Earthchild
patreon
Chapter 85: Take The Money
🕑 Added 2025-09-02 12:00:14 +0000 UTCWhen he stepped out of the Plane, Caen was struck by how unpleasant… everything was. The air was only slightly dusty and had smelled somewhat clean on his way here, but now it seemed lacking. Even the ground beneath his feet seemed… wrong and unbalanced.
The sun was only starting to rise. Caen geared up completely and began the trek down to the nearest train stop, which was only a few miles away. He crossed the skybridge quickly, glancing down the canyon a few times.
Once he reached the hilly grasslands, he came upon compact clumps of grass, resembling tumbleweed, aimlessly rolling about. Grass sprites. They were green and yellow in color. It was a little eerie seeing them just loitering about like this. They'd been much less active on his way through to Parthra.
Sprites were harmless for the most part and were widely regarded as pests, if anything. Certain kinds of sprites could transmit disease due to their decaying physical makeup.
The smallest sprites here were about the size of his head. Caen observed the soul structure of one of these, and immediately its existence began to unravel. The tumbling sprite froze in place, and its physical form started to lose cohesion. A very short moment later, its soul structure had dissipated, and the compact clump of grass had turned into a pile.
Caen blinked in surprise. Dematerializing sprites usually involved mana-intensive Spirit-healing spells. He hadn't expected Soul-sense to be capable of achieving the same thing.
This is disturbingly similar to that encounter I had with Parthra.
Caen shuddered.
He went on to observe the souls of the larger grass sprites. These didn't dematerialize, so he could sense their soul structures just fine. There were no prominent thread clusters, which was quite curious. He would have to examine a sprite later.
As the sun climbed higher into the sky, the temperature rose with it. It was uncomfortably warm, but strangely, Caen wasn't nearly as inconvenienced by it as he should have been. In fact, he felt invigorated by the sunlight. He'd taken his temperature regulation pills before leaving Parthra, of course, but this was something else.
One of the passive augmentations that accompanied a Flora magic affinity resulted in practicians being energized while under sunlight. These naturally interacted in interesting ways with some of the passive augmentations from a Fire affinity and a Body-enhancement affinity, making hot temperatures not much of a concern for most people.
Just to test this out, Caen Mimicked his fragment's Flora affinity and immediately lost some of his passive augmentations. The morning sunlight became sweltering. Not to such an extent that it constricted his breathing, but it was a close thing. This region was much hotter than Drenlin, and his time in Parthra had certainly spoiled him.
He dropped the fragment’s Flora affinity and basked in the comfort of his passive augmentations. As he walked, he spoke to his fragment. He was connected to it, but not Mimicking anything.
Frerit-ya-tess had mentioned offhandedly that the first month after a fragment bonded with a supplicant was very important to its development. It was the period during which it got acquainted with the world around its Contracted partner. Many favored climbers preferred to stay in Parthra for a while because of this, but that was not a requirement.
Caen had started talking to his fragment whenever he was alone. He focused on communicating through their connection. On his way down from the fifteenth layer in Parthra, he'd started to note faint emotions from his fragment when merely sensing its soul structure. ‘Regard’, ‘curiosity’, and even ‘familiarity’. He'd been practicing sending emotions of his own through their connection. He didn't talk about anything specific; he rambled, made commentary, and mostly just sang to it.
When Caen reached the train stop, he purchased a ticket to the next town. He kept shifting in his seat and trying to find an acceptable position. The surfaces of Parthra had been far more comfortable than he'd assumed.
When the train came to a stop, he alighted and hopped on another. He did this many times and usually spent his nights sleeping at cheap inns and public clinics. There were enough Parthran fruits in his bag to last him for days, so he worked on cutting down the time it took him to Mimic his fragment's abilities.
Five days went by, and for much of it, he focused on refining how quickly he Mimicked his fragment's spirit receptor, bioluminescence, resilience, and absorption. On the first day that he'd achieved this, it had taken him as many as five hours for each of these abilities.
Over the course of his time practicing in Parthra and his trip back home, he'd brought that time down to seconds for each one. The months spent Mimicking affinities made his work a great deal easier here. He knew what to do and how to do it efficiently.
He still hadn't found a solution to the problem of completely losing his affinities, though. Whenever he Mimicked his fragment's absorption, resilience, bioluminescence, or its spirit receptor, he lost access to his ability to cast magic entirely. He couldn't even so much as sense his spirit. This was either the tradeoff or he was doing something wrong. He'd have to figure out which was which.
Caen quickly found a use for this, however. Locked away from his spiritual senses, he dedicated long lengths of time over his trip to trying futilely to sense his spirit. He wasn't successful.
Not in the way he'd hoped, at least. Mere hours from Drenlin, his Spirit-healing affinity rose out of abjection.
His spirit felt light and unnaturally fluid. He could sense the exact state of his mana reserves without even having to check. He could sense his spirit with such clear and shocking detail. Every instance of casting in any discipline was easier, unburdened. His spirit was willing. Eager to contort into arcane patterns.
Caen bowed his head and wept quietly in his seat.
***
At the Drenlin train station, Caen was not surprised to find remnants of the Dalat festival. Banners decorated with Felfe leaves hung from surrounding buildings and structures.
A wall here in the station was covered with a heroic-scale painting of Trellam the All-seeking, archmage protector of Rialgar. He was an imposing figure with a yellow left eye and a red right eye. He held a magnificent metal staff from which sprouted broad and crimson Felfe leaves.
An ancestral altar had been set up in front of the painting. Many had placed bouquets, cups of seeds, and various handcrafted items.
Caen boarded a train to Beslin and was soon climbing up the stone steps to the commune, humming a tune for his fragment.
The sun was low in the sky, but it was still about an hour till the close of a typical workday. Caen had told Zeris that he'd be coming back soon, and he'd heard her and Guinevere making plans over the telepathic link this morning.
Before making his way home, he took a detour to Uncle Vai's house. It was an unpainted building at the heart of the commune.
A stout man with ruddy cheeks answered the door and went to get Hshnol. Vai kept several essential workers on staff, but Caen rarely ever got to meet them.
“Ar’Caen Ereshta’al,” Hshnol greeted. “I hope you are well.”
“I am,” Caen replied with a polite bow of his head. As far as he knew, this man was a Percipient.
“Master Vai is still not available, but I have good reason to expect that he will be done with his engagements in a few days. He is anxious to meet you and Zeris, and has given strict instructions for his moustache not to be trimmed until he lays astral eyes on both of you.”
Stifling a chuckle, Caen thanked Hshnol and left.
Minutes later, he walked into his family home, the chilly air within taking him by surprise. The next surprising thing was seeing everyone here. His father and Zeris were working over the pots. His mother and Vensha were setting the table. Aunt Grena and Uncle Teiro were chopping vegetables. Sh'kteiro was already smiling at Caen, having spotted him first.
“Hey! Look who's back!” Ergen said. Everyone else turned to the doorway.
“We were expecting you much later in the day,” Sh'leinu said, walking over.
“I didn't make too many stops,” Caen replied as she pulled him into a hug.
“What was Parthra like?” Grena asked.
“Boring, I'm sure,” Vensha grunted, setting down cutlery on the table. “I've been before. The place is just grass and wood. And it was night the whole time, too.”
Caen rolled his eyes. She'd told him this story before. “You didn't even enter the tree, Aunt Vensha.”
“Ten-hour walk to the Aperture. And then nearly as long a walk from the front zone to the giant tree. I'd rather cook for a living.”
“What everyone really wants to know and is too polite to ask is if you got your fragment or not,” Zeris said.
Caen put on an expression of faux defeat on his face, but Zeris, by her smirk, wasn't buying it. She'd bugged him for answers on his trip back, and he'd refused to answer.
His fragment had grown to cover his entire forearm at Parthra, as he had been feeding it quite profusely. In seconds, he Mimicked the fragment’s spirit receptor, manipulated it off his arm from beneath the cover of his loose vambrace, and brought it to hover in front of her. He had dimmed its bioluminescence earlier. Now, he let it shine in all its splendor.
They all made varying sounds of amazement and congratulated him.
“It's pretty,” Vensha said, having come closer to inspect it. “But will it offer any meaningful protection?”
“Apparently, it grows the more I feed it.” He went on to tell them other details about the fragment as he brought out the Parthran fruits from his bag. He put some in the cooling box, but the rest he left out on the table for dessert.
He rushed upstairs to take a quick bath. The fragment’s resilience would offer him a small measure of protection from extreme temperatures, but erring on the side of caution, he downed some of his temperature regulation pills. Then he changed into fresh clothes and was back in time to help out with dinner preparations. He took over from his father to stir the stew at the heating pads.
Soon, they sat enjoying their meal at the dining table while Caen recounted the less problematic aspects of his stay at the Parthran Plane. Eventually, he offhandedly mentioned that his Flora and Spirit-healing affinities had risen out of abjection.
Aunt Vensha, who was unfortunately sitting beside him, smacked Caen across the back of his head. “You and your theatrics!”
***
“The flora affinity of that fragment has to be quite high,” Vensha said. They'd long since finished dinner. “I've never seen Mafrolem move his fragment that fast. And he has an affinity rating higher than 8.”
“I wasn't using the fragment's Flora affinity,” Caen said. “That was er… well, I’m currently Mimicking something else in its soul structure that allows me to affect the fragment much faster than usual.”
“So, what?” Zeris asked. “A discipline other than Flora?”
“Something the dryads call a spirit receptor,” he said, excited to finally talk about this. “It’s how Parthran dryads in the Plane influence their fragments. But I can Mimic other abilities the fragment possesses, like resilience, which makes it more durable. Let me show you.”
Caen Mimicked the fragment's resilience. He picked up a fork, concentrated resilience on a small section of his palm, and stabbed down on it with great force. The fork’s tines were bent out of shape as a result of the impact, but did not break his skin. The portion of his palm that had been stabbed only smarted a little.
Zeris picked up a sharp knife from the table. “Oh wow. I'd like to try.”
Caen leaned away from her. “What’s with the violence today? Ancestors. I had to concentrate the resilience to a tiny portion of my hand. You can't just stab me anywhere.”
“Impressive,” Vensha said. “But how well would this resilience hold up against a Body-enhancer?”
“I'm guessing not very well,” Caen admitted. “My fragment is a fair deal weaker than average, but it grows in durability and mass the more I feed it. So hopefully, I'll be able to Mimic it when it’s stronger.”
“Combat-wise,” Uncle Teiro said, “I see how this helps you in the patronage competition you spoke about. But Leinu tells me that it's something of a political tool among the Ereshta’al factions. Is it wise to involve yourself with them?”
“It’s not,” Vensha said. “But participants in the Patronage trials are offered a modicum of protection, and they can also choose to remain anonymous, which allows them to completely evade a great deal of political nonsense.”
Vensha had participated in a few trials, though she'd never used a mask and had never tried to stand out. For her and quite a number of participants, the trials were just a sport.
“I don't like the politics, but the rewards are worth the hassle,” Caen said, leaning back in his chair. “Those who complete the trials earn the family's support in whatever project or venture of their choosing.
“But I have no delusions of making it that far.” He'd watched the trials and knew for a fact that he wasn’t at that level of skill. Not yet. “My goal is to gather as many merit points as I possibly can; these can be sold to factions for favors. And favors can get me the resources and borrowed influence I need for admission into the Imperial Citadel of Magic.”
“And what about the entrance exams?” Grena asked.
“I'll be preparing for those, too. I intend to be admitted into the Citadel as a Spirit-healer.” Even after these months with Mimicry, Spirit-healing remained the discipline of magic he felt the most confident in. And now he was no longer abject in it.
“You've certainly given this some thought, which I suppose shouldn't be a surprise,” Sh'leinu said. She brought out a small wooden box and placed it on the table in front of Caen.
He squinted at it, then looked around to see the expectant faces of his family members. Caen's wake day wasn't for another three months, and this had clearly been prepared beforehand. “What's this? A welcome home gift?”
“We intended to give this to you on your wake day as a little send-away present,” Sh'leinu said, smiling. “But it might help you a lot more to get it now.”
Caen opened the box and saw glowing low criyl within: hexagonal disks with thumb-sized holes at their center, shimmering with the colors of a rainbow. He looked up in surprise. “This is—”
“It's not a lot,” Ergen hurried to say. “We wanted to help you however we could, and everyone chipped in.”
Months ago, Caen had told them that after this year's celebrations on Ser-gwu Island, he would not be returning to the nation of Rialgar with them. This was before he had discovered his hidden bloodlines. So much had changed since then.
“Thank you, but I can't accept this. There's about fifteen low criyl in here.”
“Twelve,” Aunt Grena corrected. “Money always has its uses, Caen.”
That was equivalent to one high criyl and then some. When he looked at Vensha, she just shrugged.
The commune provided them a home, and they were comfortable, but not well off in the slightest. As priests, his mother and Uncle Teiro lived on a small stipend; his father didn't make much working in Drenlin; Grena worked for the Chancellery; and Vensha's earnings as a Valiant tended to fluctuate quite a bit. This had to have been a sizable portion of their joint savings.
Zeris mouthed, “What are you doing? Take the money.”
Caen exhaled softly. “Thank you,” he said, truly meaning it.
