Paragon of Destruction

Arran finished the last scraps on his plate before they left the restaurant. If the morning turned out to have been a waste of time, at least he’d gotten a good meal out of it — well worth half a day’s work, he thought.

That Anthea’s Forms concealed hidden downsides was disappointing, but it didn’t come as a complete surprise to Arran. From the start, the whole thing had sounded too good to be true.

But even if Anthea’s Forms were as useless as Master Linos had said, it was only a minor setback. The man had offered to take Arran as a student, and having a Master for a teacher would certainly be beneficial.

Still, he would give Anthea a chance to explain the situation. The idea of Forms was too appealing to simply ignore.

They left the restaurant after Arran finished the last of his meal, heading back into the stronghold’s busy streets. And as they set off toward the training halls, Anthea began to speak.

"Before I start," she said, her voice uncomfortable, "understand that I did not intend to hide this from you. I would have told you in a day or two — once you’d seen the potential of Forms for yourself."

Arran nodded, understanding her intentions. He could not fault her for not telling him everything at once. It would hardly make sense for her to scare off prospective students before giving them a reason to stay with her.

"So what’s the truth, then?" he asked calmly.

Seeing that he wasn’t upset, she gave him a relieved look. "The Forms were indeed created by Elder Nikias. He was one of the most powerful mages in the Valley, a legendary hero in the wars against the Hunters."

There was a flash of excitement in Anthea’s eyes as she spoke, as if the mere mention of Elder Nikias caused her heart to beat faster.

"He took only a handful of students," she continued, "but those he took all became powerful mages. They mastered spells impossibly fast, their skill shocking the entire Valley. There wasn’t a single mage in the Valley who wouldn’t have given his left hand to study under Elder Nikias."

Her words sparked Arran’s curiosity. From what she said, the Elder should have been exceptionally powerful. "What happened to him?" he asked, curious to hear what could have brought down someone so powerful.

Anthea let out a sigh. "Elder Nikias and his students were the Ninth Valley’s most formidable champions against the Hunters," she said. "In a long series of battles, they drove the Hunters back further and further, eventually pursuing them out of the borderlands."

Arran nodded silently, understanding that this story would not end with a glorious victory.

Another sigh passed Anthea’s lips, and she continued, "It was a trap. The Hunters sacrificed hundreds of their own to draw out Elder Nikias, while keeping their main force in reserve. When the trap was finally sprung and their full numbers bore down on Elder Nikias, he killed thousands more."

She shook her head mournfully. "Still, it wasn’t enough. In the end, the Hunters’ numbers prevailed. Both the Elder and his students were killed."

For some moments, Arran remained quiet. He looked at the crimson-robed mages walking on the streets around them, their movements showing only the careless ease of people who’d never faced serious threats.

It was hard to believe that just half a century earlier, the Ninth Valley had been at war against enemies so formidable that even the strongest Elders were killed.

Finally, his thoughts returned to Elder Nikias and his students. "So the Elder’s methods died with him?"

"Not entirely," Anthea replied. "One of his students survived — my teacher. She was barely a novice at the time, too weak to go to war. After the battle, she was the only one in the Valley who still knew anything of the Elder’s methods."

Arran creased his brow in thought. "If she knew his methods, didn’t others in the Valley try to learn them from her?"

"Of course," Anthea said, a wry smile on her lips. "The House of Flames spent decades trying to recover the Elder’s lost secrets. But my teacher was only a novice when he died, and she only knew a sliver of his methods — too little to be of use. After decades of fruitless efforts, people simply gave up."

Arran glanced at her. "But you didn’t."

"My teacher never stopped trying to learn the Elder’s secrets," Anthea said. "When I became her student, decades later, she had already rebuilt some small part of his methods. I saw the promise of the Forms, so I decided I would help her reclaim their full strength."

"Has she had any further success?" Arran asked.

With a dejected sigh, Anthea shook her head. "A decade ago, she traveled beyond the borderlands, to become a Master. She never returned. Since then, I’ve been on my own."

Arran gave her a puzzled look. "I thought the Ninth Valley’s borderlands were safe?"

"They are," she replied. "But those who wish to become Masters must travel beyond the borderlands, and many never return from that journey."

Although this raised even more questions for Arran, those would have to wait. They had reached the vast practice hall where they had spent the morning, and now, it was time to see what training in the Forms could achieve.

Interesting though Anthea’s story was, Arran’s concern was the method’s usefulness, not its history.

"Can you give me a demonstration?" he asked. "Without holding back?"

"Of course," Anthea said, albeit with some hesitation in her voice. "I’ll show you the Battering Force spell you used earlier, but using Forms instead of the real spell."

She raised her right hand, jaw clenched in concentration as she gathered Force Essence.

Some moments later, Arran could Sense that she was beginning to create Forms for the spell. She didn’t shape the Forms one by one. Instead, it was as if she created them all at once — a much faster way of working than the one Arran had used.

Yet even so, several breaths passed before the spell was complete. And when she finally launched it at the wall, Arran saw that it was far weaker than the one he had launched at the arrogant novice that morning.

He shook his head in disappointment.

It was a pathetic showing even for a novice, much less an adept. If this was all that could be achieved with Forms, then they were truly useless.

Not only was the spell too weak to be worthwhile; it was also excruciatingly slow. In the time it took Anthea to cast a single Battering Force using her Forms, Arran could have launched half a dozen of them — and each would have been far stronger than Anthea’s attempt.

Seeing Arran’s disappointed expression, Anthea looked at him with a mixture of sadness and embarrassment.

She clearly understood that her demonstration had failed to convince him — though if this was all she could achieve with Forms, then she should have expected his reaction.

"Wait," she said hastily. "You have to understand... The real strength of Forms is their versatility." She cast a worried look at Arran, then went on, "For example, I’ve never learned that Windblade spell of yours. But look..."

Quickly, she began to gather Essence once more, then spent several moments creating a number of Forms. Again, the spell was formed far too slowly, and it struck the wall with even less power than her previous spell had contained.

Yet Arran’s eyes instantly went wide with shock. Not because of the spell itself — lacking both power and speed, it was as useless as the previous one — but because he recognized an unmistakable trace of insight in the spell’s final Form.

And strangely, what he recognized wasn’t his true insight into Severing. At least, not exactly.

Rather, it was something he had experienced on his path into gaining that true insight — a flawed and imperfect step along the way, something he had discarded almost immediately after he discovered it.

It was because the experience was still fresh in his mind that he recognized it. A few more years, and he probably wouldn’t have noticed it at all.

Yet now, the realization filled him with excitement.

"The Forms you used for that spell," he said, turning to Anthea, "teach them to me."

She briefly looked puzzled, but then, her expression became hopeful. "Of course," she said. "First, you start with the Condense Form..."

One by one, she explained the Forms. Two of them, he already knew — Condense and Soar. There was a third, Blade, which shaped Essence into a blade of Essence. This would normally have interested him, but now, he could only focus on the fourth — the Cut Form.

He quickly understood that this was the Form that contained a trace of the incomplete insight, and the entire Form had clearly been built around it, almost as if the Form was meant as a way to study the insight.

Using the Cut Form required learning the Blade Form first, and Arran spent well over an hour studying both the complete spell and its constituent Forms.

Anthea taught him patiently. Although she still seemed confused at his sudden enthusiasm, she did not voice her questions — whatever it was that had sparked his interest, she accepted it gladly.

When Arran finally got to the Cut form, he found that his insight made learning it simple.

In just a few minutes he mastered most of it, much to Anthea’s astonishment. Moreover, his version also easily surpassed Anthea’s in power.

While the Form didn’t reflect a true insight into Severing, it seemed to be a purposely crafted step along the way. And if the first step existed, then there could be more powerful ones, as well.

Arran turned to Anthea, hoping that she would have the answer.

"Are there more advanced versions of this Form?" If his suspicion was correct, there would be several versions, with the stronger ones more fully reflecting the insight.

"More advanced?" Anthea looked at him with wide eyes. "How did you know? My teacher... she said Elder Nikias had stronger versions of all the Forms."

"And you know them?" Arran’s voice trembled with excitement as he asked the question.

She sighed, then shook her head. "They were all lost when the Elder died. My teacher only ever learned the basic versions. She hoped she could eventually recreate the stronger ones herself."

It took Arran a great deal of effort not to curse in frustration.

He couldn’t be certain, but if every Form had stronger versions, then they might all hold paths to true insights. And if that was the case, then the Forms were far more valuable than he could have imagined.

"The Elder," he began, "did he leave any writings? Scrolls, or memory amulets?"

Again, Anthea shook her head. "If he had any, they were in his void bags when he died, left behind on the battlefield."

Arran swallowed hard. "Where is this battlefield?"

A regretful look in her eyes, Anthea replied, "You’re not the first to have that idea, but it’s no use. The battlefield is a deadly wasteland, filled with so much unbound Essence that even Grandmasters and Archmages cannot survive it for more than a few minutes."

"Unbound Essence?" A wide grin formed on Arran’s lips, and he could only barely stop himself from bursting into laughter.

Anthea gave him a nonplussed frown. "What’s so funny?"

"I might be able to study the Forms with you," Arran replied. "I’ll just have to discuss it with my teacher, first. In fact, I should leave right away — I’ll meet you at the gate tomorrow."

Before she could respond, Arran had already left the training hall, and he broke into a run as he headed to the gate.

The crimson-robed mages on the roads looked at the laughing initiate in confusion as he passed, but he ignored them. If his luck held, he might just have discovered a treasure greater than anything they could imagine.