"What happened?" Cassian asked themselves mentally, sitting on the steps of a shop, catching their breath.
The information gained from their ability refused to align with what they had just witnessed. Not long ago, they were inside a dark shop, locked in by their double, where a terrifying, gaunt, shadowy entity had bitten off their head. If someone had told them such a thing, Cassian would have laughed in their face and called it the ravings of a lunatic.
"Am I crazy?" The fleeting thought flickered through their consciousness, but they shook their head, dismissing it.
In any case, they couldn't just go and tell someone what they had seen: the reaction could be dangerous—potentially even accusations of serving the Devil. That was their initial thought, but they soon abandoned it. Regardless, those hallucinations were clearly tied to their Structure; they didn't know exactly how, but they felt it on a subconscious level.
Delving deeper into their thoughts, they tried to make sense of their ability. From its name, it was clear it had something to do with wounds and transferring them. Focusing, their mind flared with images.
"Got it... So, I can transfer wounds… wounds onto my own body: the wound's position never changes and matches the exact spot where it's located on the other person's body. I can only transfer one wound at a time. I can't transfer a wound from myself to someone or something else," they reasoned mentally, astonished at how automatically this information surfaced in their mind. It felt as if it were etched into their head like some immutable "law" governing how it worked.
"And yet... transferring wounds onto myself? What the hell is this?! Is the Structure trying to kill me or what? I'm a healer, not a kamikaze!" Cassian spat. No matter how you looked at it, using this ability put their life at risk. Transferring a fatal wound meant they'd be dead. The most useless healer imaginable.
"Damn tough..." they muttered. Another problem to deal with now.
"I'll have to head back to the library tomorrow," they decided mentally. Initially, Cassian had planned to delay another visit until training started, but after this, they deemed it absolutely necessary. Plans could change, though.
"Let's leave these questions for tomorrow," they continued. They were exhausted, both mentally and physically. Looking up, they noticed the sun was nearing the horizon. Apparently, they had been wandering in a daze for hours.
Soon, the shop owner, calling them a beggar, shooed them off the street, and Cassian headed home. Explaining to Evelina that they'd been at the library, they ate dinner and took a shower. Then, sitting at the desk, they practiced their handwriting. At first, it was awkward: the pen kept slipping in their hand, and the letters spilled beyond the notebook's margins. But after a while, they got into the flow, tracing the characters melodically while humming softly. An hour or two later, they stretched tiredly and looked at the results. They could feel it: their penmanship and language comprehension had improved.
Still, more practice was needed. With that thought, they fell asleep.
Early the next morning, they ate breakfast, endured Evelina's insufferable tirade about Kozof being swamped with work again, and received an errand to go to the shop. Evelina seemed about to add something, but by then, Cassian had already dashed out toward the library. They decided to dedicate the entire day to reading and gleaning every scrap of information possible.
Entering the library, they greeted Kyle and spoke a few words to a Glissanda. A couple of hours later, they were buried under piles of books—from the geography of Valbar (the name of the world they'd ended up in) to tomes on ancient history.
They learned that the hallucination was called the "delay effect." It occurred only in new Structure bearers. The hallucination itself held no inherent meaning; it arose because the Structure, while embedding knowledge of the ability, engaged the sensory cortex of the brain—hence the various auditory and visual phenomena.
"The embedding process is gradual, and only upon its completion does the information become accessible to the person," Cassian muttered mentally, flipping through pages. The book listed examples of hallucinations, but they found none resembling their own. Understandably so: everyone's hallucinations were unique.
After browsing the book for a while, they closed it and were about to leave when they slapped their forehead: they'd completely forgotten that tomorrow was the start of classes at the Federative Center for Training and Practice. They asked a Glissanda for a book about it. Another interesting fact: if a Glissanda found relevant information in a book, it delivered the tome already open to the appropriate page. Thus, they found the delay effect in a book titled *On the Brain*, which detailed brain structure, its disorders, and the influence of Structures on the human mind: Combat Structures made one's temperament fierier, while Magical ones calmed it. Cassian didn't delve into this topic yet—too many nuances that could affect behavior.
Opening and skimming the book, Cassian confirmed some facts. Training at the Center lasted three months. It began with a general assembly of all trainees, followed by an introductory lecture on Structures, after which three faculties were available: the Faculty of Combat Training, the Faculty of Spiritual Enlightenment, and the Faculty of Administrative Knowledge. Each faculty focused on its own field. Any faculty could be chosen, except for the Faculty of Spiritual Enlightenment, which typically accepted church followers or those with Divine-type Structures.
At the end of the three-month course, each faculty conducted a practical component. Combat Training students honed skills in the field under experienced mentors; Spiritual Enlightenment students undertook a pilgrimage to Confess to swear allegiance to their chosen deity; Administrative Knowledge students were divided into groups and assigned to a supervisor, no less than a candidate of sciences, to write a research paper. Successful completion of the practicals granted a diploma, allowing graduates to pursue careers in their studied field; sometimes, top graduates received immediate offers from interested institutions.
No matter how you sliced it, joining this Center was an undeniable advantage for them.
"Tomorrow, then," they said, licking their lips. "Wonder how Matt's doing..."—they had agreed to meet at the opening ceremony.
Closing the book and asking a Glissanda to clear everything away, they left the library.
About twenty minutes of walking later, they arrived at a quaint butcher shop. Evelina had asked for two kilograms of chicken drumsticks for dinner. Entering the shop, the smell of blood hit their nose immediately. Looking around, Cassian saw only the counter and, behind it, a door—likely leading to a backroom with meat. They were right: ringing the bell, they saw a stout man emerge from the door. Peeking inside, Cassian spotted carcasses hanging on hooks.
"Need something?" the man said in a low voice with a slight, rough accent; he clearly wasn't from around here.
"Two kilograms of drumsticks, please," Cassian said.
"Alright, hang on," the man replied, stepping back through the door. A minute later, he returned with a basin full of chicken drumsticks, weighed out two kilograms, and wrapped them in paper. "Ten bronze coins," he said.
In Aelan, three types of coins circulated: bronze, silver, and gold. Twelve bronze equaled one silver, and twelve silver equaled one gold. The sum seemed small, but recalling that the average monthly wage in Aelan was two gold, Cassian realized that daily meat consumption would cost about one and a half to two gold a month. This reminded them once again that their family was quite comfortably off financially.
"Well, kid, you paying or what?" the butcher said. Snapping back to reality, Cassian quickly paid; the butcher wrapped the meat and handed it over.
Back home, they practiced handwriting a bit more, ate dinner, and went to bed early.
Tomorrow—the opening ceremony.