A heavy quiet settled between them, weighted by Kael’s raw confession and the lingering phantom tremors of Roric’s power. Roric’s gaze drifted over Kael’s bandaged arm, then down to his own trembling hands, still faintly tingling with the Aether’s withdrawn hum. What could he say? *Forgive me for carrying a power that once tore through your kin?* He barely understood the power himself, let alone its ancient roots. To pretend ignorance felt disingenuous, a refusal to acknowledge the very wellspring of his strange capabilities. After all, the strange pulses that had always marked him as 'different' now had a name, a lineage Kael knew, tied to a history Roric was only beginning to glimpse. The silence stretched, thick as dust motes in a forgotten archive.
Kael clapped a hand on Roric’s shoulder, a gesture surprisingly gentle despite his burly frame. “Don’t look like you’ve swallowed a cindernut! You weren’t swinging blades back then, were you?”
Roric managed a small nod. Kael looked far more haggard, his face etched with pain beneath the grime, but Roric couldn’t voice the observation. Words felt brittle.
“It’s pointless for young folk like you to get tangled in the old wars,” Kael continued, his voice rough. “Blood for blood, and the cycle never ends. It’s always the quiet ones, the ordinary folk, who bear the scars.” A shadow of bitterness still clung to Kael’s expression, like soot to an uncleaned hearth.
“Do you… regret it?” Roric asked, the words barely a whisper. “Telling me to leave the plateau?”
If Roric truly embraced this power, if he stepped into the light of Veridia, he would inevitably be drawn into the secretive currents of ancient bloodlines, perhaps even the ones Kael’s ancestors once fought. Such a force, untamed and potent, could be seen as a direct threat to the established order, to the Guilds who clung to their carefully controlled knowledge, or to the very groups Kael might once have served. A powerful Aether-weaver, unaligned and unknown, was a spark that could ignite old embers. The danger was stark.
Kael shook his head slowly. “I trust your character, Roric. The kindness you showed a stranger, revealing yourself, even with your strange… talents. If someone like you, with that deep sense of justice, rises among the Aetherbound, perhaps you could steer them from the old paths. Prevent another cataclysm.”
Roric thought Kael was overestimating him. His kindness was merely instinct, a reflection of the quiet stories he’d read, the yearning for connection, a basic empathy for another living soul. He’d helped Kael because he hadn’t wanted to see a conversational companion die. Had Kael been cold, Roric likely would have retreated, hidden himself in the familiar anonymity of his books, and watched him perish without intervention.
Roric stared at the worn flagstones, lost in his thoughts. Kael gave a weary chuckle. “No need to weigh the fate of Veridia on your shoulders just yet. You haven’t even decided to leave this rock, have you?”
“That’s true.” For now, the thought of wandering, of discovering more of the world beyond his sheltered library, held a strange, thrilling appeal. Tying himself to any faction, especially one cloaked in such ancient, warring shadows, felt stifling. He’d think on it. Slowly.
“I’ll stay until your injuries mend,” Roric offered, the practical side of him surfacing. “Then we can both decide.”
“Injuries? Just a few scrapes and a broken spirit, nothing a good nap won’t fix!” Kael’s laughter, though still raspy, filled the cavern with a much-needed warmth.
---
While Kael recuperated, Roric found himself taking his first formal lessons in the language of Aether. For so long, he’d only experienced its chaotic whispers, its sudden demands, never understanding the underlying principles. Now, a fragile thread of understanding began to weave through the fog.
“Primal Aether, or the Aetherial current as some call it, is often dubbed the ‘Weaver’s Truth’,” Kael explained, gesturing with his uninjured hand, tracing patterns in the air. “It’s the raw fabric of reality, the subtle energy that binds and shapes. But don’t mistake it for omnipotence. To weave truly great deeds, to warp matter or energy beyond its natural state, it demands a proportionate outlay of your own essence. You’ve felt that drain, haven’t you?”
Roric nodded, recalling the crushing headache, the exhaustion that followed his more potent ‘coincidences.’ “What dictates that cost?”
Kael cleared his throat, holding up three fingers. “The difficulty of any Aetheric working is governed by three primary factors. First, bloodline. Second, mastery. And third, causality.”
Bloodline. Mastery. Causality. Roric etched the words into his mind, the foreign concepts suddenly feeling profoundly familiar, like pieces of a puzzle he’d long held but never assembled.
“Bloodline is simple,” Kael continued. “It’s the innate affinity, the specific way your ancestral line resonates with Aether. A Lumina Healer, from the sun-drenched valleys to the south, can mend flesh with a thought, while others struggle for a simple cautery. Their blood sings with the Aether of life. You, Roric, your blood… it hums with something else entirely. Something deeper. A more primal attunement to the very fabric of existence. Others might *shape* Aether, but you… you seem to *draw* it, *bend* it with pure will. It’s why you could affect that Ash-Stalker so profoundly, while my own, more structured wards barely scratched it. My bloodline is attuned to shaping Aether into shields and binds, not dissolving raw, corrupted essence.”
“Then, what is mastery?” Roric asked, a flicker of curiosity momentarily outweighing his apprehension.
“Mastery, or proficiency, means the familiar is always easier. An Aether-weaver who spent years at the forges will find it simpler to imbue metal with transient heat or reinforce a blade than someone who never held a hammer. Your unconscious habit of generating subtle shifts in the air, creating those gusts and tremors, is your own nascent mastery. You’ve been practicing, unknowingly, for years.”
This made sense. Roric had often felt certain events were ‘easier’ to cause than others, particularly when he was focused or emotionally charged. A book might ‘fall’ just as he reached for it. A spark ‘catch’ when he desperately needed warmth. His own ‘coincidences’ weren’t random after all.
Kael gave a wry smile. “Exactly. Your very perception of reality, your intent, has been subtly shaping the Aether around you. It’s why your focused burst on the Ash-Stalker was so potent; you didn’t just *wish* it gone, you gave it the *cause* of its unmaking. A channeled burst of pure force.” His brow furrowed then. “The third factor, causality, is the most profound, and the most treacherous. Even I wrestle with its depths. Simply put, it’s the principle that more ‘natural’ events flow more easily. The Aether resists the illogical.”
Kael pondered for a moment, stroking his chin. “Imagine you wanted to extinguish the lamp across the room with Aether. What would happen if you simply willed it to die?”
“It would likely flicker, perhaps pulse with a strange light, and then… nothing,” Roric mused, recalling similar frustrating attempts where his intentions seemed to fizzle.
“Precisely. You would lack causality. There’s no natural reason for the lamp’s flame to simply vanish from existence without cause. But if you were to, say, form a directed current of Aether, like a gust of wind, and *direct* it at the flame? That is a natural cause. It would be far easier, consume less of your essence, and have a higher chance of success.”
This resonated deeply with Roric. He’d often struggled when his desires felt too… abstract. But when he unconsciously sought a ‘path’ for his intent, things often happened. He’d seen a book on a high shelf, wished it closer, and an unseen tremor would send it sliding down the pile. He hadn’t wished it *into his hand*, but merely *down* – a more ‘natural’ event.
Kael clapped his hands, a glint of admiration in his weary eyes. “Remarkable. You truly could have been a scholar of the Aether. Your innate understanding is beyond anything I’ve witnessed. As you say, crafting a proper cause dramatically lessens the energy cost.”
“But… why could I affect the wild animals, the wolves and hinds, so easily, yet the Ash-Stalker needed such a specific approach?” Roric had often used his abilities to deter dangerous creatures near the plateau, a simple thought often enough to send them scattering, confused.
“Creatures that house their own Aether, like that Ash-Stalker, develop a resistance. The stronger their own inherent Aether, the more their forms resist external manipulation. A direct, formless will is easily deflected. But a ‘completed’ Aetheric working – like that focused burst you channeled, or a precise tendril of ice – that makes contact, it bypasses much of that inherent resistance. Think of it as a weapon forged, rather than raw force. Even then, if the Aetheric disparity is too vast, it might still fail, but that’s another lesson.”
Kael explained that this was why Roric’s concentrated burst had shredded the Ash-Stalker, while Kael’s more complex, pre-formed wards had only slowed it. Direct, untamed Aether from Roric, shaped by powerful intent, could overwhelm the creature’s defenses far more effectively than Kael’s practiced, but less resonant, spells.
Roric pressed his temples, a familiar dull ache beginning to throb behind his eyes. “This… this is far more complex than I ever imagined.”
“A true Aether-weaver isn’t just a vessel of raw power. Understanding these principles, knowing the limits and pathways of your own resonance, and learning to shape your intent within the currents of the world, these are paramount,” Kael affirmed, his gaze steady.
Roric closed his eyes, reviewing the lessons. Bloodline, Mastery, Causality. He felt a profound shift in his understanding, like finding a forgotten index to a vast, chaotic library. One question, however, remained.
“My bloodline… the Keepers, as you called them. What specific Aetheric resonance did they possess?” Roric’s own abilities felt so broad, so untamed, a deep hum beneath his skin that had always felt like an aberration.
Kael nodded. “The ancient Keepers were renowned for two things: an unparalleled attunement to Aetheric currents, and the ability to subtly manipulate the very fabric of perception. They were masters of Concealment and Tracing. Have you ever tried either?”
Roric shook his head. “Tracing, yes. Sometimes, to sense disturbances beyond the plateau’s edge, or track a lost scroll. But Concealment… why would I need to hide?”
“Try it now,” Kael urged, a strange intensity in his eyes. “Most Aether-weavers can achieve a basic shimmer, a slight blur to the eye. But the truest form of Concealment, the ability to erase oneself utterly from all sensation, that was a unique resonance of the Keepers. A complete dissolution into the ambient Aether.”
Roric focused. *I don’t want to be perceived. My shape, my sound, my scent, my heat… let them blend, dissolve, become nothing.* He poured his will into the thought, a torrent of Aether rushing from his core. A draining sensation began, not painful, but profound. He looked down. His hands still seemed visible. His body unchanged.
“Did it work?” Roric whispered.
Kael stared blankly at the space Roric had occupied moments before, his eyes unfocused, scanning the cavern wall. “Work? Are you still there, Roric? The air feels… stiller.”
Roric rose from his seat, moving slowly, cautiously, around the small chamber. Kael’s eyes remained fixed on the empty space. Roric stomped a boot lightly. No reaction. He snapped his fingers inches from Kael’s ear. Nothing. The effect was absolute. He was truly unperceivable.
With a jolt, Roric released the surge of Aether. The draining stopped. Kael’s eyes snapped into focus, widening as he saw Roric standing before him again. Kael let out a long, shuddering breath, a tension leaving him that Roric hadn’t even noticed had gathered.
“It’s been an age since I witnessed that,” Kael said, his voice hushed. “Back when Veridia was warring with the Emberweavers, the Lumina Guard would pray for dawn to break. By morning, patrols would vanish from their posts, guards found with the life drained from them, untouched, yet gone. An empty shell.”
“This… this feels unfair,” Roric breathed, the revelation chilling him. Such a power, a true unmaking of perception, dwarfed any ability to heal or reshape. How could one fight an enemy they could not even perceive, let alone touch?
Kael shook his head. “No power is truly invincible, Roric. There are always counter-measures, always a price.”
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