Day Three
The fox was dead. Not from violence, but by my own hand. It was necessary. The final test.
Phasmatos Tribum, Nas Ex Veras, Ante Astenia.
The spirit came willingly well more like it couldn't resist with complex thought. A hazy figure of glowing embers. I reached for it, searching. But what I found was fragmented. The altered memories had unraveled. What remained were only traces of instinct and fear.
Death stripped away my influence. The spell had no hold beyond the grave.
"Noted," I whispered.
But that was not the end.
Emotional Manipulation
This branch of magic was more delicate — a far cry from the brutal certainty of pain spells or the cold finality of necromancy. Emotions were slippery things, intangible. They flowed like water, defying containment. But magic was about intent. I just needed to focus.
Letari Cordis.
The incantation was little more than a whisper, a gentle ripple in the air. My gaze settled on the rabbit I'd managed to catch earlier that morning. It twitched in its small cage, nose quivering. Fear. That was the dominant emotion. Fear of the unknown, fear of confinement.
I reached for it, not with my hands, but with my mind. The spell slid through the air, invisible tendrils brushing against the creature's trembling form. Slowly, the fear ebbed. Its wide eyes softened. The frantic beating of its heart steadied.
"Calm," I murmured.
And it was.
The rabbit pressed itself against the bars, no longer flinching at my presence. Its body relaxed, lulled into a false sense of safety. My fingers brushed the soft fur as I released the spell.
Subject: Rabbit. Emotional Manipulation - Fear to Calm. Result: Immediate Success. Temporary.
I watched as the calmness faded, fear creeping back like a shadow. Temporary. That was the problem. The spell held as long as I willed it, but the moment I released my grip, the rabbit's instincts returned.
A fleeting success.
Day Four
The experiments weighed on me, and sleep was elusive. Each time I closed my eyes, I saw the animals with their wide eyes and trembling bodies. Yet I didn't stop. Understanding magic demanded sacrifice. "Perhaps my sociopathic tendencies have followed me to this life. Note to self: dial back the killings." However, each success only made the failures heavier. I couldn't stop. Not yet.
Day Five
The weather shifted. Rain lashed against the cabin, seeping through cracks in the wood. I barely noticed. My mind was consumed.
There was something I hadn't dared to try.
Biological Manipulation/Healing.
It was dangerous. Far beyond the crude pain spells or telekinesis. The grimoires spoke of it in whispers. Shifting flesh, mending wounds, enhancing strength. A single slip could unravel the caster's own body, twisting bone and sinew in almost irreversible ways.
But what if it worked through the things I could do?
I sliced a thin line across my palm, crimson welling up instantly. The sting was sharp. I gritted my teeth. Then I whispered.
Sanare Corpus.
The warmth spread slowly, like sunlight beneath the skin. The wound sealed, pink flesh knitting together without a trace of blood. No scar. No pain.
I laughed. The sound echoed through the empty cabin, wild and unrestrained. It worked.
Back to Reality
The clock on my phone blinked 10:48 PM. School started tomorrow.
The thought of returning to mundane conversations and empty classrooms weighed on me. I'd grown comfortable here—surrounded by the hum of magic, the thrill of discovery. But I couldn't hide forever less I have sheriffs knocking down my door.
I sighed, rubbing the exhaustion from my eyes. My notebook lay open on the table, pages smeared with ink and stray charcoal marks. Detailed sketches of binding circles, half-formed theories, and pages of experimental notes.
At least now I understood my own potential. The world wasn't as unpredictable as I once thought. Not when I had the means to control it.
"One day," I murmured.
With one final glance at my notes, I shut the journal and climbed into bed. The mattress groaned beneath my weight. Sleep clawed at me, and this time, I let it take me." Morpheus, here I come".
I woke up to the smell of old wood and dust. Sunlight slipped through cracks in the thin curtains, painting lines across the floor.
The past week's been a blur. Days bleeding into each other. The cabin's practically a lab now, with the air thick from burnt herbs and the lingering hum of magic. I pushed the coffee table aside, cleared space in the living room, and marked the floor with chalk symbols — some simple, others frustratingly complex. My efforts left the wood scarred, but that's the least of my problems.
But there's no point dwelling on it. Shit's about to pop off in a couple of days, and I'm not trying to be another statistic.
I drag myself out of bed, feet hitting the cold floor. The bathroom mirror isn't forgiving. Dark circles under my eyes and a faint bruise along my jaw from a backfired shielding spell. It's what I get for excessive use of my magic and being overreliant by conventional means, i.e, traditional magic.
Breakfast is a granola bar and some water. The fridge groans when I open it; it's practically empty. It's not like I've had the energy to shop recently.
Then there's the journal, sitting on my desk like it's waiting for me. The pages are already half-filled with shaky notes. Diagrams of runes. Thoughts on spell mechanics. Failures. A lot of failures. I flip to the latest page and stare at the scrawled words: Three days left.
"Fuck me" I know what that means. Whatever's scratch that who's coming, it won't wait. Regardless, I gotta make sure I have my things for class, but there's time before that. "One more spell, something simple," I murmur. "Then school. Safe to say I'm an addict on a different type of trip.
"Subtilis Fortitudo," he murmured, eyes lingering on the spell's title. According to my mother's notes, the enhancement spell could double a person's capabilities in whatever aspect they focused on. Speed, strength, agility, all subject to dramatic improvement. His mother had never attempted it herself. The risk had been apparently too significant.
But he wasn't his her.
I stepped outside, the cool air biting against my skin. The backyard was empty, the patchy grass worn from years of neglect. Perfect for a test. Taking a deep breath, I centered myself, closing my eyes and focusing on the spell.
"Subtilis Fortitudo: Velocitas." The words rolled off my tongue, laced with intention. A pulse of energy flickered through my veins, subtle and unassuming. I frowned. Nothing felt different—no surge of power, no exhilarating rush. Just the same old body.
"Figures," I muttered, shaking my head. Whatever. I wasn't about to waste my time standing around. I walked to the makeshift starting line, shoving my sneakers into the dirt like I was back on the field. The 40-yard dash was muscle memory at this point—I'd run it more times than I cared to count.
With a steadying breath, I launched forward.
It started slow, familiar. But within seconds, a newfound force surged through my muscles. The world blurred around me. My feet barely touched the ground, each stride propelling him faster. I reached the end in a blink, chest heaving as he skidded to a stop.
"Holy shit."
-----------------------------------------------------------------------
PowerStones!!!!!!!!!!
I told you i'm committed to this fandom and my pockets, see you lot tomorrow for another chapter hope you enjoyed.