Gondel kept his expression carefully schooled after Jack’s shocking demonstration of his newly forged staff. Something akin to worry—or perhaps resignation—lingered in his eyes. He said little as he guided Jack and Petros back through Pendle, half-listening to their chatter as they shared the morning’s events.

  They’ve accomplished in days what took me decades…

  A flicker of discomfort crossed Gondel’s face. It wasn’t just jealousy—he needed them to be this strong. A deep part of him wondered: At what cost? For now, he shoved the thought aside, letting the two “children” head off for breakfast at the Boar & Brew while he returned to his campsite. They’d reconvene later for deeper training, though Gondel still weighed whether pushing them further was wise.

  Jack and Petros sat at a corner table in the tavern, ordering a hearty morning meal of eggs, bread, and steaming tea. Petros dug in hungrily before launching into everything that had happened since they parted ways: healing a dying child, reversing an incurable disease, and alleviating an older woman’s arthritis.

  Jack listened, eyes wide, impressed. “So you basically performed a mini-miracle? That’s beyond your typical healing skill.”

  Petros shrugged, flushing modestly. “It drained my mana to near zero, but… it felt natural. Like a muscle tear that rebuilds stronger afterward.” He paused, rummaging in his pouch for a tattered stack of notes. “I also read a ton. Gondel’s trunk had references to the Chronicles of the Sevenfold Seal and Principles of High Arcana—some advanced stuff about runic synergy, Source-based weaves, you name it.”

  Jack nodded eagerly as he gnawed on a slice of bread. “And the map? You said you recognized something labeled Shaz’val?”

  Petros flipped through pages, tapping a crude sketch he’d made of an oak tree. “Yes. It’s apparently ‘Shadow Realm’ in that old conlang. The trunk on the map is near the place you found your staff branch. Might be an entry point to a… dungeon or gateway to the Shadow Realm, if SR3’s lore holds true.”

  Jack’s eyes gleamed. “You think it’s level-locked, like in the game? In SR3, you needed to be at least Level 10 to do the starter dungeons for the Shadow Realm, or risk certain death.”

  Petros shivered at that prospect. “Probably. SRO's version might be even harsher. Gondel might confirm eventually, but that’s what I suspect.”

  The two then reminisced—how, in SR3, they’d spent endless nights unlocking hidden quests and reading online guides, enthralled by the game’s secrets. Now, the “beta test” seemed to have transported them into a deadly version of that same beloved universe.

  When Jack mentions the wolves—how he befriends Saul and sends the sister wolf to find Asil—Petros’s jaw drops in a mixture of envy and relief. “A pair of wolves? That’s insane. But I guess we do need all the help we can get… especially if we want to find the others we came in with,” he added thoughtfully.

  “Exactly,” Jack agreed. “These are the kind of exploits I used to look for in the game: any advantage, even if it’s not quite by the ‘design.’” He leaned in. “But there’s something else. You know how Mage Meditation was a skill or function in SR3, right? Some players used it to refine mana usage after hitting certain skill thresholds.”

  “Right,” Petros replied, remembering the tangential references he’d seen on the forums. “But I was always a warrior class. I never had the patience for ‘sitting around chanting spells.’” He smirked.

  Jack shrugged. “Me neither—until now. But given how real and lethal everything is, fine-tuning our mana control seems smart. Especially you, since your healing is borderline OP. If you can refine that, you’ll be unstoppable.”

  Petros nodded slowly, appetite for the day’s planning returning. He downed the last of his tea. “So, you want us to practice meditation… together?”

  A slight grin crept across Jack’s face. “I know it sounds corny—like some new age workshop. But it seems that what worked in the game, works here.” Pulling out his journal to show his progress, “Meditation bought me some levels and a ton of insight in this new game. Let’s try it before we go see Gondel again, I want you to catch up so we can hit the shadow realms.”

  They paid their tab, stepping outside into the cool midmorning air. Jack guided Petros to a more secluded nook behind the tavern near a patch of tall grass and a leaning oak trunk. No sign of Saul or any watchers, just a peaceful corner suitable for quiet focus.

  “Alright.” Jack exhaled, half-laughing at himself. “Time for your ‘meditation journey,’ as I so dramatically put it. Let’s start simple.”

  Petros settled cross-legged on the grass, awkward at first, but the memory of channeling big healing spells helped him center. Jack stood guard briefly, scanning around as if to confirm no one would interrupt them. Then he sank down opposite Petros.

  “Close your eyes,” Jack instructed, voice gentler than usual. “Focus on your breathing, in through the nose, out through the mouth… let the outside world fade.”

  Petros obeyed, inhaling slowly. He felt the morning sun’s warmth on his cheeks and heard the faint bustle of Pendle’s residents from afar. One by one, those sounds receded as he concentrated on the cadence of each breath.

  Jack closed his own eyes, remembering how his own mana tree had appeared in his mental plane. He quietly wondered what Petros’s internal domain might look like. With a final glance at the calm sky, Jack let the hush envelop him.

  And so they began, two “players” adopting a skill once relegated to an RPG’s menu option. If the game’s logic held true, this session would unlock new avenues of mana control for Petros. Unbeknownst to them, forces in the forest—and far beyond—continued to watch, unseen and patient, as Jack and Petros took these first meditative steps into a dangerous and mysterious realm of magic.

  Jack and Petros sat across from each other on the floor, eyes closed, both breathing in slow, measured rhythm. A sense of quiet anticipation filled the space—the inn’s modest room, where morning light filtered weakly through thin curtains.

  “Now,” Jack said softly, as though guiding a meditation class, “reach out with your mind. Feel your surroundings.”

  Petros inhaled, trying to distinguish whether Jack’s voice reached him via actual sound or some telepathic thread. A curiously calm sensation stole over him, making the boy more aware of the room than he’d ever been. He didn’t see the space physically, but rather perceived it: the orientation of two bedrolls, the exact position of the shuttered window, even the slow crawl of a spider weaving a life in one high corner.

  A bubbling excitement rose in Petros’s chest, nearly shattering his focus—until he sensed Jack’s presence reining him in, a wordless reminder to maintain composure.

  “Keep that focus,” Jack continued, his voice like a comforting echo in Petros’s mind. “Now, gently expand your senses beyond just the room.”

  At first, Petros tried pushing outward, forcibly probing the walls. But the more he forced it, the more his perception shrank. Then he felt a ripple of serenity from Jack—a nudge to let go of his usual study-based approach. Petros imagined a breeze carrying his awareness outward, drifting past the room’s boundaries. Freed from overthinking, he found his perceptive range blossoming.

  Suddenly, Petros’s awareness slid beyond the inn room, ghosting through the floor below like a gentle wind. He felt the lively hum of morning patrons finishing breakfast, recognized two regulars hunched over a board game akin to chess, and spotted Raven moving between tables. Embarrassed, his heart skipped—watching her so intimately felt invasive. Petros sensed Jack’s amused reaction, almost like a silent chuckle at his teenage fluster.

  Flushing, Petros shifted focus away from the tavern, letting the breeze pull him outside into Pendle’s village square. Though not a massive city, Pendle remained a crucial crossroads for north or south travelers, with a lesser road branching west toward Fort Harjil and the ominous Dark Woods. Petros picked up the subdued bustle of merchants loading carts, stray conversations about trades, and the faint bray of a donkey. He was amazed at the clarity and at how far his psychic “view” stretched before dimming at the edges.

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  Jack allowed him to linger, letting Petros sense his personal limit. Petros marveled at how much he could glean from this gentle approach, recalling Mage Meditation from SR3. Unbelievable, he thought. I’m actually doing it…

  Soon, Jack’s silent prompting nudged him. “Now rein that sense in,” Jack instructed, voice subdued but resolute. “Similar to how you let it expand. Pull it all back and focus it inside yourself.”

  Petros’s mind balked. He was used to controlling every step logically, not drifting on intuition. Summoning the breeze metaphor again, he pictured a slow vortex reversing direction, pulling the wind—and his consciousness—back. The shift initially felt clumsy, as though swirling chaotic energies threatened to snap him out of a trance. Twice, he nearly lost concentration, but each time, he recalled the calm presence he’d sensed from Jack. If he can do this, so can I.

  Gradually, the outside world melted away, replaced by a deep darkness. Petros gasped, a stab of panic tightening his chest at the notion that he couldn’t breathe in this void. Then he remembered: My real body is breathing just fine…

  Steadying himself, he conjured an image of his limbs. Sure enough, a hazy outline of arms and legs came into being, letting him “move” in the emptiness. The darkness pressed in, thick as tar, but with each step, it eased as though his confidence parted the gloom. Soon, he spotted a blue glimmer in the distance—maybe the same “mana pool” Jack had described.

  Jack? Petros tried calling mentally but felt only the faint sense of Jack’s presence in the physical realm; no direct guidance in here. Alright, he thought. This is my journey.

  He pressed on, the blue spark growing into a vast lake, glowing like bio-luminescent waters. The color reminded Petros of pictures he’d seen of enchanted beaches on Earth, though this was no seaside phenomenon but a representation of his own internal mana. He knelt at the shore, peering into the luminous ripples.

  An urge to dive in warred with caution. Petros recalled Jack’s warning: going too deep, too fast, could overwhelm him. Instead, he tentatively reached out, letting his fingertips graze the surface. A jolt of raw power surged, crackling through his spirit form. It felt cool and invigorating, yet also potent—like the potential for unstoppable magic if appropriately harnessed.

  Then, without warning, a hand shot from beneath the water, grabbing his arm in a vice-like grip. With terrifying speed, it yanked him headlong into the glowing depths. Petros had no time to scream, no chance to resist—just a rush of brilliant blue light and pounding adrenaline as he plunged below the mana’s surface.

  Jack sat cross-legged across from Petros, eyes closed, breathing steadily. He could sense the boy’s presence drifting from the immediate surroundings into his own inner realm—the spiritual plane where a mage’s mana pool resided. Usually, Jack would leave Petros to explore alone, but a sudden shudder in the air made him stiffen. Something was wrong.

  He opened his eyes and found Petros before him, face twisted with distress. The boy’s lids twitched as though in the grip of a nightmare. Jack’s heart thudded, remembering that Petros was only twelve—despite his brilliance and rapid leveling, he was still a child thrust into life-or-death magic.

  “Petros,” Jack said softly, setting a hand on the kid’s shoulder.

  Inside, he wrestled with panic. Petros didn’t stir, remaining trapped in that silent terror. Jack’s pulse spiked; his protective instincts roared to the surface.

  “Petros!” Jack tried again, more urgently, giving him a gentle shake.

  No response. Petros’s eyes stayed closed, flickering behind the lids in frantic motion. Jack inhaled, placing both hands on the boy’s shoulders, fighting to keep his voice calm but resonant.

  “PETROS.”

  Though his tone was subdued, he sent out a strong mental command, letting his own will reverberate through the intangible bond of shared meditation. The very air in the small inn room seemed to hum. Below them, the tavern’s patrons paused mid-bite, uncertain why their hair prickled or why the air briefly felt charged. Then, they carried on as if nothing had happened.

  At that moment, Petros gasped, eyes snapping open. Tears glistened on his cheeks. Before Jack could speak, the boy lurched forward, clinging to him in a fierce hug. Startled, Jack wrapped his arms around Petros, his chest twisting with concern.

  “It’s alright,” Jack murmured, stroking Petros’s back. “You’re safe now.”

  Petros’s voice trembled against his shoulder. “H-he wants us, Jack. He’s calling for us…”

  Jack frowned, holding the boy closer. “It’s okay,” he said quietly, though his mind churned with questions. Who is ‘he’? “He can’t reach us, not here.”

  Petros pulled away just enough to meet Jack’s gaze, eyes still shining with tears. “He can, Jack. You didn’t see… the power…” His voice was thick with lingering fear.

  The seriousness in Petros’s expression sparked a wave of protective resolve in Jack. Gradually, he allowed a mischievous grin to surface. It was the grin of someone who refused to be intimidated by gods or devils. “Then we’ll just get stronger,” he said, voice brimming with the same confidence that once propelled him to chase exploits in every game he played.

  Something in that fearless grin soothed Petros’s panic. Though his heartbeat still hammered, he felt a surge of relief. “We will get stronger,” he echoed softly, mirroring Jack’s determined smile.

  For a long moment, they simply breathed, letting the tension drain away, forging an unspoken vow between them: no matter who or what lurked in the dark realms, they would stand together—learning, leveling up, and defying any ancient force that dared to claim them.

  After a few minutes of letting his heartbeat settle, Petros tried to piece together what had happened in his meditation. Though the memory felt blurred, the sense of vast power and an ominous presence remained vivid.

  “I was at my mana pool,” he began quietly, voice still quivering with leftover adrenaline. “It appeared as this huge lake. I could tell it was just a tiny portion of the Source beyond—like a drop in the ocean.” He paused, swallowing hard. “I barely touched the surface, feeling that surge… but then something grabbed me, pulled me under, and for a moment, I—” His voice faltered. “I knew things, Jack. Everything.”

  Jack squeezed the boy’s shoulder in silent encouragement. “But it’s faded now?” he asked, though the answer was evident from Petros’s haunted expression.

  “Yeah,” Petros admitted. “All I remember are these… eyes, deep below the lake. When that hand dragged me down, I sensed someone—something—overwhelming. If I’d gone any deeper, I’d have been… lost.”

  A flicker of concern shadowed Jack’s gaze. He recalled his own brush with an entity lurking near his mana tree. So Petros saw him, too. Despite the unease gnawing at him, Jack forced a reassuring tone.

  “We’ll get stronger,” Jack said firmly. “Then whatever’s hiding in our mana realms or the Source won’t stand a chance.”

  Petros took a shaky breath but offered a slight nod. “We will get stronger,” he echoed, borrowing Jack’s ironclad resolve.

  A weight lifted between them, replaced by a current of determination. Jack had no plan beyond leveling up and mastering their spells, but that may be enough for now.

  They rose, heading out for fresh air and a better vantage on the day. The pair navigated the inn’s narrow steps, pushing into the town square. The morning bustle had picked up, merchants hawking produce, villagers exchanging gossip. Jack inhaled deeply, letting the energy of Pendle wash over him.

  Though an undercurrent of sinister possibility still lingered—somewhere, someone was orchestrating something dark—Jack felt oddly invigorated. He couldn’t stop thinking about Asil, imagining she was equally occupied forging her own path. We’ll reunite eventually, he promised himself, mentally crossing his fingers.

  Jack experimented with his newly refined senses as they threaded through the market stalls. He closed his eyes for a breath, half-meditating while walking, scanning the flow of the Source. He perceived swirling currents of mana hovering around people like invisible streams. Yet for most townsfolk, those streams never touched them—like a mighty river that ran just out of reach.

  Then Jack spotted Henry at his forge, hammering a piece of metal. Through Jack’s heightened awareness, he noticed faint filaments of energy radiating around Henry, straining toward the Source as though longing for a connection. Another set of filaments from the Source reached back but remained disconnected—no bridging spark.

  “What are you doing?” Petros hissed under his breath, noticing Jack had halted in the middle of the street.

  Jack held up a hand, entranced by the patterns. What if… I tried to help him connect? The moment the idea crossed his mind, he exerted a gentle mental nudge, willing Henry’s energy to link with the swirling mana. At first, nothing changed. But then, slowly, the filaments trembled and aligned—click—and Henry’s aura brightened in Jack’s inner vision, subtle power now flowing through him.

  Petros gasped, feeling a surge of energy from across the square. He whirled on Jack, wide-eyed. “Jack… what did you just do?”

  Jack exhaled, swallowing a jolt of exhilaration. “I… think I connected him to the Source,” he murmured, glancing at Henry. The blacksmith continued his work, oblivious to the subtle shift in his aura.

  “So Henry has magic now?” Petros pressed, still staring at the blacksmith.

  Jack gave a tentative nod. “Probably. It’ll be weak at first—he’ll have to level it up if that’s even possible. But yeah.”

  Petros looked both awed and alarmed. “That’s insane. You can’t just give people magic like that.”

  Jack shrugged, a wry grin crossing his lips. “Worked, didn’t it?”

  They exchanged a grim look, recalling Gondel’s many warnings. Petros’s face clouded. “Are you sure we should be doing this? Gondel might… well, let’s just say I don’t fully trust his motives.”

  Jack nodded, setting a hand lightly on Petros’s shoulder. “Let’s keep this quiet for now, yeah? No reason to hand him ammunition against us. It stays between us.”

  Petros returned the nod, heart pounding with the realization of how drastically they were reshaping Aerothane’s status quo. “Between us,” he repeated softly, forging a new secret. And so they set off again, continuing down the road—two outworlders gaining powers at breakneck speed, forging silent pacts, and rewriting the rules of a severed magical land.