Chapter 12.1 - Words of Power

The morning sun had only just risen, but Arlen was already in the courtyard.

Before the adventurers arrived, before the training yard stirred with noise, he allowed himself a rare moment of stillness—the cool breeze of Breezevale brushing past him like the town's namesake made manifest.

He held his staff horizontally in both hands, he closed his eyes and sank into the meditative stance taught at Solvenhold—a method to balance body and mind, to centre the will before channelling mana.

Nearly an hour passed in silence before he heard the quiet creak of the guild’s back door.

From the side, Pip whispered—too loudly to be subtle. “Ask him. Come on!”

Nadea stood stiffly beside him, arms crossed, clearly unsure.

“You said you wanted to know,” Pip nudged her again.

After a long moment, she stepped forward, hesitant.

“Um… good morning, Master Arlen?”

Arlen opened his eyes, brushing a leaf from his cloak. “Yes, Nadea?”

She shifted on her feet. “When you cast spells… why do you say things first? The words—the incantations. They sound like poetry. But also like commands.”

A pause. “Maybe if I learn them, I can control my magic better?”

Arlen raised an eyebrow, pleasantly surprised.

Behind her, Pip gave an enthusiastic double thumbs-up.

“Good question,” Arlen said, motioning them both to sit.

“Mana moves on intention. But raw will is messy. Incantations give it structure. Think of them like keys—unlocking the right current so the spell becomes what it's meant to be.”

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Nadea frowned thoughtfully. “So… the words help focus. But how do you know how much magic to use? Or how strong a spell should be?”

Arlen nodded. “That’s an even better question.”

He took a breath before continuing.

“While other Casters like Clerics might call on divine power—invoking a deity’s will—Mages like myself draw magic from within.”

He tapped his chest lightly.

“Our strength comes from our own physical and mental constitution. That’s why our incantations often use the language of anatomy. For us, willpower isn’t just spiritual. It’s structural.”

He lifted his hand, fingers spread.

“We’re fortunate to live in an era where magic is measurable. Spellcraft has been studied and aligned with something more universal—the Adventurer Ranking system.”

He held up his pinky.

“F-Rank—Skin. Surface-level magic. A flicker of light. A puff of air. Harmless—unless you’re careless.”

Ring finger.

“E-Rank—Flesh. A little deeper. These spells can sting, shock, or burn. Still considered basic, but useful.”

Middle finger.

“D-Rank—Veins. Mana begins flowing through you more actively here. You get elemental bursts, short-range shields. It’s where precision starts to matter.”

Index finger.

“C-Rank—Bones. This is where you need structure. Grounded casting. Area spells. Get it wrong, and the feedback can hurt you more than your enemy.”

Thumb.

“B-Rank—Spine. These are battle-tier spells. They require focus, stamina, and composure. You don’t just react—you command.”

Then he landed his thumb to his sternum.

“A-Rank—Heart. These spells aren’t just about power. They come from conviction. From who you are. They’ll fail the moment your resolve wavers.”

A pause.

Then, finally, he looked up at both of them—voice lower now.

“S-Rank—Soul.”

The courtyard air seemed to still.

“Spells at this level aren’t just powerful. They leave a mark. On the world… and on the caster. They demand everything you are.”

Pip’s hand shot up, wide-eyed.

“So, since you’re a B-Rank mage… does that mean you can only use B-Rank spells?”

“For the most part, yes,” Arlen nodded. “Even if I know the incantations, my body hasn’t been trained to withstand the strain of A- or S-Rank casting. Trying would tear me apart.”

He glanced at Nadea, who sat quietly now, her brows drawn as if trying to hold on to every word.

She reminded him of himself, once—full of questions, hungry to understand, just barely holding it together.

“Come, Nadea,” he said, offering her his hand.

“Enough talking about theories. Real training awaits.”