For hours he’d pushed, a relentless pursuit, attempting to master the Hunger. The grimoire had embedded itself within him, its dark edict a tangible presence. Yue and Ether had offered no meaningful insights, each clinging to a maddeningly simple directive: to make it his own.

  What did that even mean?

  He launched himself into the technique once more. The Hunger, a chaotic storm of power, continued to defy his attempts at control. Lentus, his ever-present, serpentine companion, was the only thing that allowed him to even attempt the technique safely. Each attempt, however, brought him no closer to mastery. The raw, consuming need forced its way through his mental grasp like an avalanche.

  Must… maintain… control…

  His body tightened, muscles like iron as he wrestled with the force, attempting to impose his will on the swirling mana. The Hunger, a ravenous entity, thrashed, its tendrils reaching, grasping, pulling in the surrounding energy, warping his mind.

  He fought, pushing back against the overwhelming force, his sanity threadbare. However, the power was beyond him. A wizard’s technique, and not any ordinary one at that.

  “Lentus!” The thought was a desperate plea, a hair’s breadth from being lost, before another wave of entropic magic, summoned by his serpentine companion, washed over him, quashing the Hunger once again.

  He collapsed to the floor, his body vibrating with residual mana, his spirit crushed.

  “It’s growing stronger each time, Kor. If you don’t devise a method of control soon...”

  A shiver traced his spine at the unspoken implication in Lentus’s mental warning.

  “How, Lentus? It’s just so powerful, so... hungry.”

  His snake-like companion, who had essentially become a living scarf since his hatching, offered no immediate solution, only a mental yawn.

  “Perhaps consult the others,” Lentus suggested, his mental voice tinged with sleepiness. “I, however, require rest.”

  “Who do you think I should ask?” Kor muttered, a sigh escaping his lips. He looked around, his gaze pausing on the empty stairwell.

  “... Lentus?”

  Only silence greeted him. The serpent, it seemed, had already drifted back into slumber. If I could actually hunt down Terra, perhaps she would have some words of advice. She specialises in mana control, after all.

  The Spire loomed, a crystalline monolith piercing the swirling, turbulent sky. Kor adjusted his glasses, gazing upward. The air vibrated with latent energy, the powerful barrier protecting Conflux rippling like the surface of a disturbed pond as it weathered another mana storm.

  Rain, imbued with raw magical force, lashed down, but it was the sky beyond the shimmering golden dome of the barrier that held Kor’s attention. A canvas of bruised purple and inky black it roiled with thunderclouds, their bellies momentarily illuminated as incandescent veins of lightning slammed against the protective shield.

  Each gout of lightning was met by a barely perceptible pulse of energy from the great Nexus spire. Usually a vibrant spectacle, the spire’s colours had faded to a cloudy grey, mirroring the darkness of today’s weather.

  Perhaps one day I may delve into its secrets. Such a powerful barrier would undoubtedly provide some insight into a forming formidable barriers. A flicker of ambition ignited in his eyes. Now that the charade of ‘snowflake boy’ was no longer necessary, certain enhancements were viable to his own shields. Practice with the fractal trainer had yielded increasingly potent designs that, once he’d regained control of his mana, would surely—

  “Kor?”

  Lena’s voice, soft yet carrying a hint of amusement, cut through his musings, pulling him back to the present. She stood a few paces away, a slender figure with a cascade of raven hair that framed a face both intelligent and kind. Her violet eyes, usually reserved, danced with a playful light as she brushed a stray lock behind her ear.

  “Lena!” He straightened, a grin breaking across his face. “How was your trip?”

  “Dark and peaceful.” A soft smile touched her lips, her gaze drifting as if recalling the memory. “Even Conflux doesn’t seem so oppressive with a storm to blot out the suns.”

  He chuckled, the sound a little breathless. “I suppose that’s one perspective.”

  “What have you got around your neck?” She leaned closer, her subtle yet captivating floral perfume surrounding him.

  He stammered, suddenly acutely aware of her closeness, his cheeks flushing a delicate pink. “Uh, this is Lentus, my companion.”

  “He’s adorable!” Her eyes lit up, and a playful grin spread across her face.

  Kor glanced down at his snake-scarf. Lentus, an Entropy Serpent, was indeed as black as the void between stars, his obsidian scales shimmering with an unearthly quality. Even in his slumber, pulses of vibrant, multicoloured light coursed through his body, fading in and out like distant nebulae.

  “May I?” Lena’s hand hesitated in the air, fingers trembling faintly as if caught between reaching out and pulling back.

  “Sure,” he managed, his voice a little thick. “He’s asleep most of the time, anyway.”

  Her slender fingers brushed against Lentus’s scales. The serpent’s mental state, previously a haze of dormant energy, shifted under her touch, becoming noticeably more relaxed.

  “I think he likes that,” Kor observed, meeting Lena’s gaze for a fleeting moment. Their faces were close, close enough for him to see the subtle widening of her violet eyes, the delicate flush that rose to her cheeks. She quickly pulled back, a blush colouring her cheeks.

  “Is Terra in?” she asked, her gaze shifting away, a subtle tremor in her voice.

  “No,” he replied, a flicker of disappointment crossing his features. “I was hoping to seek her advice, but she’s nowhere to be found.”

  “Oh... okay.” For a moment, her face shifted, something fleeting and unreadable flickering in her eyes before she turned back to him. The corners of her lips twitched. Not quite a smile, not quite a frown. “I never did properly congratulate you on the expedition. Fourth place, Kor.”

  Now it was his turn to blush, a deeper crimson washing over his face. “Haha, yeah. It was a close call.”

  “Even so, that’s impressive, Kor.” Her voice steadied, the earlier hesitation replaced by a firm, almost defiant tone. She tilted her head slightly, her gaze locking onto his. “With so many formidable students this year, it’s hard to believe you’re keeping pace with royalty.”

  A few students, their robes trimmed in silver, strolled past, their footsteps muffled by the enchanted pathways that glowed with a soft, internal luminescence. Another peal of thunder echoed across the heavens, making the very air vibrate.

  He glanced back up, frowning as a draught of cool air sent a shiver down his spine. “Are you going to wait for Terra?” he asked, turning back to Lena.

  “Yes,” she confirmed, a determined set to her jaw.

  “Great. Then we’ll have a chance to catch up!”

  They ascended to Terra’s office, Kor unsurprised to find it still vacant. They took up seats outside her door, the plush chairs a welcome comfort. Lena shared a little about her time back home, her voice taking on a wistful tone as she spoke of her parents, their dwelling, and the tranquil darkness of their domain. Even during the half-term break, it seemed the Netharians adhered to tradition. Lena described hours spent in quiet contemplation, with distant branches of her family converging upon their home.

  Her commitments sounded rather extreme, to say the least. Whether this was a common practice among all Netharians or, as he suspected, a reflection of her own noble lineage, remained unspoken. Lexica, by contrast, was replete with holidays, though none held any significance in Kor’s own life.

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  When she finished recounting her family affairs, he suppressed the urge to divulge everything about the Tome-Wardens and his current predicament. Instead, he offered a simplified version of the problem. “I’ve been working on a new meditation technique, but it’s not quite right for me...”

  “Then you should find a different one, Kor.” Her brow creased slightly, a faint line forming between her eyes as she studied him. “There are plenty to choose from.”

  “Uhm, it’s not exactly a conventional one,” he admitted, his voice dropping slightly. “I ran into some difficulties at the end of the expedition and damaged my ability to meditate.”

  “Oh, I’m sorry, Kor,” she said, her voice filled with genuine concern. “I didn’t know.”

  He nodded, a shadow passing over his face.

  “So you can’t simply select another?”

  He shook his head.

  “And it doesn’t seem to work for you?”

  “In a manner of speaking,” he hedged. “I lose control when I use it, almost as if it possesses a will of its own.”

  She frowned, her violet eyes narrowing in thought. “What sort of meditation technique are we discussing here, Kor?”

  “It’s, uh...” He lowered his voice further, almost to a whisper. “A Wizard-level one.”

  Her eyes widened, her hand flying to her mouth in a gesture of astonishment. “Just how in the void did you manage to acquire one of those? I thought only a few third years, or the professors, could even attempt such a thing.”

  “Yeah, that’s typically the case,” he averted his gaze, rubbing the back of his neck sheepishly.

  “No wonder you ranked in the top four, Kor,” she shook her head in disbelief.

  Her incredulity morphed into curiosity. “So, either you need to adapt yourself to suit the technique, or you need to modify the technique to suit you.”

  “I’ve tried to control it, to control myself.” His hands clenched into fists, then released, a restless motion that betrayed the tension coiled in his frame. “But that’s proving futile.”

  “So you weren’t truly attempting to alter it, merely to exert control over it?”

  “No? It’s...” He struggled to articulate his thoughts.

  Lena cut to the quick. “Even if it’s powerful, which is easier: diverting a river or commanding it to halt entirely?”

  Her perspective, simple yet profound, shifted something fundamental in his understanding of the issue. Diverting the problem...

  “Surely there’s an element within your specialisation that you could use to redirect the technique? So form a synergy?” she suggested, her voice thoughtful. “It can’t be entirely unyielding, or you wouldn’t have even attempted it.”

  Another piece of the puzzle clicked into place, like a hidden variable revealing itself, rendering the previously unsolvable equation suddenly clear.

  “Lena, you’re brilliant!” he exclaimed, jumping to his feet.

  A radiant smile lit up her face as his mind raced. A whirlwind of calculations and possibilities. The Hunger was the core issue, an insatiable, all-consuming force. His fractals, on the other hand, revolved around the concept of infinite recursion, a subtle yet crucial overlap. Instead of an unending hunger, what if he could shift it, redirect it towards something constructive, something... useful?

  He needed to test this theory. Urgency thrummed through him, a tangible energy radiating from his very being. His fingers twitched, his leg bounced with a barely suppressed energy, and his eyes darted around as if seeking an outlet for the sudden surge of inspiration.

  “Go on, Kor,” Lena said, her smile understanding. “I’ll tell Terra you were looking for her.”

  “Thanks, Lena!” He shot her another grin before practically sprinting towards the elevator, his mind already leaping ahead to the possibilities.

  “Wakey time, Lentus,” he thought, a grin spreading across his face. “We’ve got a meditation technique to wrangle!”

  He settled onto the unforgiving stone of the stairwell, the mana in the air almost tangible. Two guardian suits of armour stood sentinel at the far end of the corridor, their presence a watchful vigil over the heavy door they guarded. Kor gathered his focus, his mind already racing, replaying Lena’s words. Without her insight, who knew how long it would have taken him to arrive at this solution?

  Lentus stirred within their shared consciousness, a ripple in the still waters of his mind, halfway between sleep and wakefulness. Kor settled into the meditative state once more, the Hunger building within him like a storm as he sharpened his focus. This time, the goal wasn’t control, but redirection.

  Hunger and Recursion. Could these two disparate concepts be brought into harmony? Could the consuming desire be interwoven with the endless, self-replicating nature of fractals?

  This is a meditation technique, so the desire to consume mana is useful. However, it is more than just that. It is a fundamental shift, one that affects my very core. His thoughts raced, dissecting the problem. Fractals focus on creation, on endless expansion. If I could just shift the desire to consume... focus it on endless growth instead!

  Over his time at the academy, he’d learned that the ways of magic were not always logical, that nothing was truly fixed in stone.

  He bent every effort, every iota of his will, towards altering the dark gospel that had become intertwined with his magic. Creation! he silently urged the Hunger. You hunger to consume and create!

  A pulse of emotion, raw and primal, rippled up from the Hunger itself. Affront? Indignation? It was a thing of pure consumption. Its very essence was to devour, to obliterate. The force of it was a tidal wave, threatening to rear up and engulf his mind, to drown him in its insatiable need.

  Even as it cried out, he held onto the fractal magic that formed the core of his identity. Visualising the snowflake he had formed so many times, his recursive bomb, and his galaxy spiral. Don’t just consume. Create!

  The war had begun. He battled against the very concept of Hunger, its driving need, its primal urge, as he sought to change it, to steer it slowly, towards something generative, something constructive. His brow furrowed, deep lines etched between his eyes, his jaw clenched tight enough to make his teeth ache, a sheen of sweat formed on his forehead, each drop a testament to his struggle.

  Blind hunger is of no use. If this technique and I are to co-exist, one of us must change!

  He lost himself in the fight, his consciousness consumed by the struggle. The wellspring of Hunger was as unending as the ocean, vast and fathomless, and he rode its waves with dogged perseverance, a lone figure against an insurmountable force. His breath hitched, ragged, coming faster as he strained to direct it.

  Hours bled into one another, each tick of the clock an eternity. Each time his focus slipped, each time his resolve wavered, Lentus was there, a silent anchor in the storm, granting him a brief respite, a moment to gather his strength before throwing himself back into the fray.

  The very essence of his mana trembled with effort, with change. A fundamental shifting of his very being, so subtle it barely registered.

  His will, amplified by the recursive power of his fractal magic, pushed and pulled against the Hunger, bending it, ever so slightly, towards his goal. His head pounded, an ache that mirrored the storm in his mind.

  The struggle extended beyond, permeating his body and reaching into the very core of his magic. It was a battle waged on multiple fronts, a war against an enemy that was both within and without. The Hunger, an implacable, unyielding force of nature so vast that without Lentus, without his fractal powers to support him, there would be no hope.

  Again and again, they clashed, the raw, untamed power of the Hunger against the focused, determined will of the young mage. And with each clash, something shifted, a change so minuscule he almost doubted it was there, yet he clung to the hope that it was real.

  Too small to measure, perhaps, but even the smallest change would compound over time, amplified by the power of his fractals. It was a glimmer of hope in the overwhelming darkness. He felt this in his bones, a physical sensation as much as a mental one.

  The struggle pushed him to the edge, even as a core part of his identity lodged itself within the voracious force. With every clash now, his influence over it grew. It was shifting! Every fibre of his being strained, exhaustion pulling against him as he stood against the wave of Hunger one more time. It rolled over him with the force of a tsunami, a crushing weight that threatened to obliterate him. But once again, he rolled with it, nudged it toward a new paradigm.

  The recursive power of fractals filled his efforts, imbuing him with a strength beyond his own, a resilience that defied the overwhelming power of the technique. He was moulding this powerful magic, this Wizard-level meditation of dark desire, towards creation!

  Sweating, his body exhausted, his mind drained, he slumped to the floor as the wave finally crashed past, leaving him in its wake. His legs trembled, threatening to give way. He remained there, slumped against the cold stone, his breath coming in desperate gasps, each one a small victory in itself.

  For a long moment, he simply existed, adrift in the silence that followed the storm. Then, slowly, a sense of profound relief washed over him, followed by a surge of triumph, fragile yet potent. He’d done it. He had actually begun to alter the Hunger.

  A trembling hand reached up to wipe the sweat from his brow. A relieved grin spread across his face, crinkling the corners of his eyes. For all that effort, for all that struggle, he’d shifted the technique by mere degrees. A shift so small it was barely perceptible, a drop in the vast ocean of the Hunger. But it was there. A seed of change, planted in the heart of the darkness.

  He focused on that feeling. Like the fractal he had used to create his galaxy spiral, it started small and insignificant. However, over time, that insignificant change would grow and change into something magnificent. The difference was undeniable. Each clash with the Hunger had warped something within each of them. He couldn’t alter so powerful a magic without being altered himself, without some part of it seeping into his being. But the change was genuine. If he were to master this, to bend it to his will…

  “Impressive, Kor. Even observing you was tiring”... A wave of amusement, tinged with a hint of pride, flowed from Lentus, a faint ripple in the stillness that followed the storm. Kor managed a weak chuckle, the sound hollow in the vast chamber.

  “Ughhh.” Words were too much right now. He pushed himself up, using the wall for support. His legs were shaky, threatening to buckle, but he forced himself to stand, swaying slightly as he realised with a surge of relief that his mana, at least, had replenished itself. He leaned heavily against the wall, his mind reeling.

  If I have to endure this every time I need to meditate from now on... He shook his head, a full-body shudder running through him at the thought. The prospect was utterly exhausting, but beneath the exhaustion, a spark of determination flickered. He wouldn’t be deterred.

  Lentus’s laughter, soft and sibilant, echoed in his mind. “Perhaps, with my presence, you won’t need to keep returning here.”

  “Thank you, Lentus,” he said, his voice thick with emotion. “If there is anything you require...”

  “More sleep”. Lentus yawned, the mental sound a long, drawn-out sigh. And with that, Kor fell silent, heading back up the stairs as his serpentine companion drifted off once again, leaving him alone with his thoughts.

  It was a small victory, a minuscule step forward, but it was real progress. With enough time, with enough effort, he would bend this technique to his will. He would make it his own.