Nicholas directs me to sit cross-legged on the ground. He mirrors my position and sits close enough that our knees are touching.

  “We must hold hands to create a circular current of magic,” he explains.

  “What are the rest of the things for?” I ask, glancing pointedly at the small burners sitting to either side of us, the lines drawn in the sand in odd patterns, and an emblem that I vaguely recognise lying over both of our crossed legs – a three part shield with a fox, a hammer crossed with a sword, and a spider-web.

  “Fire purifies; we do not want any inflictions, curses, or other irregularities accidentally passed between us,” he answers and I feel a sudden wave of concern – I didn’t realise that that was possible – like a magical infection. “The symbols will direct the magic as we need it to flow – this is a ritual which even novices with no magic Skills, or mortals with no Classes can use. It works better if at least one of the participants has some experience with channelling magic, but it’s not a requirement. As for the emblem, it is the shield of Titanbend. Though it has no magical properties in and of itself and is not enchanted, symbolism is still remarkably important in rituals, especially this sort.”

  “You mentioned channeling – what kind of magic do I need to channel?”

  Nicholas frowns at my question.

  “What do you mean? Magic is magic. Your mana.”

  “Ah, I see,” I answer, though I’m surprised by his lack of comprehension. Perhaps I shouldn’t be, after the revelation earlier that Nicholas at least has no idea about Energy channels. Though he has mentioned ‘channelling’. “What do you mean by ‘channelling’ then?"

  Nicholas’ frown deepens.

  “Keeping a steady and consistent flow of mana through the connection. What else could it mean?”

  Interesting. I don’t know what his Skills are – maybe he doesn’t have any Shaping Skills. And even if he does, if he didn’t gain them the way I did, maybe he’s never realised that mana changes when used for different purposes. Either way, it seems like the magical knowledge here only touches the basics of what I’ve been able to find out for myself in a single year despite having had centuries at least to discover it for themselves, from what I can gather. It seems rather unlikely that I could be the only one to have had weird enough experiences to discover Energy channels and how to manipulate mana. Which implies that either the knowledge is being erased or hoarded.

  “Is that something you feel confident in doing?” Nicholas asks with a hint of concern. I drag my thoughts away from musing about the society I’ve just entered and back to the task at hand. “If you’re not certain about what is involved, just relax and let the ritual move your mana for you. While it is designed for those with no magical experience, it is not designed for a mage’s interference.”

  “I promise I’ll do my best not to interfere.”

  Nicholas seems reassured and gives a short nod.

  “Very well, then. If you have no more questions, I shall trigger the beginning of the ritual.” I just shrug and nod in wordless agreement.

  When Nicholas reaches out to me, I take his hands, a slight twinge of discomfort going through me – touching other men except for a quick handshake isn’t exactly common where I’m from. Even my father stopped doing more than a brief shoulder clap after I reached late adolescence. And his human hand feels so different from the scaly ones of the samurans I’ve held briefly over the last year that there’s a touch of dissonance there. Nicholas’ hands are an odd mixture of soft and callused. I doubt he’s doing much hard labour so I wonder what the calluses are from – a weapon?

  We grip each other’s fingers and then Nicholas starts intoning words at a low pitch. I don’t understand them – whatever language they’re in, the stone I was given didn’t cover it. They send shivers down my spine, though. Understanding or not, something within me recognises that the words contain power.

  Within me, I feel my mana stirring. Nicholas didn’t say anything about remaining fully aware during the ritual; indeed, if anything, his words about the ritual being designed for anyone to use without any manual intervention implies that I don’t need to pay attention not to what’s happening outside me, anyway. So, closing my eyes, I drop into my Core space, curious to see what it will do to signal that I’m part of House Titanbend.

  The first thing I see is the mana being pulled out of my Core towards the clump of Energy channels which I know from experience are found in my left hand. It’s not a lot of mana being pulled out, but it’s a little unnerving to see it happening without my direction. It doesn’t hurt, but I have an instinctive desire to stop it being moved without my permission. I fight back against that instinctive response, though – I have a feeling that that would fall under the category of ‘interference’.

  When it gets to the outer parts of my internal matrix, the mana is pulled out of my body entirely. That does hurt a touch, though it’s more of a sense of loss than pain. It’s a very small sensation too, one I only feel because I’m paying so much attention to it.

  Looking to the opposite side of my Core space, I notice that mana is coming in there. ‘Zooming’ over to inspect that area more closely, the Energy channels in my right hand, I notice the differences between the mana which is entering me and my own. It’s impossible for me to describe – something of a taste, a touch of a smell, a hint of a texture, music that hovers on the edge of my hearing, and something that is none of those. Still, now I’ve sensed it, I don’t think I’ll ever forget it.

  The mana heads straight for my Core but when it gets there, it doesn’t get absorbed into it. Instead, it seems to…coat my Core? No, I realise after a moment. It’s painting on my Core. The coating which seemed ready to cover my whole Core is being dragged into certain positions as if it’s a load of iron filings pulled by a magnet. And over time, those positions start to link up with each other to create a design which is newly familiar.

  I have to admit, I’m not sure how I feel about my Core bearing the Titanbend shield along with another assortment of symbols. But there is no sense of malignant intention, nor does it appear that it impedes my mana leaving my Core – certainly, the mana flowing out of me hasn’t been impacted in the slightest.

  And then the flow entering me cuts off. At the same time, the mana which is in my system is pulled back to my Core to mix with the remnants of the foreign mana which hasn’t been added to the design patterned over my Core. The mixture gathers around my Core, pauses for a moment, and then suddenly explodes in a wave through my system and then out of it.

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  Sensing that the ritual has finished, I pull myself out of my Core space and settle back into my body. I take a moment to self-evaluate – I don’t feel any different from before. Clearly whatever it is that’s been done to me, it’s subtle. I open my eyes again. Nicholas looks at me with an eyebrow raised.

  “Having a little nap, were you?”

  “Meditating,” I answer with a shrug. The other eyebrow goes up to join the first.

  “I remember that you’d got that Skill up remarkably high. What did you do in the other world which required so much increase to your mana regeneration without being in combat?” he asks curiously.

  “Lots of things,” I admit. “Flesh-Shaping is a very mana-hungry Skill if I’m doing anything more than surface healing or transformations. And the extra Energy gain when my resource pools are full is very nice.”

  “You can earn more Energy in Meditation?” Nicholas asks next, surprise filling his voice.

  I shrug again.

  “It seems so. You can’t?”

  “I don’t have Meditation and it’s never been a Skill my family specialised in,” he admits. “None of my Skills are particularly mana-hungry so I’ve never seen the point in spending the effort to acquire it. We don’t have a stone for it. Perhaps you’ll add one later?”

  “Perhaps,” I answer noncommittally, though a small part of me likes the idea of adding to a heritage for future generations of my newly adopted House to benefit from.

  Nicholas pushes himself to his feet and holds out a hand. I grip it and let him pull me to my own feet. We brush ourselves off.

  “So, is that it?” I ask.

  “That’s it,” he confirms. Then he gives a grin which makes his eyes twinkle. “Now, care to see the heritage of our House? The treasure that every generation has dedicated itself to seeing grow and not dwindle?”

  “Sounds fun,” I agree. Is this the heritage which Nicholas promised to me in the letter which began all of this?

  We head back up the stairs after Nicholas has returned the burners and emblem to his Inventory and we’ve both kicked through the sand-drawn symbols to erase them. When we leave the room, Bastet sniffs at us curiously.

  You both smell like burning. And you smell more like him now.

  How like him? I ask curiously. The burning can be explained by the ‘purifying’ flames that worked during the ritual.

  Like you are pack, she answers simply, then tilts her head to one side. Is he pack now?

  It’s a good question. I send a sideways look at Nicholas and startle slightly when I realise he’s gazing at me already.

  Not yet, I say. It’s too soon for that. But maybe one day. As long as Nicholas sticks to what he’s agreed and never again makes the same mistake of intentionally keeping pertinent information from me without good reason, that is.

  “Shall we go?” Nicholas asks and I nod in agreement.

  We head back the way we came and then back up the stairs to reach the ground level of the manor. Walking back through the corridors, I follow Nicholas to a stretch of wall which is almost conspicuous for the lack of other adornments. It’s carved, but there are no tapestries or ornaments. That’s not so unusual that I would have noticed it if I was just walking casually through the corridors, but when we stop in front of it, I realise there must be something special here. A hidden door? I wonder.

  Sure enough, when Nicholas pricks his finger on a dagger he apparently keeps up his sleeve and then flicks a drop of blood at the wall, the outline of a door appears. It has a keyhole but Nicholas doesn’t take out a key for it. Instead, he touches it with his palm. Is this a magical biometric scanner?

  Nicholas apparently senses my curiosity as he glances at me and explains.

  “Only one with the correct Class and who is the lord of House Titanbend can grant access to this room. The blood must be fresh, and the enchantment reads whether the lord is willing or unwilling. In all the years we’ve been amassing our treasure, no one has ever gained access to this room by force.”

  “Couldn’t they just go through the wall, then?” I ask – even if super-strength wasn’t something that happened now, siege weapons exist even on Earth. I get the importance of having a strong door, but it’s useless if the walls around are not just as reinforced.

  Nicholas gives a satisfied smile.

  “Our ancestor was prepared for that possibility. The whole space is actually held in another dimension and this doorway is the only means of opening it. On the other side of this wall lies an unremarkable sitting room. The only person who could perhaps gain unauthorised access to this space is a spatial mage, but he would have to find it first. Without the anchor of the active doorway, such an endeavour would be like finding a seed pearl in the sand of a beach.”

  “It sounds pretty secure,” I admit. “You have me curious – what warrants all of this protection, then?”

  Nicholas just grins at me and then opens the door with a flourish. He gestures for me to walk forward and I do so, the contents of the room coming into sight as lights flicker into existence.

  “Ah, I ask for your Bonded to stay outside again. The objects inside are precious and it will be cramped enough for us two to be in there at the same time.” I look back towards the door and see Bastet trying to follow me. Seeing how much space she takes up in the doorway alone, I can see Nicholas’ point.

  Sorry, I apologise to her. It’s not been very interesting for you this morning, has it?

  My belly is full, my pack is safe, and I am with you. It is enough, she tells me prosaically. I will stay outside.

  Thanks, I tell her, grateful for her understanding. I nod at Nicholas and then turn to continue walking into the room.

  Straight in front of the door is a bookcase packed with tomes. It looks much like the cases in the library, full of dark leather-bound books instead of the colourful paperbacks I’m used to from modern libraries. These books immediately appear to be older than the ones I’ve used to complete Nicholas’ assignments, though. Several of them seem to be falling apart at the seams – so fragile that I wouldn’t want to risk pulling them off the shelf except in dire need.

  “Our family grimoires and secrets,” Nicholas explains, seeing the direction of my gaze. “Most of these only exist in this room with only a couple of exceptions which are also found in the library.” I continue walking forwards and first the left hand side of the room comes into view and then the right as I move past the open door.

  I recognise what fills the shelves on the left hand side – Cores. Lots of them. Some as small as my thumbnail; others as big as my head. My eyebrows go up and I can’t prevent an impressed breath from escaping. The amount of work which must have gone into gathering such a number – and so many big Cores – is astounding. Though, I do notice that they all have the appearance of beast Cores; I don’t notice any of the crystalline shapes of natural Cores, let alone Cores which resemble the ones I manufactured out of Pure Energy.

  On the left hand side are racks which are even more carefully filled with familiar items: Skill stones and Class stones.

  I swallow at the sight – knowing more now about the effort that goes into creating Skill stones and, presumably, also Class stones, I can only say that this is indeed a treasure worth protecting.

  I turn to Nicholas.

  “Why have you shown me this? Just to show me the heritage of the family, or….”

  Nicholas grins again, the expression looking surprisingly boyish, especially in comparison to how he looked earlier.

  “Or.”

  here!

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