Thorin practiced the spell for hours every day. When he ran out of mana, he sat to recover then began casting the spell again. The result of his arduous training bloomed when the Archive gave him the prompt.

  As the

  spell leveled up, the paper-blade Thorin sent out traced a stable arc. It lost its wobble and gained confidence in its attack. Though the blade still ended as a limp petal on its conclusion, without ever licking the blood of its target, Thorin smiled at his success. For the advancement of the spell meant his success rate with its spell model had reached a stable degree. He could use it to meditate now. His strength as a Magus could finally grow.

  When the moon traced its arc at night, Thorin burped after a hearty dinner and sat by the tree behind the shack. He meditated with the

  spell. However, instead of pulling his own mana from his vessel to trace the spell model this time, he attracted the mana outside. The white mist swirled around him. The spell model that the foreign mana fashioned in his soul space refused to activate. It just glimmered in place.

  Soon, Thorin lost himself into the deep meditation and only focused on the spell model hovering before his vessel. When it waned, he dragged the foreign mana again and reinforced it. Perhaps minutes had passed already. At last, the spell model hummed and droned in waves. It latched onto the Paper Arcana and pulled in a cascading glow that showered his soul. This milky hue was the radiation that would make him stronger.

  Thorin maintained his state for as long as he could. Alas, it was his first try at it. Not to mention, the density of mana outside couldn’t support his efforts for long either. The white mist thinned, and he collapsed too. Although the number in his panel stayed the same, he felt his ‘Spirit’ growing. He clenched his fist in victory and ended the meditation with a smile. All he had to do now was to brag about it to his cousins. They’d yet to level-up their spells.

  The night was still young though, and the two were busy with their practice on the other side of the shack. Quin created a deformed axe with each cast of his spell whereas Clay showered the trees with pebbles that shot away from him. He couldn’t disturb them. So, Thorin picked up the hardcover book with a thick spine. ‘Compendium of Contemporary Arcanas,’ its black cover read. That list of stones on the spell shop’s wall told him how inferior his arcanas were. His current situation agreed with it. But he wished to know the why behind it.

  After the introductory page where the compendium bragged about how it had played a vital role in the birth of an arcana, it finally showed him the index. Thorin followed the page number and flipped to the first arcana he wished to check.

  ‘Temperature Arcana,’ the page wrote. ‘A castrated arcana that tried to match the excellence of fire and ice arcanas. In the end, it couldn’t even become their shadow. Because of its inability to affect anyone but the caster, it has earned its ranking among the bottom rung. Not to mention, it’s limited to hot type spell, cold types, and the ability to forecast the weather. Its combination with the space arcana can give it a decent class, the Febricity Enchanter, but otherwise, the arcana is only suited for cooking and checking how good a day would be.’

  Thorin thought of the spell he bought for this arcana and the spells that the shop had. Though there weren’t many choices, almost all followed the same pattern. The spell would begin with the caster. It would either heat him up or chill him. And if supplied with enough mana, the spell would radiate out. The efficiency of attaining that state was abysmal, however. The same amount of mana along with the fire arcana could burn a man to cinders.

  Thorin sighed and moved on to another of his arcana. With this, he at least had a gauge on what to expect.

  ‘Space Arcana: An arcana that could be so much more,’ the compendium read. ‘But because of the risks it poses to our world, all the official guilds have come together to regulate it. Any spell that could touch the fabric of Eldeth has been banned. Any spell that’s left for the Magi are crippled to its neutered form. The arcana is riddled with restrictions. In today’s world, there’s not much that a space-based Magi can do. The only option for their survival is to create storage artifacts.’

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  Thorin fell into deep thoughts. He disliked the guilds who killed his prospects with the arcana. But he also understood why they did it. The conflicting emotions took away his words and only left him with another sigh.

  ‘Potion Arcana: An arcana that has outlived its glorious days. Our world has lived once, and it has died once. Now it’s recovering, but the prosperity of our past is still a distance away from us. Eldeth cannot afford the ingredients for the Potioneers to show their magic right now. Hence, the arcana has fallen from grace and joined the darker shades in the ranking. Unlike the class of Artificer that flourished because the chaos of Exodus didn’t touch their minerals and ores. Perhaps, one day, the potion arcana will return to the whitest shade. All of us who were left behind dearly wish for it.’

  Thorin finished reading and flipped the pages again.

  ‘Paper Arcana: The arcana that was born because of the creation of this compendium. But despite how our bias would like to praise it, its place in the bottom most rung is justified. The arcana is weak at its core. Because of its feeble structure, all its spells fail in combat situations. The only saving grace and the only achievement it has under its belt is that it gave birth to the ever-so-important Scribe class. Without them, we wouldn’t have the stability from the mana-contracts that we have today. Finally, please remember, this compendium was the reason this arcana came to be.’

  Thorin chuckled and went to another page. This was the last of his arcanas. The one he wished to know about the most. After all, the heart that beat in his chest came from this arcana.

  ‘Death Arcana: One of the oldest arcanas that has survived to this day. As long as death is an absolute truth, the arcana will exist. However, the emergence of the Shepherds has pushed this age-old arcana towards its end. It is but a shadow of its past now. And it needs your help, Thorin. Your mother needs your help.’

  The abrupt change in the book startled him. The world greyed again. The biting chill seeped into his flesh and slowed the rush of his blood. A frigid wave doused him, and even his thoughts calmed down. This was the advent of his mother. Yet, the hug he expected from her didn’t come. Instead, the shack before him blurred into a misty forest.

  The blood moon peeked at him through the dense foliage. Its scattered light gleamed in the greyness of the woods. The whispers of the wind carried the gloom of the fog. And the threads of mist licked his skin. The ambience of the forest comforted him, and he accepted the anomaly of his presence here.

  “My child.” The soft words echoed with a distant cackle that ruined its gentleness.

  “Mother,” Thorin murmured.

  Soon, when he thought to take a step forward, a swarm of Ghosts greeted him from the mist. Their tattered cloaks trailed behind them as they hovered by the crowns of the trees. The glimpse under their hood only showed grey rotted skin. They snarled and they grinned. They bared their putrefied fangs and surrounded Thorin. Yet, they left a gap with their hesitation. They reached for him then snatched back their skeletal claws. They growled and they howled at each other. They fought for the spot closest to him, but none could clear the gap.

  “I hope my gift serves you well.” His ‘mother’s’ breathy voice rang in the woods and overwhelmed their hisses.

  Amid their hubbub, a spell model kindled around Thorin. It filled the gap with its curves and bends. The more lines it birthed, the brighter its grey glowed. Finally, when it completed the circuit, the grey world of the forest shattered, and he was back by the shack. The compendium still sat on his knees, and it remained on the page he read before. Only the words it had for the Death Arcana had changed.

  [Spell Extracted from the Death Arcana: Ghostcradle]

  [Spell Added: Ghostcradle]

  [Ghostcradle: Neophyte Level 1/5]

  Thorin took a deep breath and sorted his thoughts while the three sentences faded away. Before dismantling the events of the last few minutes, he rushed into the shack and noted down the new spell model in an empty diary. As he did, as his quill traced its model, his mind wandered to its details.

  It was a spell to capture and enslave the ‘Ghosts’. Once they became his, his wish would be their command. They would obey him even to the extent of their demise. But to cast the spell, Thorin needed to create a ‘cradle’ first. He needed an apt item that could serve as the residence for his ‘Ghosts’. He had to look for it.

  Thorin sighed and halted his quill. The ink spread on the dot. He owed his mother a lot, from his life to his sanity. She would ask for a return on them one day for sure. But for now, he rejoiced with her gift. If he used it well, it could become one of his greatest weapons. Though still, he wished she gave him a warning before dragging him to her place.