“Crap, is that safe?”

  “Excellent question! I have no idea!” Psai says helpfully.

  The portal door pulses, its surface rippling. It waits, beckoning her to step into its unknown depths. Reaching out with a nervous hand, she gingerly touches the surface. A strange sensation washes over her skin, not pain exactly, but pressure, as though pressing through something not quite solid. A chill runs through her, leaving her skin tingling.

  “I’m not sure about this,” Wyn says, pulling her hand back.

  “Do you wish to train or not?” Lothran says, his voice coming from within the void of the portal door.

  Wyn exhales slowly and steps back, shaking out the tension in her arms. She’s spent enough time in Eden now to know that hesitation rarely leads anywhere good, but that doesn’t make moments like this easier. Magic, real magic, still unsettles her. Every new spell, every strange mechanic, reminds her just how deep this world goes.

  That depth thrills her. It also terrifies her.

  The more she learns, the more she realizes how much she doesn’t know; how many systems, rules, and hidden interactions lie just out of reach. If she wants to grow, truly grow, there’s no avoiding that discomfort.

  All the more reason to press on.

  With one last shake of her arms, Wyn closes her eyes and steps forward.

  The ground vanishes.

  Her stomach lurches as she begins to fall. Wind rushes past her ears as the portal door recedes far above, shrinking rapidly against an endless backdrop of dark violet nothingness. Wyn’s breath catches in her throat as panic spikes.

  She’s just about to scream when the fall slows.

  The descent becomes gentle, as though something unseen has noticed her distress and decided to intervene.

  Taking a shaky breath, Wyn looks around. Lothran stands a short distance below her, balanced effortlessly on what appears to be nothing at all. Only when Wyn squints does she notice the faintest reflective sheen beneath him, like polished glass laid over empty space.

  She adjusts her body midair, angling her feet downward. When they touch the surface, it holds. Wyn stumbles forward half a step, then straightens and fixes Lothran with a withering glare.

  He chuckles. “Oh, that never gets old. Welcome to our little slice of the void, Wyn.”

  “You’re almost as bad as this weird guy I met in the market,” she says.

  That gets his attention.

  “Oh?” Lothran says, tilting his head. “And who would that be?”

  “This guy named Blintsy. Very strange man.”

  For just a moment, Lothran stills. It’s subtle, easy to miss, but Wyn catches it. His expression doesn’t change, but something behind his eyes sharpens.

  “Ah,” he says after a beat. “Yes. I know him.”

  “You do?” Wyn asks. “He didn’t exactly scream ‘well-connected.’”

  Lothran lets out a muted huff of amusement. “Blintsy is… challenging. But useful in certain situations. Just don’t get on his bad side.”

  Wyn raises an eyebrow. “What, the treasure hunter will smite me or something?”

  “Precisely.”

  She waits for more. None comes.

  Wyn glances at Psai, but the orb merely floats, unhelpfully silent. She sighs. People in Eden really love being vague.

  “So,” she says, gesturing at the endless space around them, “what is this place, anyway?”

  “This is a pocket dimension,” Lothran says, already turning away as though the explanation is trivial. “Sometimes, places like these are referred to as Voidspace. I had it installed here at great expense for training purposes some time ago. Within it, your essentia will not run dry, and you can practice without consequence.”

  Wyn’s eyes light up. “That’s amazing! So you can just power level here?”

  Lothran chuckles, shaking his head. “No. You can experiment, refine your spells and test your limits. But experience gained here lacks the weight of true combat. Skills learned without risk never quite settle the same way.”

  “That doesn’t make any sense,” Wyn says, frowning as she steps closer. “If I’m doing the same thing—”

  “It’s one thing to possess talent,” Lothran interrupts, “and another to apply it under pressure. Those who rely solely on controlled environments like this crumble when reality pushes back. Real-world combat experience is always superior to theoretical practice.”

  “This is not the real world, Hall Master Lothran,” Psai says.

  He rolls his eyes. “You know what I mean.”

  Before Wyn can press further, Lothran continues. “Now. We’ll discuss the core concepts of your new class, and the ideas of spellweaving before attempting some practical application.”

  “Perfect,” she says. “Let’s begin.”

  Lothran gestures, and the air beside him ripples. A narrow table of pale light appears out of nowhere, its surface etched with faint geometric lines that shift when Wyn looks too closely.

  “Spellweaving is not spellcasting,” he says, resting a hand on the table. “The pair share some similarities, yet there are disparities that render them disparate practices. Most mages struggle with spellweaving for this reason.”

  Wyn folds her arms, already leaning forward. “What’s the difference?”

  “A simple question with a complicated answer,” Lothran replies. “Spellcasting is applying existing spells onto the world with your force of will, bending reality to fulfill your needs. Spellweaving is more like negotiating with reality to impose your will upon it.”

  “That sounds like the same thing with fancier words.”

  He smiles thinly. “That assumption is why most mages fail at becoming proper spellweavers. It’s why I abandoned the practice myself and focused on traditional spellcasting.”

  Lothran taps the table, and a single glowing sigil appears between them. It is simple, almost disappointingly so. Wyn examines it, finding the shape of the glyph to be familiar.

  Glyph: Containment

  Description: A glyph designed to hold high concentrations of Essentia within it.

  Wyn recalls where she’s seen this before: on the surface of essences. Thinking even further back to her first time within Lothran’s Hall, the large essentia battery hanging in the entryway had a similar glyph etched into its crystalline surface.

  “Fascinating…” Wyn says, admiring that her new class now allows her to examine the structure of spells and glyphs. She must experiment with that later.

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  “Most spells rely on fixed structures,” Lothran continues. “Symbols, runes, incantations, glyphs, and other forms of traditional spellcasting all create predictable outcomes. In contrast, spellweaving centers on connections. The conditions and dependencies between a spell and the greater context of reality truly guide the core ideas of spellweaving.”

  Wyn does her best to understand what he’s saying, but already her head is swimming trying to make sense of it. But she doesn’t interrupt Lothran, knowing how much that would upset him.

  “Think of it this way. This glyph does not hold power only because it is drawn correctly. It holds power because the underlying rules of magic ingrained in this world agree that it should.”

  Wyn squints. “You’re saying the spell works because reality expects it to?”

  “More or less.”

  “That’s unsettling, and quite confusing.”

  “Spellweaving often is. You are no longer just imposing your will upon reality, but manipulating the fabric of existence to suit your needs. It is a dangerous but rewarding path to follow if done correctly.”

  He steps back and gestures for her to approach. “Now. Tell me what you see.”

  Wyn studies the glyph. At first, it looks like a typical containment glyph like she’s seen before, albeit less stable. It flickers faintly, feeling as though the lines within the glyph are about to burst, but somehow it never does. Then she notices a series of faint threads branching out from it, barely noticeable in her magically attuned senses. They stretch into the surrounding space, anchoring themselves to nothing in particular.

  “It’s connected,” she says slowly. “Not just to itself but to the space around it.”

  Lothran’s brow furrows. “Go on.”

  “It’s like it’s borrowing stability from the environment. It’s not drawing on essentia exactly, but something else. The discordant aspects of the spell are willing the environment to allow its existence somehow,” Wyn says, scratching her head. “Or something like that.”

  Something shifts in his expression. Though he tries to hide it, a mix of pride and fear crosses his usually unfeeling expression.

  “Impressive. Most spellweaving apprentices do not see it so quickly,” he says.

  Wyn shrugs, though her pulse quickens. “It feels obvious.”

  “Then let us test if you truly understand.”

  With a flick of his wrist, Lothran alters the glyph. The lines tighten into a stable form, matching exactly what Wyn remembers seeing in traditional glyphs.

  “Break it,” he says.

  Wyn blinks. “Just break it?”

  “You have infinite essentia here,” he reminds her. “Try.”

  Considering her options, Wyn decides to use her new Transmute Essentia skill to destabilize the spell. She reviews the ability in her menus to make sure she understands it fully before attempting to break the glyph.

  Ability: Transmute Essentia — Uncommon

  Description: Allows the caster to alter the affinity of stored essentia through alchemical or arcane means, provided the correct ingredients are used. Transmutation is inherently unstable, resulting in partial essentia loss.

  She focuses on the essentia held within the glyph, attempting to transmute the essentia into something unstable. It resists, solid and stubborn. She increases the pressure, but the glyph holds strong.

  “That is the expected result,” Lothran says. “It would be nearly impossible for you to break the glyph with your limited experience. Something for you to work on, no doubt.”

  Wyn frowns. “Nearly impossible? Hmph. We’ll see about that.”

  Wyn exhales and adjusts her approach. If she understood Lothran correctly, Spellweaving is more about context than traditional spellcasting, so if she’s going to break this glyph as a spellweaver, she can’t just attack it.

  Instead of pushing harder, she loosens her grip. She imagines the space around the glyph shifting, becoming less supportive of the spell’s existence. Essentia flows from Wyn into the surrounding area, saturating it with a higher density of essentia than is typical.

  The air hums with energy. Lothran watches on with shock.

  The glyph wavers, its lines blurring as though uncertain. A hairline fracture appears, then another. With a soft, almost apologetic sound, the sigil collapses in on itself and vanishes in twinkling lights.

  Lothran stares.

  “That should not have worked,” he mumbles.

  Wyn looks at her hands. “I didn’t think that would work,” she says. “I just made the glyph uncomfortable.”

  For a long moment, Lothran says nothing. He steps closer to where the glyph had been. “Again,” he says at last.

  They repeat the exercise this time with a shielding spell; then with a reinforcement ward. Each time, Wyn struggles at first, then adjusts. She stops forcing outcomes and starts adjusting the conditions that allow the spell to exist. The magic responds more readily each time, less resistant to her influence as she grows in experience.

  A soft chime echoes through the pocket dimension.

  Ability Unlocked

  Ability: Arcane Tension — Uncommon

  Description: Your understanding of magical relationships has deepened. You may now manipulate the stability of active spells by subtly altering their surrounding conditions.

  Lothran’s jaw tightens. “That ability,” he says slowly, “should not have been that simple to unlock.”

  Wyn looks up at him. “Is that bad?”

  “No,” he says, then hesitates. “It is… unexpected.”

  He closes his book with more force than necessary and exhales through his nose. “Spellweavers do not simply learn faster,” he says. “They learn sideways. For anyone not naturally gifted in the craft, it can be rather… infuriating to watch.”

  Wyn smiles despite herself. “That sounds like a compliment.”

  “It is,” he admits after a moment. “And a concern.”

  She tilts her head. “For you?”

  “For anyone tasked with keeping such a mage properly guided.”

  Wyn shrugs, feeling Lothran’s gaze on her. Lothran watches her with an expression she cannot quite place.

  “I’m just doing what feels right.”

  “Yes,” he says. “That is precisely the problem.”

  Lothran steps away from Wyn, his boots clicking softly against the reflective surface. With a slight gesture, the light table dissolves, its geometry folding in on itself until the pocket dimension returns to stillness.

  “That is enough for today,” he says.

  Wyn blinks. “Already?”

  “You have learned what I am capable of teaching you here,” Lothran replies, his tone even. “And perhaps a bit more than I intended.”

  She opens her mouth to argue, then hesitates. The truth sits uncomfortably in her chest. The exercises already feel less like lessons and more like glimpses, teasing at the possibilities of her new class without unveiling them entirely.

  She lowers her hands, still tingling with magic. “It feels like I just started,” she says. “Like I barely touched anything.”

  Lothran nods once. “Exactly.”

  He retrieves the Class Dictionary again, thumbing through it with a distracted air.

  “You pick up patterns quickly,” he says without looking at her. “Faster than most. You also ask the wrong questions.”

  Wyn bristles. “Wrong how?”

  “You want clear direction,” he says. “Certainty. Spellweaving does not reward that. It rewards those willing to accept unstable answers.”

  “Is that a problem?”

  “It is,” Lothran says flatly. “To institutions, true spellweavers are difficult to control, and harder still to understand. Frankly, the Consortium Archmage frowns upon teaching spellweaving outside specific circumstances because of this.”

  That gives her pause.

  He looks up, studying her carefully. “Tell me something,” he says. “When you encountered the undead goblins, did their magic feel like spellweaving or traditional casting?”

  Wyn frowns, surprised by the sudden shift in conversation. “I’m not sure. I didn’t see the necromancy being cast. All I know is that it was powerful, and very dangerous. Far beyond anything I’ve experienced.”

  Lothran’s fingers tighten around the book.

  “And the Dead Queen?” he asks.

  Wyn hesitates, then answers. “Whatever she is, she’s in the mountains. If you gave me a map, I could pinpoint it. There’s a cave on a prominent ridge west of the main road. Rennick, a dwarf I was traveling with, said she felt like some sort of powerful, intelligent undead.”

  Silence stretches between them.

  “That confirms certain suspicions,” Lothran mutters, more to himself than to Wyn. He turns away, already flipping pages, his attention drifting back to whatever problem has been gnawing at him since before she arrived.

  After a moment, he stops.

  “Anyway, you cannot continue your training here,” he says.

  Wyn stiffens. “Did I do something wrong?”

  “No. I cannot give you what you need,” he replies. There is no irritation in his voice now, only frustration. “Spellweaving requires a perspective and expertise I do not possess.”

  She studies him. Beneath the authority and composure, she can see it now: the edge of wounded pride. The discomfort of a man who prides himself on mastery, faced with a student who is already moving beyond him. While Lothran is far her superior when it comes to traditional spells, her natural ability in spellweaving already exceeds his own.

  “Then what do I do?” she asks.

  “You go north. Beyond the Empire and into the frigid wastes of Alyn Thalas. The hidden city of Ankhamel lies hidden there, and within it, a Spellweaver who has survived long enough to earn the title of master.”

  “Who?” Wyn asks.

  “Lysanthin Aegeros,” Lothran says. “If anyone can teach you how to survive your own potential, it is him.”

  A familiar chime echoes through the pocket dimension.

  Quest: The Spellweaving Master

  Description: At the recommendation of Hall Master Lothran Tilowey, journey north beyond the northern border of the Human Empire into the Snowy Tundra of Alyn Thalas to find the hidden city of Ankhamel. Therein, the legendary Spellweaver Lysanthin Aegeros awaits. Convince him to train you so you may learn the skills necessary to advance your class from Apprentice Spellweaver.

  Objectives:

  Journey to Alyn Thalas: 0/1

  Find the hidden city of Ankhamel: 0/1

  Convince Lysanthin Aegeros to train you in the art of Spellweaving: 0/1

  Rewards:

  Class Upgrade: Adept Spellweaver

  “And what if he refuses?” she asks.

  A faint, humorless smile touches Lothran’s lips. “Then you will learn something far more valuable.”

  “What’s that?”

  “How dangerous you truly could be without guidance.”