---
The following morning was quieter than usual. The village square, normally filled with children practicing glyphs or elders weaving runes into wool, stood empty. A storm had passed through the night, lashing the rooftops with unnatural winds. Calem had heard them whisper as they rushed by—not just howls, but voices.
"Essentia storms," Anla had called them.
He sat at the edge of his hut, turning a small stone over in his hand. Carved into its surface was the symbol for fire, the one Lira had shown him.
Kheran. Living flame.
Not just combustion, but fire that endures. That thinks.
He hadn't tried to use it yet. Not properly.
The last time he'd cast a glyph, he'd nearly burned off his eyebrows. But something in his blood burned hotter now, more responsive—like his body was awakening alongside his mind.
He stood.
---
Behind the village, past the tall herb fields and the statue of the Three-Eyed Owl, lay an overgrown courtyard half-swallowed by ivy. Lira was already there, seated on a fallen column, reading from her small leather-bound book.
"You came," she said without looking up.
"You told me my glyphs were wrong," Calem replied, stepping into the clearing. "I want to learn."
Lira looked up, sharp silver eyes piercing his resolve.
"You learn slow," she said.
"I'm not from here."
She blinked. "You admit it."
He tensed. "Do you know what that means?"
Lira closed her book gently and stood.
"I know you think this world is a mistake," she said softly. "But it isn't. It wants you here. The Arcanum doesn't summon people by accident."
Calem stared at her. "The Arcanum?"
"The Will of Magic. Or maybe it's fate. The Archmages believed it was a mind, like a god that sleeps beneath reality. They say those chosen by it are pulled from their timelines."
"And sent here?" he said bitterly. "Why? What for?"
"To shape something. Or destroy it. Depends on who you ask."
She walked toward him and pointed at his chest.
"Essentia's responding to you already. Haven't you felt it? The warmth in your lungs when you see glyphs? That's the first sign."
"…Essentia," he murmured. "I need to understand what that is. What it does."
Lira knelt and drew in the dirt with her finger.
"Essentia is what your world would call 'mana'—but it's deeper than that. It's thought, emotion, memory. It lives in all things. It doesn't just power magic—it is magic."
She tapped the center of the glyph: a triangle with curling tails.
"It flows through the Three Paths. Body. Mind. Will."
"And what do glyphs do?" he asked.
"They speak commands to the Essentia," she said. "But only if your mind aligns. You can't just draw the glyph. You have to mean it."
---
That afternoon, Calem sat alone in the courtyard with his palms on the earth.
He slowed his breath. Closed his eyes.
He imagined the first spark. Fire born in the dark. Hunger. Light. Rage. The feeling of watching a candle flicker in the void of a blackout back on Earth. The warmth of his daughter's hand as she fell asleep beside him during storms.
He remembered all of it.
Then he traced kheran in the dirt.
Essentia responded.
The glyph flared red, then orange, then deep gold. Flames burst upward—not violent, but swaying, humming softly like a lullaby.
Calem's hands trembled.
Not from fear.
But from recognition.
He had spoken to magic. And for the first time, it had answered.
---
Later, Lira inspected the burnt edges of the stone where Calem had left the glyph.
"You're adapting faster than most," she admitted. "Even bornlings here don't grasp glyph resonance that quickly."
Calem exhaled slowly, still drained.
"Then why can't I cast more than one?"
She looked up from the ground, expression unreadable.
"Because you haven't taken an Attainment yet."
He frowned. "Is that a formal thing?"
She nodded. "Very. Attainments are contracts with truth. When you pass into a new level, you are judged—not by people, but by the world itself."
"Judged?"
"Essentia surrounds all of us, but until it accepts you, you cannot bind it willingly."
She pointed toward the distant mountains.
"There's a place called the Verdant Spire. It's where most people attempt their first breakthrough. To touch the flame and not be burned, you must show the Spire your truth."
Calem's breath caught.
"So, my truth... determines if I become a Flicker Initiate?"
She nodded. "That's how the Arcanum chooses. That's how magic opens its first gate."
---
That night, Calem sat by the small river beside the village. Stars shimmered above like glass dust.
He looked at his reflection in the water. Not a man, but a child's face. Pale eyes. Dark hair. Thin frame. But behind the young features, there burned a resolve far older.
"I don't belong here," he whispered to the stars. "I will go back. To them."
His voice broke slightly. "To her. To our daughter. I'll burn this world to ash if I have to."
The water shimmered.
And for a brief moment… his reflection smiled back.
But he hadn't.
---