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I do my best not to flinch.
“Then that’s all the more reason to avoid using it,” I reply as stoically as I can.
“Suit yourself,” he says with a shrug, “but it is far more efficient to fight darkness with darkness. Shadows feast on aether.”
This I know to be true. When we fought Arluin atop the Aether Tower, he was powerful enough to corrupt Father’s spells and use them to fuel his own magic. That’s why Natharius’s words almost tempt me. Or perhaps that’s the shadows within me speaking.
“Are you willing to teach me?” I ask after a moment. “Spells involving aether, I mean.”
“What choice do I have? If I refuse, you will only force me to do so.”
“That’s why I asked if you were willing or not.”
He heaves out a sigh. “Sit.”
I do as he instructs and sit opposite him, cross-legged on the grass.
“Close your eyes.” When I do, he takes my hands in his. The shadows wash over us, and the sensation of the grass beneath fades. As does the wind brushing my cheeks. I can’t feel myself breathe. My body is a distant memory.
The darkness clears, and I find myself standing in the same meadow as the one from my dream with Arluin. The sky above, which I suppose reflects the aether in my blood, is tinged with darkness like before. At least it hasn’t spread.
Thankfully, Arluin is nowhere to be seen. Only my demonic companion. “Where are we?” I ask.
“Inside your soul.”
“We’re inside my soul because . . .?”
“Because I cannot cast aether in the material plane of existence. Everything here, however, exists only in your mind.”
“Then I suppose it’s a little like a mind-link spell.”
“Perhaps, but the spell is far more powerful and does not require a connection between two individuals.”
“What do you mean?”
“One could reach this state of transcendence alone—provided they are powerful enough to cast it. Many skilled enchanters, including myself, use it to master spells which would otherwise take years to practice. How slowly time flows in this state depends on the strength of the one casting it.”
Now that he’s explained it, I recall reading about such a technique in the Arcanium. But only the most powerful of magi can reach this meditative state. I’m not sure whether Father practiced it, but it would certainly be useful to someone as busy as the Grandmage of Nolderan.
“How slowly would you estimate time to be passing for us now?” I ask.
“At approximately a tenth of the usual speed.”
“So, ten hours here would be only one in the physical plane?”
“Indeed. Now, I would recommend we first work on your pitiful aim.”
I wrinkle my nose. “There’s nothing wrong with my aim. Not usually, anyway. It was only with that spell. I’ve never tried to cast it before tonight.”
Natharius waves his hand. Six obsidian statues surround us. Their silhouettes are humanoid but lack any detail to distinguish what race they’re modeled after. “I will demonstrate the spell again, but now with aether.” Violet light sparks at his fingers. It’s odd to watch the Void Prince draw on aether rather than dark magic. The crimson glow of his eyes fades to the iridescent hue of a moon elf’s, and his clothes change to teal robes decorated with magenta thread. Even his hair seems to shine brighter.
I’m so busy examining the changes to his appearance that I forget I’m supposed to be watching his demonstration of the spell. All I notice is aether bursting through the six obsidian targets.
“Your turn,” he says.
I give him a nod and focus on the target opposite us. This time when I cast the spell, I’m pleased to note there’s nothing wrong with my aim. It lacks the power to go all the way around the circle of targets, but at least the attempt is decent enough Natharius can’t mock me for it. He makes me repeat the spell over and over, instructing me to adjust my angle and timing. He also refines the way I pronounce the spell-wordfolmen, forcing me to slowly repeat each syllable after him.
There’s no way of sensing time inside this meadow, but I’m sure it takes me a thousand tries before Natharius is satisfied.
