“The future belongs to those who learn more skills and combine them in creative ways.” — Robert Greene The next few days passed much like the ones before them.
Riven woke up before sunrise, ate his breakfast, and spent most of the day working.
Sometimes he was sent to the mines, while other days he was given chores around the camp.
None of the work was particularly difficult to understand, but he could feel his body getting weaker very day.
During another break in the mines, Riven found himself sitting beside the old man.
The older slave was leaning against the tunnel wall, drinking from a small wooden cup.
Riven glanced at him.
“Can I ask you something?” The old man lowered his cup.
“You ask a lot of questions for someone your age.” “Is that a problem?” “Depends on who’s listening.” Riven looked around the tunnel.
The other slaves were resting nearby, and the guards were standing farther down the passage.
He lowered his voice.
“How does magic work?” The old man raised an eyebrow.
“Magic?
Where did that come from?” “You mentioned it before.
I was just wondering how it works.” The old man took another drink before answering.
“Well, everyone is born with an element.
It’s something you’re naturally suited to use.
Some people can control fire, others water, earth, wind, and plenty of other elements.” “Everyone has one?” “Everyone has an affinity, it’s something you’re born with.” Riven thought about that for a moment.
“So someone born with a fire affinity can’t use water magic?” “That’s correct.” The old man held out his hand.
A small amount of water gathered in his palm, forming a little sphere around the size of a coin.
It wobbled slightly as he moved his fingers.
Riven stared at it.
“You’re using magic?” “Not much of it.” The old man smiled faintly.
“My element is water.
It’s the only kind of magic I’ve ever been able to use.” The water slowly disappeared from his palm.
“How did you learn to do that?” “Practice.
A lot of it.” Riven leaned forward, interested.
“Can anyone learn?” “If they have an affinity and a core, yes.
Though some people have more talent than others.” “What’s a core?” The old man looked at him for a moment, seemingly surprised that he didn’t know.
“You really don’t know anything about magic, do you?” “No.” “Well, I suppose there’s no reason you would.” He shifted against the wall and continued.
“Everyone naturally develops a magic core when they’re around five years old.
It’s what allows them to gather and control mana.
Without one, you can’t use magic.” Riven looked down at his hands.
“Around five?” “That’s right.
You should have one by now, assuming you’ve developed normally.” “How would I know if I have one?” “You wouldn’t.
Not without someone testing you.” Riven frowned.
“So I could already have a core?” “Most likely.
But you’d have to get tested to see.” Riven hadn’t expected that.
He had spent the past few days thinking about the world he had been reborn into, but magic was something he had barely considered.
Now he was beginning to wonder what kind of abilities he might have.
“How strong can a core be?” “That depends.
Magic cores are divided into ten tiers.
Most people start with a Tier One core.
Some are more talented and develop a Tier Two core.
Very rarely, a child can be born with a Tier Three core.” “Born with one?” The old man nodded.
“Some children are simply more gifted than others.
Noble families are especially interested in finding those children.
A talented child can become quite valuable.” “What about the other tiers?” “Those come with time and effort.
A person can strengthen their core through training and experience.
Reaching the higher tiers is incredibly difficult, though.” “How difficult?” The old man gave a quiet laugh.
“Most people will never get anywhere near the top.
Even among those who spend their entire lives training, reaching the highest tiers is rare.” Riven considered that.
“So someone with a Tier One core could eventually reach Tier Ten?” “In theory, yes.
But there’s a considerable difference between what’s possible and what’s likely.” The old man leaned his head back against the stone with a sunken look on his face.
“I’ve met people who spent decades training and barely improved.
Others seem to grow stronger every time you see them.
Talent matters, but so does hard work.” Riven quietly absorbed the information.
Ten tiers.
One element.
A core that could grow stronger with training.
It sounded simple enough, but he suspected there was much more to it.
“Can you tell what tier someone’s core is just by looking at them?” “Generally you need to get tested but apparently people who have a higher core have some way of sensing your magic power.” Riven glanced at the old man.
“Have you ever been tested?” “Once, a long time ago.” “And?” “Tier One.” The old man shrugged as if it didn’t matter.
“I wasn’t particularly talented.
Never had the opportunity to train properly, either.” Riven wondered how much stronger the man might have become if he had been given a different life.
He hesitated before asking his next question.
“What about the contracts?
I cant imagine they would let us use magic.” The old man’s expression changed slightly.
“Although the contracts don’t outright eliminate our magic it limits it to types of magic that could only really be helpful for chores.” “So you cant use any strong magic?” “As far as I know.” Riven thought about the magical contract that was supposed to control him.
He still wasn’t entirely sure why it had stopped affecting him, but the old man’s explanation made one thing clear.
If he really could use magic, he would have to wait until he was free.
“Could someone break the contract?” The old man stared at him.
“Why are you asking?” “Just curious.” The old man studied him for a moment before looking away.
“Contracts aren’t easy to break.
They’re made by people who know far more about magic than either of us.
I’ve heard stories of powerful mages breaking them, but I’ve never seen it happen.” Riven nodded, pretending the answer didn’t interest him.
He didn’t want the old man to become suspicious.
He had already learned that asking too many questions could attract unwanted attention.
Still, he couldn’t help wondering.
If his contract had truly stopped working, could he use magic once he escaped?
And what kind of element had he been born with?
He looked down at his hands again.
They were small and covered in dirt, with several cuts from the work he had been doing.
There was nothing special about them.
“Do you think I’ll be able to use magic?” he asked.
The old man glanced at him.
“If you’ve developed a core, then probably.
But whether you’ll be any good at it is another question.” Riven gave a small nod.
“Can anyone become strong with enough training?” “Not everyone.
But hard work can take you a long way.” The old man paused before adding, “Of course, it helps if you have someone to teach you.
Learning magic on your own is difficult.” Riven hadn’t considered that.
Even if he escaped, he would still have to survive in a world he barely understood.
He didn’t know how to use magic, how to fight properly, or even where he would go once he left the camp.
A guard’s voice suddenly echoed through the tunnel.
“Break’s over!
Get back to work!” The old man slowly stood, brushing the dirt from his clothes.
Riven got to his feet as well.
“Thanks for explaining.” The old man just nodded.
Riven nodded back and followed the other slaves back to work.
As he picked up his hammer, his thoughts returned to the conversation.
He was five years old.
If the old man was right, he probably already had a magic core.
Somewhere inside him was the potential to use magic, but he had no idea what kind.
For now, it didn’t matter.
He was still trapped in a slave camp, surrounded by guards who could beat him whenever they pleased.
Before he could think about becoming a mage, he needed to get out.
And to do that, he needed a plan.