Thorin lifted his brows in surprise as the black cocoon throbbed like a heartbeat before him. The spell gave him a ‘message’. He now had to make a choice.
For so long, he thought the Ghosts he’d met and eaten were just another type of undead, like the Walkers he met during one of the raids here. Though the Ghosts were all at the mortal’s level, they must have a stronger counterpart that could rival a Magus. That was also the hope he and his brothers carried when they planned to go to the Southern Whispers battlefield. That eating those stronger Ghosts would start healing his heart again. But their idea had a hollow foundation to begin with. They lacked the knowledge of this field.
The spell’s message shattered Thorin’s shallow understanding of the Ghosts and cleared the fog for him. Even if they headed to the battlefield where stronger undead roamed the earth, they wouldn’t find a ‘Ghost’ of a Magus level. Because the mortal-level Ghosts were embryos for stronger undead. When a Ghost contacted mana and stepped into the realm of Magi, it would evolve into a specific type of undead based on its aptitude. The spell had asked Thorin to choose that path for the Ghost before him.
“Ghostcradle,” Thorin murmured. “Such an apt name.” The Ghosts were embryos, mere infants. The spell took them in and let them grow and evolve. The name couldn’t be more fitting.
As for the Ghost before him, Thorin’s situation had already narrowed the choices for its evolution paths. He lacked the core component of the spell, the cradle itself. Without it, he couldn’t practice the spell as it was meant to be practiced. The Ghost was bound to him now, claimed and anchored, but he had nowhere to house it, let alone nurture it into something stable.
Without a cradle, physical-type undead were off the table. A Walker was impossible. He couldn’t have a corpse follow him around, especially if he intended to enter towns. A cloak could only hide so much.
That left specter-types as the only viable option. Even then, his choices were far from open. The Ghost’s own aptitude carved the list down further, funneling him toward a narrow set of outcomes.
Because it was Thorin’s first time using the spell, he thought to let nature take its course. He relented his command after blocking the physical routes and allowed the Ghost to move towards the evolution that its aptitude preferred from the spectral types.
Soon the cocoon stabilized with stronger but fewer beats. The evolution would take time. Since Thorin couldn’t bring it inside the spell array, he moved it into the corner that the Ghost hid in before. If it hadn’t taken the initiative to butt into the battles and help Thorin, none of the raiding Faes would’ve noticed it. After all, the glaring radiance of the mana surge was too bright. A mortal-level cocoon was nothing before the allure of the milky fog. So, it should be safe even with the nonstop raids. Especially as the cocoon dimmed its presence as a survival instinct.
Once he made sure of its safety, Thorin patted his hands and walked back with a smile on his face. He now had a Ghost of his own. What would it evolve into? His curiosity itched. He couldn’t wait to scratch it and see the type of undead that would emerge from the cocoon. Hopefully, it was a strong one.
……
The
“Did it work?” Clay came over to sit beside him and asked in a hushed voice when Thorin returned to his position. Quin followed him as well with inquisitive eyes.
“Hmm.” Thorin nodded. “We’ll have to wait for it to come out of the cocoon. It’ll take some time. I also found some vital details about them. They’ll be important for our trip to the Southern Whispers.”
“Alright, we’ll discuss those when we get out of here,” Clay said. “How’s your meditation progress?”
This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.
“I should be able to break through in three days if the density of mana remained the same,” Thorin said.
“Same here,” Clay said.
“I’ll break through before you two then,” Quin said, grinning. “My speed of meditation has been faster than you two. I should break through by tomorrow or day after tomorrow I think.”
“No shit.” Thorin scoffed, a little annoyed. “You’ve barely mastered your spells since you only use a few in your battles.”
“Isn’t that the smart way then?” Quin retorted. “I use other spells to fight and leave one to meditate. It’s more efficient that way.”
Thorin and Clay gaped at their brother vomiting words of wisdom. Their eyes flashed when they realized the folly and narrowed thinking of their ways. They’d focused too much on aiming for the summit of each spell, as if it was the only way of becoming stronger.
“I’ll give you that one,” Clay said with a chuckle, clapping Quin’s back.
“I never thought I would see this ape spouting something smart someday,” Thorin said. “I’ve seen everything, I can die now.”
“Give me more credit, you bitches.”
“That is one workaround which is popular among the guild members,” Iver chimed in from the side. “But it doesn’t last long. Apart from mastery of the spells, the duration of its usage also affects the meditation speed. So, if you use the same spell model for too long, even if your mastery over it is at the beginning level, you’ll still lose efficiency over time. And for some reason, you’ll have trouble raising it to a higher mastery stage at that point if you wish to pivot. Simple battles won't cut it.”
Quin soured his face while his brothers snickered at his misery. “I-I can learn another one and use that then,” Quin said with a stammer.
“Then we’ve circled all around and come back to the starting point,” Thorin said, taking great pleasure in beating him down. “You’ll still need to learn new spells.”
“Yeah, well, I’m still cultivating faster than you two fuckers,” Quin said, flaring his nostrils.
Thorin and Clay’s snicker died in their throats as they coughed and averted their eyes.
“How much longer will the tide last?” Clay asked Iver, distracting from the topic. Though they’d calculated themselves, it was better to get a concrete answer from the man who controlled the spell array.
“About four days,” Iver said. “But the last day’s surge isn’t worth fighting the Faes’ raids for. We’ll leave before that and let them drink the soup.”
“If the mana tide will get weaker now, won't the Faes raids will weaken as well?” Thorin asked.
“They will,” Iver said. “But we’ll still have to fight in rotation. Unless you can peacefully meditate while the spell array cracks under the onslaught, then be my guest.”
“I said it before. If you lot drag us down, I’ll feed you to the Faes myself,” Wolf said. “So, don’t go thinking about slacking off during your rotation.”
Thorin took a deep breath and ignored the thorns in his words. It wasn’t the first time they clashed anyway, and it wouldn’t be the last time either. Because they were the weaker party, they couldn’t start a conflict. It wasn’t a fight they could afford. He swallowed his words and let the moment pass.
“Is there a reason you guys have been so hostile to us?” Clay’s patience, however, boiled over. So, he asked.
“You must be mistaken,” Casper replied, closing his eyes for meditation. “There’s no hostility. This is just how we interact.”
“Threatening to feed us to the Faes is not hostile at all, of course,” Quin said, sneering.
“Alright, that’s enough,” Iver butted in once more. Since he had the biggest fist in the room, his words held the most weight. Luckily for the Aether brothers, he remained a mild mediator of clashes and didn’t side with his brothers. If he had, the consequences could be heavy…
“Don’t start again. It’s our downtime right now. Spend it peacefully, rest your brains. Haven’t you had enough of the conflicts with the Faes?”
? He looked at the Aether brothers, staying his glance at Thorin for longer. “Don’t take offense to their words. They’re just brash and crude. They won't harm you. I’ve promised Granduncle Ray, and I intend to keep it.” He glared at Wolf and Casper as he finished his sentence.
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