Just like that, huh? Sam inwardly chuckled mere seconds after he woke up. Another benefit of his new body—one that he was never, and he meant never, going to get tired of—the transition between sleep and wakefulness was just as smooth as it was instantaneous. And today, it came with the realization that, once again, everyone around him was right. Your core reaching fragmented really was immediately apparent.

  Until now, he hadn’t truly realized just how much he had grown accustomed to the connection between his mind—his senses—and his core. It hadn’t fully dawned on him that his core—whatever its metaphysical properties were—was, as far as his own consciousness was concerned, just as instinctive as every other limb. That lack of understanding was swiftly remedied the moment he woke up and realized, without even meaning to look, that his core behaved completely differently.

  And how apt was the terminology for once? He mused as he stood up with a stretch. From solid to fragmented; the difference was exactly as the names described. Before—and he could only understand it now, with the new state of affairs coloring his perspective—his core, and moving magic in and out of it, had felt like struggling against settled cement. Now, while the rigidity was still there, the struggle was almost gone. His core was still… “made” of solid material, but it wasn’t a solid block anymore, rather a collection of scattered pieces. Allowing him—or, to be exact, the unconscious part of him that was in charge of passive gathering—to simply let energy flow in, with barely any resistance compared to yesterday.

  Of course, his core still “looked” the same. It still appeared in his mind, conjured by his patterns-seeking monkey brain, as it did yesterday. But it felt completely different. “And there still two more stages left…” He shook his head, half with trepidation, half with excitement. He knew the difference moving from fragmented to malleable (or from malleable to ethereal) was much less significant than the difference he was experiencing right now, but there would still be some more difference. Making him even… His breathing started quickening despite his attempts to shut out the grand visions flowing up to his mind.

  “Focus, stupid,” he chided himself with a smile as he picked up the toothbrush. You’re working in the same playing ground, with the same conditions as everyone else. They all knew about this change and all the others hopefully to come. So since nothing’s changed in their expectations of you, nothing’s changed in your expectations of yourself. Still got a long way to go.

  Still, it was hard to completely dismiss this morning bout of optimism. He had—albeit in the most basic way and common to everyone alive—his very own breakthrough. One fit for the books. A level up in the pure narrative sense of the word. And one that, despite its commonality, owed its early appearance to his own efforts.

  He rinsed his mouth, taking a deep breath before slowly exhaling and moving on to wash his face. Nothing’s changed. Sure. But that doesn’t mean I shouldn’t be proud of myself. It doesn’t mean I shouldn’t be happy with the change that did happen. Or hopeful for the future. “I’m on the right track.” He slapped his chest three times. “Just got to keep going.”

  He decided to keep his new state a secret for now. Well, he wouldn’t actually call it keeping a secret, just waiting until dinner to tell his friends about it. But his friends (Sarah) would. Still, he was willing to pay the price of suffering through a half-formed frown or two if it meant he could delay the inevitable barrage of congratulations. And more importantly, the ability to attend Dan’s new lessons without Erianna dogging his heels; taking away from her own training to once again focus on Sam’s.

  While incredibly twisted, Yvessa’s theory for why Erianna was so inclined to spending time attending his studies was unfortunately the only one that made sense to Sam so far. “She’s tasted freedom for the first time in eight years.”

  “In the form of spending all of her free time in my presence?” Sam asked, incredulous.

  “Don’t think of it as spending time with or on you. But as spending time not on herself. Go to the moral duties you like so much, alright? She no longer has to spend all of her time bettering herself in order to fulfill her moral obligations, yes? Now, her duties also include helping to better you. And wouldn’t you find it relaxing, relatively, to worry about other people’s improvement instead of worrying constantly about your own?”

  Yes, he would, Sam shook his head. He definitely would. And he was more than happy to give Erianna that avenue of escape, that little break from the constant blaring of her duty to queen and Web. But with the trimester starting in three days, she had her hands full going to meetings and making sure her schedule—with its multitude of different classes, tutors, and locations—was fully formed and compatible with reality. So he couldn’t allow Erianna that avenue of escape. Not today. Next week, once she was fully settled into a schedule and back to her usual focus on self-betterment, then he’ll leave his own apprehensions aside and let her make her own judgment on how much time she should be dedicating to helping him.

  He ended up telling Lin about the new development, though. Not because he expected it to change anything in their current lessons, but just because he figured he should keep his second (or was it third now…? No, better keep it second) most important educator up to speed with Sam’s general physical and magical state. Lin shrugged in acknowledgment and, besides asking a few brief questions about how Sam felt while dodging Sam’s attacks in their last bout of sparring, didn’t press the issue any further.

  Which was just as well with Sam because the only person he cared about pressing the issue was Dan. He couldn’t wait for today’s lesson, rushing through the shower even though there was no reason for doing so, having decided not to forgo breakfast with his friends. But, as luck would have it, rushing netted him with the positive result of chancing upon one of his (very few) less frequent friends.

  “Congratulations are in order, then,” he said as he clapped Carl Pines, who had just straightened up from drinking from the cooler, on the back. “I heard you were quite spectacular.”

  Carl smiled back. “It could’ve gone either way at the end. I was lucky, that’s all. How are you, Sam?” he asked as he clasped Sam’s outstretched hand.

  “Usual, I suppose. I’m sorry I didn’t have time to congratulate you in person. But in my defense, I had a lot on my plate and…”

  “And we aren’t that good of friends anyway.” Carl smirked.

  “Sure, but that’s not what I was going to say. The real reason was that I thought you moved out of the academy. Sarah said that you were commuting to the tournament.”

  “I was. I did. My family wanted me to be home as much as possible before I have to leave for training. So they forced me to move back as soon as regulations didn’t require me to stay here.”

  Sam chuckled. “So why are you back on academy grounds? I thought all year threes had to clean out their dorms two days ago.”

  “I’m here to give a speech to the new students. As one of the prime examples of what they should look forward to becoming during their time here.”

  “Sheesh. Guess I’m lucky that there’s no way in hell I’m winning that tournament.”

  “Oh don’t worry. It’s not just the winner who has to give a speech. You’ll have your public speaking opportunity, be sure of that. There’s no way in hell the powers that be aren’t going to flaunt you every which way while they have you on hand.”

  “Can’t you say no?”

  “I can’t. You have much more powerful benefactors than me. So you might be able to wiggle out of it.”

  “Your dad doesn’t count as a powerful benefactor?”

  “When compared to yours? My father would be the first to say that he and Farris are on the complete opposite tiers of Rulers’ strength. Besides, he absolutely loves this kind of stuff. No way in hell that he’ll let me out of it.” He shook his head with an exaggerated sigh. “He came to speak at my elementary school, you know? God, that was awful.”

  Sam laughed. “I can only imagine. Well, if it’s of any comfort, I won’t be in the audience listening to your speech today. What with not being a first year and all.” He clapped his own shoulder.

  “And congratulations are definitely in order for that achievement. Just another reason for the academy to make you come here as well in two years’ time.”

  “Don’t you wish that evil on me, mate. Just because I’m always trying to make everyone around me share in my misery doesn’t mean that you should imitate me and try to do the same. You’re a better person than me, Carl Pines.”

  “We’ll see about that. I still need to actually write the speech.”

  Sam raised an eyebrow. “Oh… well, I’m not going to give you any suggestions. So there won’t be any reason to blame me in the aftermath.”

  “That’s a shame. I was hoping to avoid putting in any effort by simply copying one of your pearls or wisdoms, or copying one of your many, many quick-witted jokes.”

  “I’m not one of your commanding officers. You don’t need to flatter my ego in order to ensure your upward progress in this elf’s army.”

  “Not one of my commanding officers yet. My father always said it paid to be nice to anyone you meet; today’s military is chockful of fast-tracked promotions.”

  “Ain’t that the truth,” Sam said, thinking about Erianna’s captain epaulets, and his own burgeoning lieutenant’s commission. He shook his head, smiling at Carl. “Well, I’ve probably kept you here long enough, haven’t I? It’s pretty cruel of me to fall upon you out of nowhere, especially on such an occasion.”

  “Perish the thought. Your intermission was more than welcome. But you’re right. I am running dangerously short on time if I still want to fit my twelve minutes of vomiting into the toilet before the speech.”

  Sam winced and patted Carl on the back. “Good luck. You’ll make it.”

  Carl nodded. “I sure hope so. On the bright side, when I go against the Epiraks for the first time, it won’t be the scariest thing I’ve ever done.”

  “It’s certainly a lot less likely to cause you to die of embarrassment.”

  Carl chuckled. “Take care, Sam. Hopefully we’ll meet again before too long.”

  “Likewise.” They parted ways with a handshake, and Sam continued on his way to the mess hall.

  At breakfast, he kept quiet and collected, which meant that he was almost operating at the social engagement level of the average human being. Both Sarah and Erianna had given him suspicious looks throughout the meal. How the hell did she learn to read him so quickly? He wondered as he made his way—while throwing careful glances behind him at random intervals—to Dan’s office. Must’ve been all the material Farris had on-hand about him already. A whole psychological profile. Someone will have to go through those files and scrub them one day, once Sam gets important enough that every piece of information about him could be counted as strategic intelligence.

  This story originates from Royal Road. Ensure the author gets the support they deserve by reading it there.

  Thankfully, he wasn’t being followed, and, as he sat down with unusual nervous energy at his usual seat, he told Dan about his core reaching fragmented. He was finally fully starting his magical journey. Next stop. Level 2 and the pattern that would (almost) guarantee him the ability to fall asleep without trouble.

  Dan nodded thoughtfully, taking a few very long seconds to complete his sip. Finally, after what felt like ages, he set his cup back down. “Very well. So we’ll start today with the basics of muddling. Tomorrow we’ll move on to the basics of imprinting. And the next week will focus on alternating between the two and your new gathering techniques.”

  “Shouldn’t we start with the latter? So that I’ll be able to start incorporating them into my free time?”

  “It’ll take some time until you’re proficient enough with the new techniques to justify the move. It will be more efficient for you to keep your cultivation as you were while we’ll practice together the new methods.”

  Sam tsked. “Same as before, then.” He assumed it would end up this way. Oh well, no great loss, anyway.”

  “No other way around it.” Dan agreed. “So, are you ready to start?”

  Sam shrugged. “Let’s have at it. I’m already desensitized to the headaches from all the threads training that I’ve been doing with Erianna.”

  “Think of it less as headaches and more as… vertigo; dizziness and nausea, all with a side helping of a little existential dread.”

  Sam rolled his eyes. “Yeah, I’ve read the outlines online. Let’s get on with it, shall we?”

  “Very well, then. Close your eyes.”

  “Closed.”

  “Look to your core.”

  “Looked at.”

  “Empty it.”

  “Empti—What?”

  “Don’t think about it. Just empty it however you see fit.”

  That wasn’t in the web articles. Sam frowned as he started working on his most energy demanding tracings. Which was pretty much the same thing he usually did with Dan most days of the week. A short while later, his core was fully emptied (or as close to it as possible, seeing as he hadn’t closed off his passive gathering). “Done,” he said.

  “Good. In the future, you’ll start muddling from the moment you begin emptying your core, but for now, consider this your starting point. Now, close off your core.”

  Sam did so. “Is this the reason why so many soldiers don’t like active muddling?” he asked, thinking of the hassle, not to mention the discomfort that would result in people so used to living with continuous patterns having to turn them off.

  “It’s one of the reasons. One of the two, really. But it’s the minor one.”

  Sam winced. “Probably not the best to keep discouraging me before we’ve even started.”

  “You know what you’re getting yourself into. Besides, you’re going to unreasonably doubt yourself with or without my help. This way at least, we might shorten the period it takes you to admit that you’re doing well.”

  “If everyone and their mother could stop trying to read me and socially engineer me to be a better person, that’ll be great.” Sam wrinkled his nose. “Whatever, the core’s closed off, what’s next?”

  “Now comes the unintuitive part. Gather whatever energy remained—together, of course, with what little was regenerated—to one single point, as small as possible.”

  “That’s…” Sam grit his teeth. It was possible, obviously, because advanced core manipulation allowed for this kind of behavior. Of course, it was actually advanced, meaning not advanced just for him. The stuff you learn in your extracurricular classes while you’re not on duty in the front. “I’ll try.”

  “Don’t stress the impossible mechanics,” Dan said in a calm tone of voice. “This is just stumbling in the darkness until you chance upon the keyhole. It’s not the actual key, and it’s very much not the action of turning it.”

  “You and your metaphors…” Sam sighed as he struggled to make his core do something it wasn’t ready to do just yet. But… his thoughts raced ahead as his mind guided his magic, wasn’t it just a little more ready to do it today than it was yesterday?

  Losing himself in the attempts, Sam felt the minutes flow by like grains of sand, the exact opposite of the “flow” being directed in his core. But he kept at it. Trying, and failing, to squeeze the minuscule amount of energy he was working with into the one, non-physically existent (yet still empirically real) spot.

  It was when he was close to giving up (or, at very least, to voicing his dismay with the exercise) that he stumbled upon the keyhole, as Dan described it. The energy wasn’t anywhere close to being relegated to one position, but, following Sam’s directives, it had just completed a full rotation of his core (which practically only meant that Sam’s attention had just finished going in circles).

  All of a sudden, Sam found all of his senses devoured (for lack of a better word) by the single sense that was his mental perception of his core. His focus was completely thrust into that almost empty container of magic. And considering he had spent a very large chunk of his day focusing on his core, he was immediately aware of the difference in the scope of focus.

  Sam found himself inside his core, that was the only way to describe it. He had grown intimately familiar with all the sensory cues that the core held. The instant image that was more knowledge than vision; the sense of change that accompanied diverting his consciouses from psychical existence; the way it felt to interact with the core, to draw magic out and gather magic in. There was no doubt about it, he was fully immersed in that object of dubious metaphysical existence.

  Then the connection between his mind and his brain was fully restored, and he was suddenly in two places at once. Both back in his head (or with no head, as certain meditation methods tried to teach him to think) and still in his core. And with the dual perception came conflicting sensory inputs, and two opposite demands to focus on just the one realm of reality. Torn between the two, Sam sagged in his seat as his mind relapsed back into normalcy and his core slipped out of focus.

  “That,” Dan said, towering over him and holding a glass of water, “was muddling. Your core will be fully muddled, ethereal, when there will be no split between it and your physical body.”

  “Drawing energy without even looking at your core…” Sam murmured.

  “Exactly.” Dan nodded and went back to his seat.

  Sam slowly emptied the glass, trying to get his thoughts (and adrenaline) back under control. He released a breath. “So… waiting until level 1, until the core becomes fragmented. That’s because until then, the split between the two is too strong?”

  “Just so. Your core’s state describe level of connection—or disconnect—between your… let’s say bio-chemical being and your fully magical being.”

  “Not fully magical.” Sam thought aloud.

  “Indeed. But close as. There’s a separation between your physically present attributes and your core. You were already quite aware of that before we spent hours studying the topic. Muddling, is the practice of… well, muddling that separation.”

  “And that, what I just did? That was muddling?”

  “The beginning stages of it. Just like everything else you’ve studied. We start at the bottom and build up from each level. You’ll repeat this stage of muddling until you can hold it for long enough to continue towards others. And so on and so on. It gets… not necessarily easier, but more bearable since the methods of practice aren’t composed of just a few seconds burst of complete disorientation. But you have to start somewhere.”

  Sam nodded. “And getting that somewhere… I have to repeat the same process?”

  “You do. Until you don’t. There are other processes of initialization. You’re free to try them in your own time; maybe you’ll find they suit you better. But this is the official training method adopted by the Terran military. Adopted, for that matter, by everyone except the ningani and the Inquisition. So that should tell you something about its perceived effectiveness.”

  “I see. And what would come first? The ability to forgo the need for initialization? Or the ability to move on to other methods of muddling?”

  “The second one.”

  “Guaranteed?”

  “Never. But I haven’t yet had the pleasure of knowing anyone for whom this did not hold true.”

  Sam sighed. “Great… Well, back to it, I suppose?”

  “Whenever you’re ready.”

  “What’s wrong with you?” Erianna asked him as he joined her outside Dan’s building.

  “Muddling is a bitch.”

  “You’re telling me.” She chuckled as they both started heading towards the mess hall. In her defense, it only took her a step and a half to realize what Sam had just said. “You asshole!” She punched him in the shoulder, just strong enough to hurt a little. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

  Sam shrugged, feigning nonchalance. “I don’t know. Just didn’t feel like getting embroiled in a… congratulatory deluge at breakfast, I suppose.”

  “I didn’t ask why you didn’t tell us. I asked why you didn’t tell me.”

  “Stop now. Before you dig yourself any deeper.”

  “I’m in charge of you, Sam. I need to be kept abreast of developments like this.”

  “No, Dan is in charge of me. With Farris holding some level of responsibility in the second row. You’re in charge of teaching me about threads.”

  “And helping you with training.”

  “You’re not in charge of that. That’s just something you do on the side. As a friend.”

  She huffed at him. “I’ll let it slide this time. But not in the future, alright?”

  Sam avoided her questing eyes.

  “Look,” she said, “I know I’ve been a little… let’s say heavily involved with you lately. But I promise to back off once the trimester begins. All I’m doing is trying to get a head start on my duties, both as a teacher and a friend. You don’t need to worry about me.”

  “Who said anything about worried?”

  “I think that today was a prime example of the fact that you not saying something doesn’t mean that there isn’t something to say.”

  “Very droll.” Sam rolled his eyes. After a few seconds of thought, he sighed. “Oh, alright. If you promise to behave a little more normal—I mean, like your usual self—than I promise not to treat you as a possible Sarah.”

  “You have my word.” She smiled. “Do you still treat Sarah that way?”

  “Absolutely. I’ve given her more latitude compared to how I’ve treated her in the past, at least after I stopped grasping at everyone around me like a drowning man in a pot of pasta. But I still have to watch myself around her. The wrong phrase, a missing platitude, and she’ll suddenly find herself abandoning her Saturday plans to help me catch up on my studies.”

  “I don’t think you’re giving her enough credit. Or you’re giving her too much, I suppose. She’s not that much of a…”

  “Helicopter matron?”

  “I was going to say concerned friend.” She shook her head. “You don’t need to worry so much about worrying her.”

  “You’re not exactly the best suited to convince me of that, you know? I mean, as far as I know, I have a mysterious pheromone that makes twenty-year-old female prodigies overly protective of me.”

  “Why’d you have to specify ‘female?’”

  “Because I only have female data points.”

  “So? Isn’t it better to have as generalized a theory as possible?”

  Sam shrugged. “Maybe, I’m not sure. But wouldn’t it have made for a lesser joke?”

  “Would it have?”

  “Nah… probably not.”

  “On to imprinting, then,” Dan said after Sam sat down. “Oh, I almost forgot. Did you try muddling on your own today?”

  “Not on my own.” Sam shook his head with a repressed sigh. “Erianna… watched over me after we finished working out this morning. But my core wasn’t full anyway,” he hurriedly said, trying to assure Dan that he didn’t create extra work for him on purpose.

  “And how did that go?”

  Sam pondered the question for a few seconds before shrugging. “Same as yesterday. More or less. Maybe a bit less discomfort.”

  “Good. But just remember that muddling on your own is still not a part of your schedule, yes?”

  “Duly noted. So imprinting?”

  “Right.” Dan nodded. “Let’s start by going over the basics. What is imprinting?”

  Sam sighed. “Imprinting, and sculpting, are two sides of the same coin, meaning the process of tracing directly into or against our body in order to: A. Sculpt our natural pathways to suit our needs. B. Imprint an artificial pathway to serve as a pattern. The process is similar, but distinctly different from artificery, which is tracing against an inorganic material in order to create an artificial pathway in it.”

  “Good. So why did you have to wait until now to start training in imprinting? Or sculpting?”

  “Because it’s only at level 1 that the average density of the magical energy withdrawn from the core is enough for the tracings required by imprinting or sculpting to affect any change. Sort of like… the energy is only now dense enough for the pickaxe it makes to make a dent. And you also have to wait until your core is fragmented because otherwise, you would have a very hard time drawing energy at the required density from the core.”

  Dan nodded with a smile. “Very good. We’re going to start you with one of the most widely used practice patterns. You’ll outgrow it in… a month or two at max, but it would serve for a good lesson on how to imprint upon an existing pattern.”

  “I know the deal. Three half-finished patterns of the most basic form. Then, from each one we imprint something else. Overall useless, but good for training.”

  Dan shrugged. “It is what it is, Sam. We all have to start somewhere. Don’t worry. No one’s putting your recovery patterns in storage. As soon as you’ve got some basic training behind you, we’ll fully pivot to them. So today we’ll focus on finishing the first half-pattern. And before you say anything, I’m sure you could finish one before the end of the day. But we’re aiming for perfect, yes? That should keep you occupied. As you said, the patterns themselves are useless, so no reason to rush to them. We’ll finish the first three half-designs first, then move to the full patterns. All clear?”

  Sam nodded. “Just give me the go ahead. Oh, and fill my core.”

  Weirdly, Sam found Foundational Imprinting to be more like the physical foundational tracings than the magical ones. Which actually made sense when you thought about it. You weren’t working within the confines of your pathways, like with most magical tracings, but into the physical framework of your body at large. No wonder there were some similarities between the imprinting tracings that he saw online and some of the physical tracings that he had already studied.

  Importing itself didn’t prove to be all that difficult. After the initial failures that had always accompanied his usage of new tracings thus far, it was mostly smooth sailing. He managed to finish imprinting a perfect base (for the purpose of the training) with a little over an hour left in their lesson.

  Which promoted Dan to heave a sigh. “I suppose a ‘well done’ is in order,” he said. “But now I have to decide what we’re going to do for the rest of the hour.”

  “Start on the new gathering methods?”

  Dan narrowed his eyes at him. “Oh… alright. Not much damage you could do with those, I suppose.”