Kor’s worn leather boot echoed in the cavernous expanse of the Archive. Students brushed past as he halted in the walkway. The air thickened, mana condensing around him like a shroud, its palpable presence a familiar weight; Ether’s unwavering attention.
“Ether? I’m here for—”
A cool, tingling wave of energy washed over him, cutting his words short. The familiar bookshelves of the entrance hall dissolved into a dizzying kaleidoscope of colours. His stomach lurched as the world spun, and he stumbled, blindly reaching for a nonexistent handhold.
“—the next challenge,” he finished, his voice unsteady. The swirling chaos subsided, leaving him in the stark stillness of an unfamiliar pentagonal chamber.
Dark, smooth stone walls rose around him, faintly illuminated by bluish mage lights clinging to the edges like luminous moss. Their dim glow cast long, dancing shadows that writhed with an eerie life of their own. The air hung heavy and stagnant, the mana sluggish and unresponsive – a stark contrast to the vibrant energy of the Archive’s main hall. Dominating the space, a large, intricate shape was carved into one of the walls.
“Didn’t realise you could teleport us anywhere inside,” Kor muttered, shaking his head to dispel the lingering dizziness. A wry smile touched his lips. “For some reason, I thought that was just a trick you used in the stacks.” His chuckle echoed hollowly in the confined space.
A silent vibration tickled the back of his mind – Ether’s amusement. It pulled away, its awareness a subtle pressure against his consciousness, granting him room to focus. Kor imagined the ancient spirit observing him with patient curiosity, like a scholar examining a particularly intriguing specimen.
“Right. An empty room and a wall with a strange shape carved out of it.”
His boots echoed softly on the stone floor as he approached the wall. With a practiced gesture, he pushed his round, bronze-rimmed glasses back up his nose and peered at the carving.
“Terra said this test would most likely feature my specialisation.”
His frown deepened as he focused on the intricate form before him. It resembled an umbrella, reaching from the foot of the wall and towering up a dozen feet. Its structure was complex, repetitive. “Definitely a fractal,” he concluded, a spark of excitement igniting within him.
“I assume I need to fill it in?” he asked the silent room, already drawing on his mana, the familiar surge of power a comforting warmth.
“What kind of base form do I need to start with to create an umbrella?” he said, his mind racing, calculating. “It’s narrow at the bottom, slowly branching out. Should be simple enough.”
With the precision of a seasoned mathematician, he visualised the seed form, a basic line extending upwards. Matching the deviation perfectly, however, proved more challenging. He couldn’t picture the entire complex shape in his mind, only its start and the rules governing its growth.
“The splitting angle has to be just right,” he muttered, his brow furrowed in concentration.
A thick line of mana, shimmering with a faint bronze light from the trim on his student robes, formed against the wall, holding the base in place. He carefully adjusted the branching angle. “Perhaps 25 degrees.”
With a sharp nod, he released the fractal, infusing the base with his mana. The recursion kicked off, the first line dividing in two, shooting upwards, then each of those lines splitting again and again. The shape unfurled in a mesmerising dance of light and energy. Two realisations struck Kor in quick succession.
It’s a tree, not an umbrella, he thought with a touch of self-deprecating humour, and I’ve misjudged the branching angles.
Within seconds, the glowing form outgrew the mould, its branches extending beyond the carved boundaries. He instantly recalled his mana, the light collapsing inward, leaving the room dim once more.
“Second time’s the charm.” He corrected his mistake, changing the angle to fit as he held the spellform ready.
This time, the fractal bloomed with controlled precision, filling the mould almost perfectly. As the final branches filled out, their tips glowing with a soft, ethereal light, the stone wall dissolved, revealing another five-sided room.
He stepped through, blinking in the slightly brighter light. This chamber was similar to the first, but instead of an empty space, each of the remaining walls held a different fractal carving. A triangular variant with sharp, familiar angles reminded him of the snowflake barrier he relied on.
A square, recursive pattern, each smaller square mirroring the larger one, was a design he recognised from his studies. A circular fractal, swirling and intricate, was a design he’d never encountered before, complex and captivating. And finally, a strange, chaotic jumble of colours, jagged and abstract, like a piece of modern art.
“If the test is to spot the non-fractal, that’s easy,” Kor said, his voice regaining its confident edge. His footsteps echoed with measured deliberation as he walked towards the art-like wall.
“What do I need to do?” he wondered aloud, reaching out to touch the cool, smooth stone that held the image. The surrounding energy churned in response. A sudden surge of power, a brief, intense flash of red light, and stark shadows danced wildly across the chamber.
Something materialised in the centre of the room, coalescing out of thin air with a faint whirring sound.
It was a small, ball-like shape with an angular, metallic torso growing out of it, reminiscent of a simplified mechanical golem. Its hard lines echoed the fractal forms, yet remained utterly distinct. Two glowing red eyes snapped open, their gaze cold and calculating.
Kor’s body jerked, adrenaline surging through him as the mechanical creature swivelled its torso, red eyes locking onto him with chilling intensity. He instinctively called his snowflake barrier into existence, the recursive pattern materialising just in time to meet a pulse of white-hot energy. It slammed into his shield with a deafening crack, fracturing the intricate, icy structure.
“Void it,” he muttered, heart hammering. “That probably wasn’t the right answer.”
Frantically, he charged a fractal bomb, his mind racing. The snowflake barrier strengthened itself, the recursive nature of the fractal kicking in, reinforcing the damaged sections. The creature hadn’t moved, but a malevolent glow emanated from its core, power building once more. Kor pushed forward, bomb primed and ready, as another searing blast struck. This time, the strengthened fractal held, deflecting the energy with a shower of icy sparks.
Let’s hope it stays put, he thought, sweat trickling down his temple.
Within range now, he conjured the explosive directly beneath the creature’s circular base, flooding it with mana. His focus split three ways: maintain the barrier, pump the bomb with an enormous amount of mana, and contain the volatile energy within the fractal structure. The creature, its metallic body gleaming under the mage lights, looked tough, and powered up for another attack. He held on for two agonizing seconds, pouring his power into the attack even as his control buckled under the pressure. In the blink of an eye, his fractal bomb tore free, expanding exponentially.
The explosion was blinding. A flash of white light forced his eyes shut, the shockwave slapping against his shield like a physical blow. The air filled with the acrid smell of ozone and the ringing sound of overstressed magic. That had to hurt, he thought, a sliver of hope piercing his anxiety. He pulled his glasses away, rubbing his dazzled eyes. He’d poured nearly a third of his mana into that attack...
Help support creative writers by finding and reading their stories on the original site.
Another blast rocked him back, his boots skidding on the smooth stone. His eyes widened in alarm, and he quickly reinforced the snowflake, the fractal pattern glowing brighter as he channelled more mana into it.
As the glare faded, his stomach dropped. The mechanical creature stood undamaged, its metallic surface gleaming. “Void it!” he exclaimed, frustration tightening his voice. “What’s that thing made of?”
Scrambling, he extended his mana sense, probing the construct, searching for any weakness. No mana? he thought incredulously. His senses swept over every inch of the creature, seeking any hint of magical energy, as another blast tore into his shield. The barrier held, but the strain was beginning to show.
“Down to half,” he frowned, feeling the drain on his reserves.
“There!” His mana sense latched onto the faintest emanation, an almost imperceptible energy signature deep within the creature. With no external mana signature of its own, there was nothing to stop him from feeling inside...
He didn’t hesitate. He visualised another fractal bomb, this time creating it within the hollow space inside the creature’s torso. It fired another futile beam, the energy splashing against his shield, before finally succumbing to his second explosive. He closed his eyes, a grim smile touching his lips as the satisfying sound of metal ricocheting off his barrier filled the room. The sound of victory.
He breathed a sigh of relief, dropping his shield. Scrap metal littered the edge of the floor, twisted and blackened. He turned to face the wall that had rejected him, the one with the abstract, art-like fractal.
“This wasn’t the right choice?” The words were barely audible, a mutter of confusion. He ran a hand through his dishevelled hair, brow furrowed. Stepping closer, he scrutinised the pattern, tilting his head this way and that, as if a different angle might reveal its secrets.
He’d seen countless variations of fractals, intricate and complex, but this was new. Its sporadic nature, seemingly random and chaotic, reminded him of the unpredictable growth patterns of mould. However, the longer he stared, the more he realised his haste. He’d let the unfamiliar appearance fool him.
The forms fractals could take were nearly infinite. Just because this looked different didn’t make it a non-fractal. Now that he recognised his mistake, he could feel the subtle resonance emanating from its form, the telltale signature of its true nature.
Shaking his head at his own foolishness, he moved to the other depictions, apprehension replaced by renewed determination. Studying them carefully, they soon revealed their natures. The square, with its clear recursive pattern, was undeniably a fractal. The circle, too, despite its less common shape, possessed the necessary qualities.
That left the triangular recursion. If all of them were fractals, he’d have to rethink the puzzle entirely. However, almost instantly, he recognised the subtle deviations, the lines just slightly dissimilar in length – a clear indication of a false fractal. Easy to miss at a distance, but he wasn’t fooled this time.
Kor reached out, his fingers brushing against the surface of the false fractal. The second wall crumbled away, dissolving into nothingness.
“Another room?” he grumbled, stepping through the newly formed opening, his shoulders slumping with exhaustion. Ether’s presence still lingered, a silent, amused spectator.
“How many of these are there?” he muttered. The Archive didn’t respond, though he could sense its amusement, a gentle ripple in the surrounding mana.
Another five-sided room greeted him, this time with pedestals in front of four walls. Each pedestal held a book, their leather covers worn and ancient, resting on faded velvet cushions.
He stepped further into the pentagonal chamber, his gaze sweeping over the four pedestals bathed in the soft glow of the mage lights. Each book beckoned him forward with the promise of knowledge. Would this be a second Logos for him? His heart quickened with anticipation as he drew close to the first.
The book’s cover was a vibrant green, pulsing with the energy of nature. Intricate fractal patterns adorned its surface: branching trees, spiralling seashells, the delicate veins of leaves, all rendered in exquisite detail. No words marred the natural beauty of the cover, only the silent language of the forms themselves. He reached out, drawn by the intricate artistry, but held back at the last moment, his fingers hovering above the smooth, cool exterior.
Perhaps I shouldn’t be too hasty, he thought, caution cutting through his excitement. He still hadn’t recovered his mana, and recklessness had already cost him. Best to look at each before doing anything precipitous.
The next book was a mesmerising swirl of deep purples and inky blacks, a dance of colours that reminded him of the starry sky back home. He could almost picture himself lying on the soft grass, gazing up at the expanse of the cosmos, a million pinpricks of light scattered across the velvety darkness. The connection to fractals was less obvious here, more subtle, but intriguing nonetheless. The patterns seemed to shift and flow, defying easy categorisation.
The third book resembled a collection of mathematical sketches, a precise and orderly arrangement of lines and angles. The fractal forms, unlike any found in nature, were meticulously measured out, their forms abstract and purely theoretical. Both his parents had drawn diagrams like this, filling countless pages with their calculations, but it was his mother who held the true love for shapes, her passion evident in every stroke.
It stirred memories of his childhood, of watching his parents work, their brows furrowed in concentration. The compulsion to grab the book, to feel its familiar weight in his hands, was almost overwhelming. No, he told himself firmly. I need to consider all the options.
Pulling himself away with a visible effort, he moved to the last pedestal, his gaze drawn to the final book. This one instantly snatched his attention. The grid-like exterior, covered with shapes he recognised from his research into durable fractals. Intricate, recursive forms, akin to the complex structures of buildings he’d seen in textbooks, interlocked and reinforced one another, creating a sense of impenetrable strength.
Barriers? he mused, mind buzzing. Perhaps the strongest aspect of his magic, the one area where he truly excelled. This book looked like it specialised in creating fractals that would not easily break – patterns designed for resilience and endurance. If he chose this, would it allow him to push his barriers further, to become utterly impregnable? Many of the other students held enough firepower to overcome even his toughest creations, their raw power overwhelming his defences. But perhaps with this...
His thoughts trailed off as he considered the options, weighing them in his mind. Talen would appreciate the nature book, with its focus on organic forms, but that clearly wasn’t for him. The second tome, the one that evoked the cosmos, intrigued him with its seemingly random, almost chaotic fractals. They felt just beyond his grasp, like a puzzle he couldn’t quite solve.
But it was the third and fourth books that pulled most strongly, tugging at his core desires. The mathematical book, a siren song of familiarity, whispering of his first love of maths, his connection to his parents, and the comforting embrace of the known. Then there were the barriers. They were his strength, his specialty. With this choice, he might truly carve out a niche for himself, become indispensable. In group fights, like the upcoming expedition, he’d be an unassailable bulwark, a living fortress.
Without conscious thought, he found himself drifting back towards the final book, drawn in by an almost magnetic force. The knowledge it held called to him, the secrets of structural fractals, waiting to be unlocked. He reached out, his hand hovering over the cover, his breath held tight in his chest.
“Don’t be in such a rush, Kor,” Lentus’ soporific voice drifted over without warning.
“Tortoise? When did you wake up?”
“A few rooms ago. In any case, did you forget why you came here?”
“To complete Ether’s test?” he asked, mentally rolling his eyes.
“No. Why do you need to complete the test?”
“So I can learn more about Chaos theory and develop my new spell...” Even as he said it, he realised what Lentus was getting at. The two books he was focused on weren’t the right choice. Not for his purpose, at least. Either of them would serve him well, expand his knowledge, but it was the chaotic patterns of the second book, the unknown quality to them, that held the key to his current goal.
“Thank you, Lentus.” he thought, a hint of sheepishness in his mental tone.
“You’re welcome. Just stop calling me Tortoise. You’ll find out why soon enough now.”
“You’ve been changing lately. Other than waking, more often I mean.”
“With your developing power, I’m regaining an understanding of who I am. My past lives…”
“Well, I don’t think living multiple times is normal. Not that I’m suddenly some kind of magical expert.”
“No, you’re right. It’s not common.” Lentus’ focus shifted, his attention fading away as Kor refocused.
He grinned, turning his attention to the second pedestal, his heart pounding with a mixture of trepidation and excitement. “I hope this doesn’t lead to another robot battle,” he muttered, swallowing down a surge of anxiety. He reached out to the swirling cover, its unknown fractals seeming to welcome him, their depths promising new discoveries, as he raised it up.
A swirl of energy from behind signalled the disappearance of the other books, their forms dissolving into motes of light. Another object materialised on a newly formed pedestal in the centre of the room. Kor clutched his new book to his chest, a shield against the unknown, as he walked over, curiosity battling with unease.
“You really like pedestals, don’t you, Ether?” His voice echoed in the silent chamber.
This pedestal held a small sphere, no larger than a snow globe. Inside its glassy exterior, an amorphous mass of magical energy pulsed and swirled, a kaleidoscope of shifting colours, seemingly waiting for a stimulus, for a purpose.
With a last check around the room, confirming that nothing else had changed, he decided to take a moment. Well, it’s not like I’m in a rush, he reasoned. He sat down, his student robes crinkling softly as he settled onto the cool stone floor. With a sense of reverence, he opened the cover of his new book, his fingers tracing the strange, almost alien patterns.
What wisdom did its pages hold? What secrets of chaos theory lay within? He took a deep breath, hand reaching out for the cover.
