.
We closed our eyes.
The silence of Jurra Forest settled over us like a thick blanket. Old Man Tavon instructed us to whisper the ancient word: "Domari." It felt strange, powerful even, like speaking a fragment of creation itself. The syllables rolled off our tongues awkwardly at first, but we repeated it, each time more sure, more steady.
El corrected us, "It's not just a chant — it's a command. What you're saying means: I command the essence to reveal itself."
We whispered it over and over, the syllables strange and rhythmic, vibrating in the stillness. It felt like we were calling something from beyond a veil.
For a while, there was only darkness behind my closed eyes. But then, slowly, I felt... something.
It was more than sensation—it was presence. Like a current of air brushing against my soul. And then I saw them. Particles. Not through my eyes, but through something deeper. They shimmered, tiny motes of colored light glowing in the dark.
"That's Essence," Tavon said calmly. "Now… widen your perception. Let it shape."
I breathed slowly, doing as he instructed.
The particles began to swirl—gathering, forming. Not randomly, but with purpose.
I saw pale white dust-like specks converging around me. Somehow, I knew—that was air essence. I could feel its nature. Light. Ever-shifting.
It was breathtaking.
Next to me, Matthew frowned in frustration. His brow furrowed, eyes squeezed tight.
"I can't see it," he muttered through gritted teeth.
"Just take your time," El said gently. "Be still. Be calm."
I stood quietly after a while, now used to the sensation, watching Matt try again. Minutes passed. Then finally, his eyes fluttered open—and I saw the flicker of realization. He saw them too.
"Good," Tavon said with a nod. "Now we try something more direct."
A stick was planted upright in the ground before us, a tiny flame flickering on its tip like a candle. The old man turned to us, now more serious.
"Next," he said, "we use the Primal Language. Speak the command precisely 'Domari', or it will fail. Or worse."
He walked us through it—slowly, repeatedly—until we could mimic every tone, every inflection.
Then he pointed at Matthew.
"Extend your hand. Command the flame."
Matt obeyed. He focused, whispered the command once. Twice. Still nothing. By the fifth try… the fire flickered—and swelled, just slightly. An inch, maybe.
But it was enough.
Our eyes widened. That one flicker, that one shift—it felt like magic made real.
Matt kept repeating the command, trying to coax more from the flame, but it remained steady.
Then he stopped, swaying slightly.
"I feel like I'm gonna puke," he said, holding his stomach.
"That's the toll," El explained. "Even learning a true name can make your head ache. But the Primal Tongue… it takes more. Always more."
Tavon placed a hand on Matt's shoulder and chuckled. "Well, would you look at that. A fellow Ironborne. Guess I'll have to sharpen your swordsmanship even more."
Matt blinked. "What's an Ironborne?"
"It means your Essence won't awaken fully—not for conjuring, anyway. But don't look so sour," Tavon said. "You'll master the blade instead. And believe me, that's a gift in itself."
Matt gave a tight nod, though disappointment lingered on his face.
Then it was my turn.
I stepped forward, extending my arm toward the tiny fire.
Nothing happened.
"Old man," I said, "can you repeat the command again?"
He nodded and recited the words once more—slowly, clearly—each syllable carrying an unfamiliar weight. I closed my eyes, memorizing the rhythm, the tone. The sound echoed in my mind like a whisper from something older than language itself.
Then, I opened my mouth—and spoke in the Primal Tongue.
"Flare up—I command you."
At first, the fire only shivered. A faint flicker, nothing more. But then… it stirred.
The tiny flame began to grow—hesitant at first, then bold. A warmth surged through my veins, foreign but thrilling. The fire swelled to the size of a fist… then a melon… and then larger still, nearly the size of a ball, hovering above the stick like a glowing heart, pulsing and alive.
I kept chanting, driven by instinct more than will.
But the heat inside me intensified. My knees buckled.
The world tilted.
And then—I collapsed.
Before I could hit the ground, Old Man Tavon caught me in his arms.
Across the fire, El stood frozen, wide-eyed. Matt stared, his mouth slightly open, the oversized flame reflected in his eyes like a second sun.
Tavon looked down at me—unconscious and limp in his grasp. He let out a slow breath, his expression unreadable.
Then, a smile tugged at the corner of his lips.
"Well," he murmured, "looks like we've got ourselves an Essenceborne."