After a fitful sleep, clutching a letter opener under his pillow, Ori woke to a knock at his door. A mousy young serving girl entered, then ran through the day’s schedule and gave him a brief tour of the guest wing’s hygiene facilities.

  A warm bath, which Ori wished he could have lingered in, was followed by a nobleman’s breakfast of salty meat, freshly baked bread with butter, and a cold drink that tasted nothing like coffee but seemed to have the same brain-waking effect. He was officially in the best physical state he’d been in for days. Still, butterflies wouldn’t stop churning low in his gut.

  Part of the problem was that he hadn’t worked out what he was going to do. A small seed in his mind refused to believe any of this was real. The artificial environments of the trials had conditioned him to believe none of it was happening, that it was only a magical simulation, a complex dream that would vanish like smoke the moment he left.

  On top of that doubt, Ori felt lukewarm about risking his life and possibly his soul for causes that had little to do with him. Worse was the idea of being a soldier, a pleb on the battlefield, good enough only to take orders and be carried.

  Then there was the Game of Thrones-style political infighting and backstabbing, already giving him anxiety headaches. It was almost enough for Ori to walk away right then and move on to the next and final summoning.

  Almost.

  It would be so easy to be a colossal bellend and soul-bind the thing and then say, ‘Nah mate,’ and run off with the treasure, Ori thought, Freya’s words still in his mind. But is that who I want to be? The person who looks back on life and smiles at what he did, or the one who looks back with nothing but shame and regret? When it came down to it, Ori decided he wanted to try to do the hero thing, to bend his will towards goals beyond his own, at least once.

  “So… time to be a hero, I guess?” Ori murmured.

  “We’re receiving reports that the B-rankers have met with the vanguard of Eltitus the Ravager.”

  “The army of undead stretches from horizon to horizon. Millions, they said.”

  “City walls are scheduled to close at sundown in preparation for martial law.”

  “Even if the Sovereign rankers prove successful, the land throughout Astor will be dead, its earth salted by the undead curse…”

  Ori listened to the din of whispered discussions, his mental state and improved acuities making it easier to follow the conversations and harder to care.

  He stood in a stone vestibule somewhere near the centre of the city after travelling for what must have been an hour in a horse-drawn carriage. His eyes had been glued to the classical stone, European medieval-style architecture of the inner city. He imagined it as grander, cleaner, and more developed than London would have been in such an era, based on what he remembered from history lessons and Tower of London tours. The smells of raw sewage and overripe meat were thankfully absent, presumably dealt with by fantasy-world magic.

  He’d also caught sight of familiar fantasy races, from coal-dark-skinned men and women to a finely dressed, fox-eared gentleman, winged women who seemed less angelic and far more martial, brawny green-skinned men with overlong tusks, and blue-skinned giants and cyclopes who somehow radiated physical might while blending into the crowd as if it were just another Tuesday. Beyond the odd family or merchant packing what they could carry and hurrying against the morning traffic, the city seemed unconcerned, or dangerously unaware.

  “They don’t know, do they?” Ori asked Elray.

  “The council voted against… alarming the public,” Elray sighed.

  Back in the vestibule, escorted by Lavine’s faction of the council and a handful of guards, all Ori could do was wait for Fitzgerald to lead them to the all-but-certain trap.

  “There’s been a change of plans,” Fitzgerald announced as he emerged into the vestibule with his coterie of armoured gentlemen.

  “Fuck’s sake, there it is,” Ori muttered. His plan for this scenario was already set. That morning, before setting off, he and Lady Lavine had gone over the details, from how the soul-binding process would work to where they would meet and perform the ritual. Although Ori’s knowledge of the local surroundings was nonexistent, he had a modicum of common sense.

  At first, he moved with the party through the streets surrounding the official-looking stone keep he’d been waiting in. He slowed his pace so he was nearer the back of the group, then tossed a stone, hoping to misdirect, a by-now finely honed tactic, and used the distraction as they turned onto an intersection. Ori slipped out of the group assembled to guard him and, hopefully, away from Fitzgerald’s betrayal.

  After insisting on a cloak before leaving Lavine’s manor, Ori raised his hood and ran.

  “Excuse me, sir, do you know the directions to the Temple of Zerachiel, the Enlightener?” Ori asked the debonair fox man he’d seen earlier. Wearing a three-piece suit in sharp green plaid, with a bright red tie matching his bristly red mane, the man seemed strangely out of place while also timelessly fashionable.

  “Propel yourself with the mad dash you arrived in, in such a yonder,” the fox man said, gesturing with a nod. His accent carried a strange basso musicality, along with a formality Ori recognised as coming from another language. “And you shall find yourself at the main entrance post haste.”

  “Much obliged. By the way, I dig these threads, dapper boss man,” Ori grinned, then ran, reflecting on the oddness of the encounter.

  Less a temple and more a cathedral, Ori spotted a frazzled Lady Lavine a moment before she saw him.

  “What? Where are the rest?” Lavine asked.

  “No time. We need to leave.”

  “Seraphs help us. No, there is nowhere else to run. You must do it now, while I do what I can,” she replied, handing over an ornate wooden box, about half a metre long.

  “Are you sure?”

  “No, but we’re out of options, and this is our only chance.”

  Ori opened the box. Inside, a wand seemingly made of colourless diamond sat on a velvet pillow. As thick as his thumb at the base, it tapered towards the thickness of a knitting needle at the tip.

  Noonday light poured through stained glass that covered the walls, and even parts of the roof, filling the vast medieval space. As Ori lifted the artefact, it caught the light and threw it back in multicoloured, hyper-faceted radiance that stole his breath. It was a ridiculous piece of jewellery, a delicate-looking diamond, overly long and sparkly, and yet it was the single most beautiful object he had ever seen.

  Then chaos erupted as armed guards barged into the temple.

  “Stop him!” Fitzgerald’s voice echoed, just as a crossbow bolt clanged against a shimmering, translucent barrier. Ori flinched, then ducked behind the pews, crawling for better cover.

  “Ori! Don’t you dare let my daughter’s sacrifice be in vain,” Lavine shouted.

  Ori nodded. It was now or never. His grip tightened on the glass rod as he pushed at the wand with his will, his intent to bond clear in his mind, and the world around him slowed.

  As an unawakened mortal, there was no fancy UI, no magic or spells readily at his fingertips. Ori was left to do this by instinct, feeling his way through the questions and options the process would otherwise have presented.

  I want to soul-bind with you. May I?

  He started with a gentle question, and received… a feeling? Another question in return, or perhaps a challenge?

  I accept, Ori answered.

  If you stumble upon this narrative on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen from Royal Road. Please report it.

  Pressure, and then a familiar radiance flooded through him with the intensity of a sun. It threatened to burn, to purify him in the righteous strictures of celestial order and law. Ori was worthy, but he would not bow to an order imposed upon him. Ori was righteous, but he would rather live in a world with questions and unknown truths than one where the truths could not be questioned.

  It was his will against the formless, mechanical pressure of an artefact that had accepted his worthiness but did not know him as kin. A perfect crystal, as rigid as the lawful codices that governed its formation. As it could never bend, when confronted by a greater will, the wand cracked.

  The crack propagated from base to tip, a schism that reflected another world, another dream like a galaxy trapped in a glass marble. The struggle shifted from his will against the artefact to his will keeping this supposed Immortal-rank wand from breaking apart. Now, within it, his astral chaos was sandwiched by celestial order, with another light just as grand connecting the opposed forces that would otherwise repulse each other. Yet it was Ori’s material mind that saw the cycle it represented, a fundamental aspect of reality: thermodynamics, entropy, the gradient of energy. There could be no power without change, no light, heat, or life without the transition from order to disorder. Working by pure instinct, Ori tried to fuse astral and celestial into something his inner engineer insisted was a perpetual motion machine, while retaining the wand’s original functionality, or as much of it as he could.

  Then something unexpected happened.

  Ah-ha! I knew it would work! Ugh, but it wasn’t supposed to hurt this much. Ugh… wait, what in Seraph’s name are you doing?

  Ori almost lost focus, letting the crack creep another inch as the familiar voice entered his thoughts.

  A little busy here, Ori growled.

  It hurts so much. As a disembodied soul within a phylactery, I shouldn’t feel anything.

  “Please, I really need to focus here,” Ori said, before a flood of soothing energies washed over him. Clarity returned to his overburdened mind, and he refocused.

  Better?

  “Much. What was that?”

  It seems that despite being dead, my soul still has access to my spell constellations… I cast Beacon of Wisdom. Now, if you would be so kind as to stop the pain.

  I think I almost broke it… You, by accident. My energies are trying to split it, er, you… apart, I think.

  How do you… oh… oooh! So, this is the Astral. Don’t tell me I’ve been soul-bonded to one of those icky mind magi. Oh no… oh my. By the Seraphs, you’re a mortal, but what in creation are you?

  I’m the guy trying pretty hard not to let you shatter into a million pieces, Ori grunted.

  Yes, but what are you trying to do? I can see you’re trying to do something, but… hmm? Will that work?

  “Er, you tell me?” Ori asked.

  I don’t really understand how it will work, but I can see why it might… and if it did… oh, wow, woooow. Yes, now I crave to see what happens next. Go on, do it.

  But if it breaks, then you’ll shatter.

  Then don’t let it break, obviously.

  But—

  See here… the presence directed his attention to a part of the wand under strain. “They represent the internal structure of the crystal, part tetragonal, hexagonal and cubic…” The voice streamed on, not especially helpful at first, but it resonated with Freya’s rote knowledge.

  In the end, the advice let Ori structure the astral and celestial forces so they not only balanced, but combined to hold the fractured wand together while passively generating mana.

  It wasn’t perfect. The item’s quality degraded from Immortal to Sovereign rank due to its structural weakness, namely the ginormous crack running from base to tip. Ori could tell it had lost the ‘Immortal Life’ aspect in exchange for becoming an arcane source capable of generating mana, while retaining its original purpose as a channelling wand of Aura, which was just as well.

  Well, how’s that? Ori asked.

  Much better. The pain is gone, so thank you.

  “Yeah. So, what’s next?”

  Yes, well then, I believe we have time for a proper introduction: I am Lady Seraphine of House Searilian, C-rank White Magi of the Chromatic Order, at your service.

  Ori Suba… Astral Adept, and thanks. Also, how to put this… aren’t you supposed to be dead?

  Yes, you are indeed welcome, and well, yes, I suppose that’s a fair question. First of all, apologies for the whole summoning-you-into-a-desperate-situation-and-then-dying business. Couldn’t be helped.

  “Yeah, about that?”

  Hmmm?

  “You’re dead, but you’re still speaking to me?”

  “Indeed.”

  “How?” Ori pressed.

  Well, to be precise, I would be best described as undead, technically. I… well, after my father, a High Yellow Mage at the Sovereign ranks, died facing the Ravager, I realised something we had all missed: we were trying to counter dark magic with light, the classic Dark Lich versus High White Magi conflict. Except the Ravager is something different, less a true practitioner of dark magic in the sense of spirit mastery, and more like High White Magi, especially with their mastery over vitality and lifeforce, making him unbeatable by conventional means, beyond overwhelming him with higher-ranked combatants.

  So I changed tactics, suspecting that at one point Eltitus may have been a White Magi or something similar before becoming a necromancer and a lich. My focus switched to spirits and souls. Previously, I had planned on following my father as a Yellow Magi, daddy’s girl. But as they say, sometimes you must fight fire with fire. Which leads me to now, as a disembodied soul half a step away from becoming a White Lich.

  “White Lich, like the Ravager?” Ori asked.

  Yes. White Magi focus on preserving life and empowering their allies while maintaining a strict adherence to the principles of order. A White Lich extends those principles by reaching into the realms of spirits and the soul.

  “So what, does that make you, like, a good necromancer?”

  Hmmm, I suppose, though I personally have no interest in raising armies of the dead. But resurrection where all parties consent? Warding the spirits of those I care about from death until their bodies can be healed? Unravelling the connection between lifeforce and souls so that I may prevent abominations like Eltitus from ever rising again? These are all things I strive for, and while becoming an Arch White Magi might accomplish some of those goals in time, all I need to complete my class evolution to White Lich is a willing apprentice. Would you happen to be interested? Seraphine asked, a smile clear in her voice.

  Apprentice Lich? I… maybe?

  Oh no, you’d be an Apprentice White Magi. All chromatic mage classes require an apprenticeship for progression. While I’m not sure becoming an Apprentice White Magi would be the perfect fit for your astral affinity, but if it can prevent another fate-cursed purple mage from being born, then I’ve accomplished two good deeds in my unlife instead of one.

  I, like, have no idea what you’re talking about, Ori said, only now realising he had once again bound himself to another being who could speak in his head.

  An understandable response. We’ll discuss this more later, as now I suppose it’s time to return to the present.

  “Yeah, your mother is outside fighting. Is there anything we can do to help?”

  Do not mention anything about my existence to my mother. She will, for lack of a better term, become greatly distressed.

  “Really? You know she really misses—”

  No, I am serious. If I ever ask anything of you, it is this. Don’t tell my mum.

  Alright, for now, but we’ll discuss this when it’s all over, Ori agreed.

  Very well. As for what we should do next? I am keen to see your affinities.

  “And how do I…”

  By using the wand’s Aura Amplification, of course. It’s the innate ability you won by soul-bonding this artefact. Here… With a mental nudge, Seraphine directed him to the source of the ability in a shared mental space. I can use the ability too, but I suspect your celestial comprehension is higher than mine, she concluded.

  The snapping sound of crossbow bolts and arcane missiles, along with the cries and shouts of fighting, were the first discordant sensations to mark Ori’s return to reality. Time hadn’t completely frozen during his soul-bonding experience, but it couldn’t have been long since he’d started. Ozone and woodsmoke clawed at his throat as he tried to steady his breathing, his right fist clenched around the wand while he focused on the ability Seraphine had shown him. It wasn’t complicated, but it was difficult, like making out a silhouette deep in fog or trying to catch a whispered conversation on the Tube. It took time, focus, and then… it clicked. Ori poured his understanding of his affinities into it: passion and determination, knowledge of the light beyond the final light of stars, the stellar wind, the warning of slumber’s dominion, the aurora’s night sky.

  Daylight became starlight. Blue sky was replaced by the dancing edges of dream, and the world stilled. The influences of the celestial were sensed more than seen through the twilight, while something profound and unsettling lurked in the voids between stars. Ori staggered out from the votive altar into the temple’s aisle, eyes fixed upwards on a cathedral roof replaced entirely by a manifestation of his will.

  Good grief, what in Seraph’s name is this? I can’t even comprehend it. Even the library has no name for this. Ori, who are you? Seraphine’s normally exuberant tone had become something awed and unnerved.

  It pulled Ori out of his state and let him process the room. Dozens of soldiers had piled through the entrance, with a beleaguered Lady Lavine taking cover behind a stone pillar beside the pews. Unlike most of the others, whose eyes were locked on the ceiling, she stared at Ori with wide eyes. He nodded once in return.

  “It’s done.” Ori stood in the centre of the aisle, arms apart in a pistol duellist’s ready stance, Seraphine, the wand, angled towards the floor. Even in the corner of his vision, it glowed with the same tingling feeling as the previous wands he’d connected with. It was a comfort to be armed like this again, even though, instead of a minor artefact will, Ori felt Seraphine’s presence within.

  “I will fight Eltitus, but if anybody else here gets hurt, I will leave this realm and your city to its fate,” Ori announced.