I stood ramrod straight beside my bed, time itself a foreign object that never quite brushed against my ears. Yet the artificial sunlight—spilling across my mattress with the deceptive certainty of a nine o'clock morning—insisted otherwise.
"You need to focus your prana within your body, then let it flow, slow and steady, to your fingertips. Picture that black sphere—tight, dense, solid," Erin whispered, his voice threading through the hush.
I thrust my hand forward, straining with every fiber—willing the prana to surge into my palm. Veins bulged along my hand and temple, threatening to burst through skin. My breath caught, heart pounding a war drum's rhythm. But instead of a black sphere, only exhaustion gathered, heavy and thick, clinging to the ends of my fingers.
"That's why you can't just snap your fingers and expect Arete to obey." Erin said, his words floating in the air, light as mist. "Unlike ordinary magic, which only asks you to follow a handful of rules, Arete demands a single, absolute law—and you have to swallow it whole, down to the bone."
"You have to truly know your own Arete—as if you're reading the grand book of your life, cover to cover. When you grasp what's written on every page, its principles, its purpose—then Arete becomes child's play," his continued, and suddenly, he seized control of my body, as if I were nothing more than a marionette dangling from his strings.
I was swept back into that chamber within my mind. The room was much the same as always—except now, a plush sofa beckoned invitingly, and before me, a giant screen mirrored the outside world, showing everything my body saw.
"Watch closely," Erin intoned, eyes closed, his voice echoing through the chamber. "When you channel prana, you'll feel something pulse and spark inside you. That's the Periplus. Then, draw the prana to the spot you want—let it out, slow and steady, then compress it."
"And when you compress it, pour every scrap of data about your Arete into it—its shape, its essence, even the tiniest detail you know. Let all that information and reason flood the prana as it flows out. Once it all fuses together…"
A black sphere, the size of a clenched fist, bloomed from his fingertips—the very same orb I'd seen conjure when he fought those clowns.
Erin extended his other hand, repeating the process. Another black sphere materialized, as if this was just his morning routine. "Once it manifests, you can keep it from bursting. If you want to change its shape, you need to feed it more data and information," he explained.
The black sphere began to morph, distorting as if unsure what to become.
It trembled, then—without a hint of hesitation—shifted into a knife, flickered into a pencil, and finally unfurled into a leaf as broad as a hand. In a heartbeat, it shrank and curled back into its original, perfect sphere.
"Of course you can merge them, since this is all your own prana. Compatibility's a breeze, synchronization's almost seamless—no prana conflict if it all comes from your body," Erin said, bringing the two black spheres together. They fused in an instant, swelling to twice their size.
"It's not just Arete—magic itself is bound by these laws. Try fusing your magic with someone else's and you'll run into all sorts of headaches—prana conflict, spell quantities that have to match to the letter, incantations that must be in perfect sync, and a laundry list of other rules," he went on. The black sphere popped softly, prana shards swirling lazily through the air.
My awareness snapped back into my body. Erin lounged on the sofa in my mind, looking for all the world as if nothing out of the ordinary had happened.
"You said we have to feed data and information into the prana as it leaves the body? Why not just spell out the details so we don't waste time?"
"That's not something I can just hand over on a silver platter," Erin replied, his voice soft but heavy with meaning.
"Magic and Arete always orbit around the amount of Mystery stored in this world. The deeper and more untouched the secret, the greater the power it can unleash. It's an unspoken law—a silent oath among practitioners—that the reasons, origins, or truths behind every magic and Arete are never to be laid bare for all to see."
"And besides, at least with Arete, even if I understand it, the data and information can be active or passive when released. In my case, since everything's already etched in, it's passive—I do it without even thinking," Erin defended himself.
I collapsed onto the bed, boneless with frustration. Two days until my mission began, and I still couldn't conjure even a single black sphere.
"If you fall asleep again by the time I reach the Alteker headquarters, I'm done for," I muttered.
Erin fell silent. Truth be told, I'd always leaned on others in a fight. If Erin drifted off, I'd have no hope against whatever stood in my way.
My eyes wandered to the papers strewn across my desk—recipes I'd gotten from Mozi. Slowly, I rose and gathered the sheets, one by one.
"Are you sure about your choice?" Erin's voice hung in the air.
"I'm not sure at all," I admitted.
I sifted through the recipes in my hands, the papers feeling heavier than they had any right to—as if each choice carried a world inside it. On the first page, bold as daylight: System of War. Something thrummed in my chest, a wild certainty that this was my path. After all, the only reason I'd set foot in Archiveline was to fight.
"What do you think—should I pick this one?" I whispered to Erin, flipping through the recipes.
"If you ask me, the System of Specialist is off the table," Erin remarked.
I nodded slowly. Truth be told, I felt the same, though I couldn't deny the endless possibilities that system offered. Who knows, I might wind up running a sweet fish cake empire in Wetlands—or, if destiny had a sense of humor, toppling King Tytoal-ba himself. Even so, I slid the System of Specialist recipe aside, letting it rest a little farther from the others.
"What about the System of Creature?" I asked, still clinging to a sliver of hope that some miracle might be hiding among the remaining options.
"You really want to become another creature?" Erin shot back, his tone half-teasing, half-serious.
"But Hozi… he's insanely strong, even though he's just a monkey."
Erin chuckled. "Hozi's an Archiveliner who took up the Idea of Monkey King. He's no ordinary monkey, you know?"
I frowned. "Wait, he's different?"
"Yeah. From what I've read, the Idea of Monkey King isn't just some monkey—maybe not even a monkey at all. He was born from cosmic stone, the crystallization of pure potential, something untouched by any law. From the very beginning, his life was chaos—not just in one world, but in many. There's not a single world that escaped his rampage. That's why they tried to catch him, punish him, bury him under a mountain, just to keep his fury from shaking Orsus again."
I let that legend spin through my mind, picturing a wild, untamable being. So the System of Creature could really grant you that kind of power?
"Still think he's just some regular monkey?" Erin challenged, a sly edge in his voice.
I set the System of Creature recipe in the same pile, silently admitting to myself: becoming something else did sound tempting, but hunting down the potions to advance for the next step would be like chasing shooting stars on a moonless night.
My hand finally landed on a sheet labeled System of Mysticism.
"Maybe this one suits you. You probably don't realize it, but the mana in your body is off the charts," Erin said, his voice curling with a smile I couldn't see.
"Eh, really?" I muttered, barely believing it.
I smothered my doubts by reading the System of Mysticism recipe: three veins of world tree leaf, 10 grams of crystallized mana, 15 milliliters of mystic spinal fluid, and 10 sheets of blank grimoire. The ingredients were worlds apart from the System of War.
Well, if I couldn't use Erin's Arete, I'd just have to rely on my own. The thought rang with a rare certainty.
At the very least, with these ingredients, I could ask Hozi directly. After all, he was the one who'd offered to help track them down.
Without a moment to brace myself, the instant I swung open my bedroom door and stepped out, I collided headlong into Lon. The stack of dirty laundry he'd been hauling slipped from his arms, tumbling to the floor in a sudden, uninvited rainstorm.
"Ow, ow!" Lon groaned, still loyal to his oversized, cloud-patterned shirt that hung off his frame like a blanket. The lamplight danced across his dark hair as he rubbed the spot on his head where it had bumped the wall.
"Sorry, I honestly didn't see you there," I blurted, rushing to help him up, the weight of my guilt somehow heavier than the heap of laundry now scattered at our feet.
"Come on, bro! You've got to check both ways before leaving your room, you know! It's basic intersection etiquette—how could you forget?" Lon grumbled, lips pursed in a pout that made him look every bit the petulant kid.
"Forgive your clumsy brother," I replied, forcing a sheepish smile, though inside I felt like I'd just flunked a crash course in household traffic safety.
I'd barely taken a step when panic seized me—something was missing from my grasp. The recipe sheet had vanished. I fumbled through the pile of clothes, digging for a glimmer of hope among faded T-shirts and Ashsa's military uniform, which reeked so sharply it nearly made my eyes water.
"What are you looking for? If it's your shirt, I washed all your stuff yesterday," Lon said offhandedly.
I ignored him, rifling through the mound of fabric. Blue shirt—tossed aside. Thin black tee—skipped. Finally, I lifted a white button-down, and a piece of paper fluttered down like an autumn leaf, landing right in front of Lon.
In a flash, Lon snatched it up, reflexes sharp. "Wait, don't read that!" I yelped, but my feet froze as he peered at the page, eyes scanning every line.
"Hold on, this is…" Lon murmured, his gaze tracing the writing. That's it, I thought. Sorry, Hozi—looks like my hopes for this mission are as good as buried.
"You're planning to sell potions, Fionn?" Lon asked, his eyes sparkling with curiosity.
What?
"The ingredients are all listed here. I've got most of them," Lon whispered, his voice barely more than a secret meant for the bedroom walls.
"What do you mean, Lon?" I asked, staring at him, utterly baffled.
Before Lon could answer, Erin's voice cut in from the back of my mind. "Ah, about Lon… he's actually a fanatic for all things mystical and weird potions. Honestly, if possible, he should be the last person to know about this kind of stuff."
A faint smile flickered across Lon's face.
"To be honest, this is the first time I've seen a potion recipe like this. System of War, huh?" he murmured, his eyes tracing the writing on the page as if deciphering some ancient spell.
"You really want to make this, don't you? I'll help you!" he declared, his excitement bubbling over like a kid who'd just stumbled onto buried treasure.
"Everything else, I can handle. But this—'15 milliliters of Mystical Spinal Fluid'—that's the tricky bit," he admitted. "Still, I know just the place to look."
I swallowed hard, unease crawling up my throat. What choices did I really have?
"This kind of potion is dangerous, you know. Especially if you've never tried anything like it before," he said, rolling the paper between his fingers.
Suddenly, he pressed his palm gently against my chest, the recipe caught between his hand and my heart. His gaze sharpened, piercing like a needle. "But in exchange, I have one condition."