There is a statue in the center of the Empire. Set of stone, glazed in gold, it reads: "I am the first, the King of Kings, The ruler of all, from sea, to sea. From shore, to shore. Look on these works, ye mighty, and despair."

If you peer closer, you can see the slight difference in texture. By the left eye: The gold is just a little bit off, with a slight change in color and polish.

Rumor has it, that's where the Black Roses somehow managed to lob the damn thing with a meteor.

....

That afternoon, and that night, I spent my entire focus on magic.

[Lesser Flame] was everything, as the hours stretched on. To the point where I almost felt my body had drifted away. Lost to the smoke and rising heat of my small fire. After several hours, I had to force my eyes closed, less the zippo-lighter's worth of fire burn a hole into my retina.

But I was getting the hang of things.

Breathing in would feed the flame. Breathing out, in a similar sense, would do the same- but more violently. Less sustainably. In combination with that, focusing and pushing mana through my body and mind in a flood (a flood being relative to my limited abilities) could surge the spell, though I kept my experiments to a minimum for the sake of keeping my practice session going.

There was no sense running myself out in five minutes, when I could potentially stretch out the same mana for twenty times that amount of time.

All in all, I was quite happy with the way things had gone.

For a single piece of magic, I could see [Lesser Flame] having numerous applications. More so, even if the ability was presently quite weak, I could still imagine it being lethal, if need be. As long as I used it with the proper method of breathing, and I timed the correct expenditure of mana on an exhale, I felt certain I could do quite a bit of damage. Timing it with a chopping or an punching motion as I exhaled, for example. I could see as the spell improved, being able to couple the fire with an attack.

Of course, for any real damage I'd probably only be able to use it once.

And, of course, I'd have to be close to my target. As I couldn't find a decent way to summon the flame farther than a few inches from my palms.

Which was rather bothersome.

I'd been trying everything to work around that, but the limitation seemed quite stubborn. The greatest distance I'd managed to manifest the spell was about a hand's length away from my pointer finger, and it had quickly collapsed.

Far cry from the noble art of throwing fire at my enemies, it seemed very likely I'd have to slap them to death. Which, wasn't very mage-like, in my opinion, but would still probably work if I set my mind to it. In full summary: there was much more work to be done. I settled on the silver lining that, at the very least I would never struggle to light a cooking fire again. Quite a small victory, but not an unappreciated one.

As my mana finally ran low though, I found my options for progress dwindling.

Breathing, sitting in a meditative posture: I tried everything I could to regain the mana I lost, but there were no true shortcuts to regaining the resource. Even with my full attention set on the task, it recovered at an unsteady pace, and very slowly.

It was enough to drive me mad.

Refilling at what felt much like a snail's pace, when I wanted nothing more to summon the magic again, and continue my practice. The urge to bring the spell back was similar to the current I remembered beneath Gregory's fishing boat: The moment I stopped working against it, I was drifting in the direction it wanted me to go.

It really was addictive, in that sense.

At least, until the final feeling of mana expended itself. Slowly but surely, the mana I'd been using to summon the flame, faded away. The residual warmth within my blood, cooled. The odd resource slipping back into the unknown until I was empty of it.

Only then, could I fully relax.

Deceptively dangerous, I felt. The addictive quality that magic was already having on me was something to keep a close eye on. Not to mention the real, physical, effects that might come of giving into it. Even after all the work I'd put into it: I didn't dare let my mana drop closer to zero. Just approaching the lower limits, and I felt a terrible, alarming, sense of emptiness in my chest and skull.

Like staring into a black hole that threatened to swallow up my heartbeat, it waited just far enough away for me to breathe. And while I felt confident I could survive going lower in mana, I didn't feel confident I'd be able to do much of anything useful in such a state. It might as well leave me unconscious, for all the good sitting in a mentally-exhausted stupor might do me.

So, practice came to an end as evening approached.

My efforts were rewarded, at least.

[Skill - Rank up] - [Lesser Flame - Lvl 3]

A quick check out the window told me that I'd some time remaining before I needed to leave my room again. From what Gertrude had told me, I knew that I could expect a meal to be served at some point close to sundown. But, my rough estimation from the window told me there were still several hours until then. Which meant I had more time to waste before I could justify taking a real break.

But, I didn't have much else I could practice.

Focusing specifically on Attributes was an option. I knew that working out through traditional physical exercises, like pushups, would always be an option, but I was expected to start my day with doing exactly that. Though I didn't have a Squad Leader shouting over me, the effort spent on the training yard would still be a burden, and I wasn't interested in overdoing things. Wearing my body by doing too much one day would lead to nothing but trouble during the next.

So the option of dropping, and doing endless repetitions of pushups and situps, was something I'd have to save for rainy days.

My dagger, though, I decided might be the loophole.

At the castle, I'd been taught some basic sword forms before the [Knight] in charge of my instruction gave up on me. I remembered enough to practice something, and while swinging the dagger wasn't quite the same, it didn't make my muscles ache in a manner that felt like I was over doing things. While I could work up a bit of a sweat swinging the weapon around, I felt it was a compromise. More of a cardio workout, than anything.

It felt silly to do, though.

Swinging a dagger about, alone in a tiny room.

I tried not to feel self-conscious of the actions, while I went about my practicing. Running through methods of drawing it, of quickly sheathing it. Of hiding it beneath my shirt, to free it and attack.

Mostly, I went through scenarios. Imagined constructs of how, in context, I might need to use the weapon.

There would be no method I could believe I'd fend off a sword, for more than one- perhaps two, deflections. Yet, I could absolutely use the dagger for a quick act of surprise. Of an immediate reaction, which might save me the need to fight someone in the first place.If you spot this story on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation.

Once all those imagined scenarios were said and done, though, I settled back on the one which troubled me the most.

Of hearing something in the tall grass, and having to rely entirely on muscle-memory.

To turn, to draw, to strike.

To turn, to draw, to strike...

Though I'd never wish to go into battle with the dagger as my only weapon, I found it was a nimble thing. Quick as the hand that held it, with hardly any weight to slow it down. The sword forms were suited to it, but only partly, and I soon found small adjustments that lent themselves well to the weapon.

Surprisingly, by sundown my efforts were rewarded.

[Dexterity +1]

That, marked a decent stopping point.

One awkward day of practice, for an Attribute that might take another person months.

Which really only left me with [Identify] and [Hide Presence] as active skills I could put to work.

[Identify] was always an option, though it was often a bit silly and tedious to keep using it. [Hide presence] was fine too, as long as I didn't push my luck with it, but [Lesser Flame] was no option at all. Unlike [Hide Presence] or [Identify] I didn't feel I could safely use magic at all in another's company. Most of the people in the Fort seemed to be interested in heading in the opposite direction if they saw me. I had to assume that actively practicing magic in front of them might exacerbate this.

I took a break, around the time the kitchen opened for dinner, getting in early to eat and leave as quickly as possible. Aside from Gertrude's attention, I managed to head back up the staircase before I saw much of anyone else, and had the door of my room closed snuggly behind me before I risked the chance of that changing.

Was I being a recluse? Probably, but until I was strong enough to back up the impression of a terrifying [Mage] I figured that might not be a terrible strategy.

Of course, tomorrow, I had already decided that I would seek some further instruction from the Baron. If only to try and receive some information on what my role as the fort's [Mage] might entail (outside of potentially setting things on fire) but that was really the extent of my desire for interaction.

Besides, I was improving at a blistering pace.

Continuing where I had left off earlier in the day, I fell into a routine. Several more hours of looking like a fool swinging a dagger around, and I had regained enough mana to get a short second wind of [Lesser Flame] practice in. If I could have been called anything, it was studious. Or perhaps, efficient.

[Skill - Rank up] - [Lesser Flame - Lvl 4]

Twice in one day.

I could hardly believe it.

Name: John

Title: Summoned Hero*

Class: None

General Skills:

Language of men - Lvl 10 - Passive

Identify Lvl 5 - Active

Special Skills:

Lesser Flame Lvl 4 - Active

Hide Presence Lvl 2 - Active

Void Walker Lvl 1 - Passive

Blessing of Forgotten Gods Lvl 5 - Passive

Status:

Vitality: 18

Endurance: 25

Strength: 22

Dexterity: 22

Intelligence: 45

Wisdom: 52

Health: 50/50

Stamina: 19/20

Mana: 8/100

My reward was immensely satisfying. Though it might have only been a short time since achieving the ability, I'd made the absolute best of it. Not even [Identify] had improved this quickly, and my progress bode well for pushing this farther in the days ahead. My Attributes, combined with diligent practice, were chipping away at my weakness with steady hands.

Still, there comes a time in which a man's mana runs a little too low. When, no matter how they wish for it to increase, no matter how well controlled their breathing is, or how steady their heart continues to thump along beneath their ribs, the magic has to end.

For me, this was late in the night.

Looking out the window, watching the town lights in the distance, I was tempted to go to wander. I'd run my mana down to a dangerous low amount, and I was hardly going to push it further. Just the thought made me feel woozy on a spiritual level, and the idea of swinging my dagger around felt equally exhausting, if for a slightly different reason. But the effects of burning mana at a controlled pace for hours, lingered.

The odd rush, remained. For as long as residual mana was pumping through my veins, sleep seemed distant, perhaps even unobtainable.

I could leave the room, walk the walls, and breathe in the night air. Perhaps, I could search the grounds within the fort for plants to [Identify]...

No.

I soon crushed those stray thoughts. Wandering around in the dark sounded like it was a good way to get into trouble. And while I needed to be as productive as possible, I wasn't sure I needed to be in such a rush that I hurt myself. Every day I was left alone, was another day I could build myself up as I saw fit. After such success with the [Lesser Flame] skill and my Attributes, I had little intention of ruining everything last minute bydoing too much in one day.

I could take my time.

While I wanted to tackle the other problems I'd soon be facing. I wanted to earn a Class, to increase my vitality- to improve, in general. I knew I had to rest. Without rest, I wasn't going to get anywhere.

So, I lay there.

I forced myself, much against my own interests, or so it seemed. Laying there with my eyes clenched shut, with my breathing as controlled as I could keep it: I waited in a trance. I listened to my body, and I visualized the fading and fleeting feeling of mana, residually drifting through my veins. Slowly, surely, drifting off towards a state that was not quite sleep, but not quite awake.

My heart beat settled... then settled further... then further...

Until it almost seemed to stop entirely. Which, I'd like to add, is a troublesome thing to realize. Especially when you've no reasonable explanation as to why.

Time seemed to slow, as I lay there. Trapped in this strange state.

Perhaps, mana is a catalyst.

For how difficult it is to grasp, to use, most people will go their entire lives without even brushing its surface. Even for all my practice, spending the resource at a constant, almost blistering, rate: I could hardly claim to know my way about the mana I had put into use. The resource I'd flooded through my flesh, with hardly a concern for the consequences.

Surely, I could channel it. So long as my mind was focused, I had found a method. Just as I could create a flame. Just as I could manipulate my single, lesser, skill. But I was untrained, and completely without any guidance. I knew little of what I dabbled in, truly.

Magic? Yes, I dabbled in "magic."

I had dipped my toes into the notoriously fickle and dangerous subject, reserved in the fairy tales I knew of, for wizened masters. Many of those who lived for centuries, seeking answers to questions they'd long forgotten. Many of which, who had learned from the masters before them- building upon monuments of knowledge that might pierce the sky itself.

All, while I reached blindly, summoning a fire from the empty vastness of my soul. While I played with concepts and power beyond my understanding.

I knew little what other aspects I might find myself drawing upon. I knew little of what risks come with casting spells, or letting a substance such as mana run through my veins; through my mind. Yet, like a desperate fool, I did it anyways. Lost and clinging to the one thing which might save me. Which might earn me a place in this world, where another's boot was not placed upon my neck.

So, it was: I found myself standing in the dark.

Stone.

Beneath my feet, bare and cold. The chill reached through my skin, never warming to my presence.

There I stood, in the dream.

I knew that was what it was. I knew with certainty I was still on the bed, my eyes closed, my heart slow. I understood that sleep had not yet taken me within its grasp, and I was still present in that small room within the fort.

But, I was also there.

Standing in that cold, horrible, place.

For I could see it now: what it was, where I'd wandered.

As if I had never left. As if I had never risen from my kneeling posture, never risen from the terror I'd felt when a man's voice forced me to my knees.

I found myself before the throne.

Empty and desolate, that great golden form loomed above me. A tower of wealth, scrubbed clean with a wash of blood. The farther I leaned back to stare, the farther it seemed to rise, and yet, I soon found myself climbing.

Step by step, I took myself up those terrible plateaus. I forced myself onward, until my body was weak and tired, and I stared from atop the summit.

The darkness spread for miles. Farther than my eyes could see, all I truly found was ruin. Distance beyond measure, on the edges I could witness the wash of distant wars. Those terrible storms, raging and smoldering on horizon. They fires there brought illumination of jagged borders, lit by so many lives soon lost. By countless souls, wasted by utter destruction.

In my chest, weak as it was, I felt my own fire burn stronger as my anger grew.

How many of those lives had been like mine?

People who were stolen away from their world and sent to die?

How many more would follow after?

I turned back to the throne with fists clenched. Against my better judgement, the rage in my chest was turning violent as I felt the urge to tear this all down.

How many more would have to die for this golden altar- for what purpose were these lives extinguished?

How many more people would be spent and stolen, tossed about like coins to purchase victory?

My magic was alive: as it fed, as it grew. Beckoning me to follow its guidance: sated only by the knowledge that together, we would throw the throne down those wicked steps. That we would melt this unholy relic into slag!

Yet, for all the heat in my chest, and for all the fire in my lungs: as I turned, I felt a chill that gripped me like talons of the coldest winter or the howling wind of the darkest night.

Something familiar waited.

Upon that throne, two eyes watched me.

Regal and terrible: Pitch black as the specter which housed them, those eyes stared at me. Frozen in an expression of cold fury, set above a twisted smile.

"I see you."