For a long mont, neither of us spoke. The only sound was the rustling of the leaves from outside the window as the glow kept spreading, filling the room with shifting ribbons of light that traced the thirty-four branching pathways.
I drew a shaky breath, almost afraid to remove my hand from the Matrix. This must have been a mistake. There wasn’t a single contraption in existence that could predict sothing like this with certainty. Even Saint rin’s Oracle—supposedly blessed by the Aether itself—had been wrong more tis than I could count. The archives were full of flowery prophecies that amounted to nothing but glorified guesswork.
One oracle had once foretold I’d beco the most powerful knight by the age of twenty-four. Well, technically, that turned out to be true. On account of being the only knight left.
Anabeth leaned closer, her face frad by the warm glow of the Matrix. “I didn’t think I’d ever see this. You’re . . . quite extraordinary.” Then she looked up at , and her eyes sparkled with sothing between mischief and genuine admiration. “But of course, if one could carry such formidable breastplates and pauldrons, surely they could carry . . . formidable power.”
Anabeth might know many things, but she knew not the art of subtlety.
Now that the initial shock had ebbed, the air in the room began to settle. The ribbons of light still danced across the walls, but their motion had slowed into sothing steady, almost rhythmic. My pulse finally decided to stop sprinting.
Anabeth straightened her posture, smoothing down the sleeve of her robe, and magically, her usual composure was reclaid. “Well,” she said, “before we start rewriting the entire taxonomy of thaumaturgic profiling, there’s sothing else the Matrix can do.”
There’s more?
She continued, “The Matrix may also approximate your latent intensity with each elent. Consider it a spectral gauge of affinity. The more vivid the glow, the more potent the underlying resonance.”
Her gaze swept over the thirty-four branches, assessing them with clinical scrutiny. “Most of these exhibit comndable brilliance, yet nothing extraordinary.” She paused, eyes narrowing on a singular thread of light that burned far brighter than the rest. “Except . . .”
I followed her gaze to one of the upper branches. The light there was so luminous it could have made a lighthouse blush.
“Lightning, Ser. That is your primary elent. I daresay you possess a touch that would make a lady flinch, especially if they happen to be of befitting elents, like, say, stone.” I had never heard of lightning and stone being compatible elents before.
Her hand drifted over the edge of my gauntlet, brushing the polished steel with the tips of her fingers. She gave a shudder that was obviously over-the-top, as if the very tal had charged her through. “Good heavens,” she murmured, “it’s positively electrifying.”
I said nothing as she brushed her finger over the exact sa spot on my gauntlet once more. “I do wonder,” she murmured, “how one could conceal such subli aetheric potential for so long.”
I didn’t hide it! I literally have never been able to cast a spell!
I said, “Though I claim no mastery of the arcane, witness the fury of my latent might! Tremble, for the storm of my aether courses through unchecked, a force no mortal has yet beheld, and none resist its charm!”
What? Why in the Saint’s puckerhole did I phrase my words like that?
Anabeth stared at for the longest ti, then leaned in with a feline smile, her head coming to rest lightly against the side of my armor. “Oh, Ser,” she purred, “I very much do not intend to resist.”
Saints preserve , she trembled all right.
This was definitely not what I had intended. I was very much into the mature sort, and definitely not the sort who were still in the academy.
‘Lady Anabeth,’ I scrambled for words, ‘you have been terribly mistaken. I am in no way attempting to insinuate indecency. You have your education to return to, and I must continue my travels across the lands.’
I said, “Be it known! Any who dare linger in the shadows of my aura, and yet remain uninitiated in the arts of life’s rigor, are hereby challenged! Dare abandon your tutelage if you possess the courage, and witness the storm of aether and destiny firsthand!”
I give up. This is the destiny Saint rin has chosen for .
Anabeth’s eyes sparkled. “Ah, I would gladly . . . for the next month, of course, for I am on academic leave. But Ser Henry, the last occasion I absconded from my family’s strict oversight, my companion has incidentally been erased from the face of the Earth. But surely this ti it will be vastly different.”
I almost choked on air. She must belong to one of the most formidable houses in the realm. Her family would never allow their daughter to vanish at the whim of so wandering knight.
The consequences were imdiate and horrifying in my imagination: emissaries with polished blades, letters of accusation drenched in venomous ink, duels at dawn, exiles, curses, confiscations of all my equipnt, perhaps even magical bindings that would leave little more than a twitching husk. There was nothing to be gained from this arrangent.
Task Completed: Determine your Aetheric Profile (Path of the Earthen Aegis)
Boon: 1 RES (Succeed!)
I had done it. My first RES. I did not feel any change within , but I was sure it was there.
New Task Acquired: Commitnt to the Path (Path of the Earthen Aegis)
Objective: Travel to a new town with your new companion, Lady Anabeth
Boon: New Active Skill: Static Surge (Level 1 — Lightning Spell)
Effect: Channel an electrical static into a tal conduit to deal upward of 30 ATK on top of existing damage
Cost: 5 AP
Cooldown: 30 seconds
This deals twice as much damage as my weapon! And this is only Level 1?
I found my eyes drawn back to Anabeth. She was leaning against the edge of the Matrix console now, one hand tucked neatly behind her, the other resting lazily on her hip, and she was smiling. She had not a simple smile, mind you, but one of those smiles that seed too knowing, too poised, as if she had glimpsed the future and found it amusing.
Her eyes caught mine, wide, uncanny and luminous. I couldn’t look away as she spoke in her most deliberate, perfectly enunciated, entirely graceful tone, “I am hungry. Do you eat corn, Ser Henry? I want corn.”
An impossible thought slithered through my mind: Perhaps this—whatever this is—has been destined from the very beginning.
She was my ticket out of uselessness. A gift from the Saints. I couldn’t possibly refuse now.
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