The Boundless Pillar

Caius sat cross-legged before the evening's fire, with both Katelyn and Silas talking in low voices to his right. The crackle of the fire was the sound that he heard, and he used it to help his mind sink deep into his subconsciousness. The past few days, Caius felt that he was close to discovering the hidden well of power that was within himself. It was as if he had found a portion of his identity that had not been tapped before, like a maple tree being tapped for the first time to produce syrup. He struggled to punch his way through and access the power that he knew lay beyond.

Breathing in and out slowly, Caius prepared to make one more attempt to grasp his internal magical power before calling it a night. He felt the spot within himself and examined it once more before renewing his attack. It almost felt like a thin barrier was all that stood in his way in order to grasp his magical power. He noticed that there seemed to be a golden symbol nearly indiscernible on the barrier, and it reminded Caius of the golden tendrils that he had come to expect to see when his mind and eyes were able to see and sense what he was calling the threads of fate and connection.

He had finally explained this phenomenon in full to Katelyn two days ago, and she had been a never-ending stream of questions. He had finally understood her frustration with him after he had demanded answers about every aspect of magic and runes. The questions were as endless as her curiosity and got harder for Caius to answer as he had barely any control or knowledge of the power. Thus, whenever Caius finds himself experiencing the vision of golden threads, he describes them in detail as they appear to him. It was from this that Caius and Katelyn discovered that the threads were both threads of fate and that of connection. Katelyn's best guess is that the threads, depending on their thickness and vibrancy, were determined to be Caius's connection to the object or person. They both hypothesize that there were people or objects that he held connections to that were not present in the caravan, hence the tendrils that lead off into the distance.

Caius thus wondered why a golden symbol was present on the thin barrier separating the Caius and the magical power he knew he was born with. He briefly wondered if everyone had a golden symbol on their barrier and that only those who had the fate sight could have known that it was there. Nonetheless, Caius refocused on the task at hand. Summoning all his willpower, he sharpened his intent and, like Silas had taught him, thrust forward metal in a fluid but brutal strike at the barrier center right where the golden lines converged together. The sound of shattering glass was all that Caius could hear before a sensation he had never felt before rushed through him. A smile crept across his face as he closed his eyes and focused on the sensation of the magic flowing through him. It was a feeling of power and connection, as if he were tapping into a vast, unseen source of energy.

As if by instinct, Caius felt the magic need a form, and he produced a runic formation in his mind. It was the fireball rune that Katelyn had drilled into his mind as it was a great starter spell that would give practical knowledge in mana depletion and the importance of forming runic formations that best worked for Caius and his mana reserves. As soon as Caius formed the rune in his mind, he felt a strain on his body and spirit, as if the energy that made him was being sucked away. The swirling energy that surrounded his mind's eye was thinner than before but not noticeable if he hadn't been paying attention to it.

Opening his eyes, Caius was surprised to see a small but spluttering fireball hovering nearly a foot in front of his face. He had done it. He had cast his first spell! He suddenly could also see the golden tendrils surrounding him. The connection between the fireball and himself was nearly binding. Caius absently noted that this made sense as the fireball was made of his mana and thus should be directly tied to him. Focusing on the fireball, he proceeded to try to direct it in any direction. He found that it was as easy as a thought. All he needed to do was prove the fireball with intent, and it would follow his command.

A gasp from Katelyn abruptly destroyed all of Caius' concentration and willpower as the fireball winked out of existence. “AHHH Caius you did it!! You cast your first spell! Tell me everything!" shouted Katelyn, all the while getting disapproving glances from other caravan members. Silas gave Caius a silent thumbs up, which was a big accomplishment, as the sober swordsman was hesitant to receive praise.

Thus, Caius explained everything he had felt and experienced, including the threads of fate and connection that had appeared as soon as he cast his spell. Katelyn nodded and asked, "And how exhausted are you? Do you think you could cast the spell again?"

Think for a moment. Caius confidently answered, "I'm pretty sure I could do that about ten more times before I need a break."

Eyebrows shooting upward, Katelyn looked like someone had just smacked her. "Ten more times," she repeated, "Show me!" It was a command from his teacher, not from his friend Katelyn. Thus, over the next hour, Caius slowly repeated his feat and cast fireball after fireball. Each casting got quicker and quicker as if his magical power and mind were developing muscle memory. "Amazing!" said Katelyn. "When I was at your point, I could barely cast more than two or three spells before I had to tap out due to mental exhaustion of running out of mana."

"Is that the fatigue I am feeling now?" asked Caius.

"Yes, the fatigue gets easier to manage as you get used to casting, and as I taught you, you can slowly stretch your mana pool like a muscle to either grow its capability or easy access to your power." Explained Katelyn, tucking a loose hair behind her ear. "While this is a big accomplishment, this is still just the first of many steps in your journey to become a master mage. Why don't you go to bed and rest up? I'm sure you're exhausted after all those castings."

Nodding, Caius approached his tent and waved goodnight to Silas and Katelyn. He could feel the fatigue in his bones now. He wondered how Bladesingers could stand on battlefields for hours if this is how he felt just after a few measly castings. Nonetheless, Caius was thrilled with his success and still grinning as he slowly drifted off to sleep. His last thought was of the elf woman with silver hair and emerald eyes. "I did it, Elara!" he murmured before fully succumbing to sleep's embrace.

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The man moved with a silent, predatory grace, his figure a mere silhouette against the inky blackness of the corridor. His breath, a frosty vapor, hung suspended in the frigid air, the only sound that disturbed the eerie stillness. The flickering, dim light cast dancing shadows across his face, obscuring his features and adding to the air of mystery surrounding him. A faint glint of metal, hidden beneath his coat, hinted at the dangerous purpose of his mission.

His heart pounded in his chest, a rhythmic counterpoint to the hushed anticipation that filled the air. As he navigated the labyrinthine passageway, his senses were heightened, alert to any sound or movement. The weight of the impending meeting, a clandestine rendezvous with a shadowy figure, pressed down upon him, a silent burden that fueled his determination.

The air was thick with tension, the silence broken only by the soft scuffle of his footsteps on the cold, tiled floor. Each step brought him closer to the unknown, the danger, the intrigue. The corridor stretched out before him, a dark, winding tunnel leading to a rendezvous with destiny. As he ventured deeper into the labyrinth, the anticipation grew, a mixture of excitement and trepidation. He quickened his pace, eager to reach his destination and unravel the mysteries ahead.

The man's heart pounded as he navigated the labyrinthine corridor. The dim, flickering light cast dancing shadows across his face, obscuring his features and adding to the air of mystery surrounding him. A faint glint of metal, hidden beneath his coat, hinted at the dangerous purpose of his mission.

As he rounded a sharp corner, a figure emerged from the shadows, their face obscured by a wide-brimmed hat. The newcomer, cloaked in an inky darkness, moved with a silent, predatory grace. Their eyes, piercing and intense eyes, glinted in the dim light, a stark contrast to the inky blackness surrounding them.

The man's breath caught in his throat. He recognized the figure immediately: a shadowy operative known only as the "Phantom." Their reputation was as fearsome as their anonymity, a legend whispered in the darkest corners of the intelligence world.

"You're late," the Phantom hissed, their voice a low, raspy whisper.

The man forced himself to remain calm, his voice steady as he replied, "Circumstances beyond my control."

The Phantom's eyes narrowed, silently judging. "I trust your explanation is valid," they replied, their tone laced with skepticism.

A tense silence hung in the air, broken only by the soft ticking of a nearby clock. The man shifted uncomfortably, his gaze darting between the Phantom's shadowy figure and the dimly lit corridor. The weight of the impending mission, a dangerous game of cat and mouse, pressed down upon him, a silent burden that fueled his determination.

The Phantom, sensing the man's unease, broke the silence. "We have work to do," they said, their voice low and menacing. "Are you ready?"

The man nodded, his voice barely a whisper. "I'm ready."

With that, the Phantom turned and began to walk down the corridor, their figure disappearing into the darkness. The man hesitated for a moment, his mind racing. He knew that this mission was a dangerous gamble, a high-stakes game that could have dire consequences. But he also knew that he had no choice. He had to trust the Phantom, to trust himself. With a deep breath, the man followed the Phantom into the darkness.

The damp, subterranean tunnel stretched out before them, its walls slick with moisture and its air thick with the stale scent of decay. The man and the Phantom moved silently through the darkness, their footsteps muffled by the thick layer of grime that coated the floor. The only sound was the soft drip of water, a constant, rhythmic pulse that echoed through the tunnel.

Ten minutes later, they reached the end of the tunnel. A faint, glimmering light emanated from a narrow, vertical grate set into the wall. The Phantom paused, their eyes scanning the surrounding area, their senses alert. Satisfied that they were alone, they turned to the man and nodded.

With a grunt of effort, the Phantom pried the grate loose, revealing a narrow, airless shaft. The man hesitated, his mind racing with doubt. The shaft was barely wide enough to squeeze through, and the air was stifling. Taking a deep breath, the man squeezed through the narrow shaft, his body contorting into an unnatural position. The air was thick and heavy, and the darkness was absolute. He could feel the cold, damp walls pressing against his skin and the weight of the earth above him.

After an eternity, the man emerged from the shaft, gasping for breath. He was greeted by the cool, fresh night air and the city lights' soft glow. He looked up at the sky, a vast expanse of twinkling stars. For a moment, he felt a sense of peace and accomplishment. But then, he remembered the dangerous game he was playing, the high-stakes gamble that could cost him his life.

He turned to the Phantom, who was just emerging from the shaft. Their face was etched with fatigue, but their eyes still held a spark of determination. "We're safe for now," the Phantom said, their voice barely a whisper.

The man nodded, his voice barely audible. "For now."

As the clock struck midnight, their target emerged from the tavern, his figure silhouetted against the dim glow of the lanterns. The Phantom's eyes narrowed, a predatory glint in their gaze. They signaled to the man, and together, they followed the merchant at a safe distance.

When the target reached a secluded alleyway, the Phantom moved with lightning speed. Swiftly, fluidly, they drew a sword from beneath their cloak. The blade, etched with ancient runes that glowed faintly in the darkness, shimmered in the moonlight.

The man, startled by the sudden attack, turned to face his assailant. But before he could react, the Phantom struck a swift and deadly blow that ended his life. The merchant's body slumped to the ground, a silent testament to the Phantom's deadly skill.

The man watched in horror as the Phantom carried out the assassination, their movements precise and efficient. He had never seen such brutality, such cold-blooded murder. Yet, he knew that this was the life he had chosen, a life of shadows and secrets, of danger and death.

As the Phantom sheathed their sword, a sense of satisfaction washed over their face. "It is done," they said, their voice low and menacing.

The man nodded, his mind reeling. "It is done," he echoed, his voice barely a whisper. Their master would be pleased, but he wondered if the resulting turmoil would be worth it.