83rd of Season of Water, 57th year of the 32nd imperial era

Newt spent a week studying the differences between the second realm and third realm spells his ancestors had created. His reason was twofold, first, he needed to learn the third realm abilities so he could use them, but more importantly, he wished to find the correlation between them, rules he could then apply to Magmin's abilities, raising their efficiency or power.

Unfortunately, Newt failed in his endeavor. Even consulting Stronggrow yielded no results, the topic was too advanced for a mage who had spent more than a century at the second realm. Newt considered the matter and thought of two others he could ask.

"My abilities?" The giant serpent hovered despite all common sense, flapping its wings from time to time. "I had them in a weaker form ever since I was born. My scales are harder than those of my lesser kin, I am naturally heat resistant, and my bite carries fire energy, so I just experimented, pushing those abilities further until they grew stronger."

So he was stumbling blindly. While disappointed, Newt wasn't surprised. If saurians had a recipe or instinct for making magical abilities more potent, tenth realm monsters would crawl all over the world, exterminating humanity.

Newt left his realm, but didn't feel defeated. He was still sixteen, trying to push forward in a field his nearly two-hundred-year-old instructor found too arcane. He had plenty of time, and even if he failed, his family had a legacy of combat techniques ranging all the way to the seventh realm.

Still, it would be nice if I could improve Magmin's abilities.

Water magic could counter flames, but Newt had never heard of a fire spell warding off heat. In fact, fire often burned its careless wielders, as the notes in his family's spellbooks warned every few pages.

Finally, after struggling for three more days, Newt quit. Searching for an answer to the complex question was a waste of time given his realm. The season of water was ending, and it was time to move on north, to head for Thunderbluff and test his fortune there.

"What do you plan to do now?" Stronggrow asked when Newt came to tell him he was planning on leaving soon.

"I plan to search for Father and Mother, but that requires money or influence. Sir Blackfist, Hailstown's former townlord, suggested a way to earn money."

Stronggrow's eyes went wide. "Newstar, keep away from banditry!"

Newt stared at his teacher, brows furrowed in confusion, before he burst into laughter.

"What? No! Teacher, I assure you, sir Blackfist's reputation is entirely undeserved. He is a man of great learning and someone I should look up to."

Probably.

Stronggrow frowned at his naive student, and Newt couldn't blame him.

"No, really!" Newt was shocked as he found himself defending himself and Blackfist. "Sir Blackfist brewed the potions you and Marrow consumed. He also knows a great deal about forging, seals, and just about every type of realm sculpting. He's quite well read."

Stronggrow relented. "And what did he suggest?"

"The imperial family and the royals have founded the adventurers' guild long ago, an organization for wandering awakened, which provides all sorts of work and contact opportunities."

Stronggrow nodded grimly. He knew about the adventurers' guild, or just the guild, as it was often called, but the notion of the rightful patriarch of his family joining such a group to act as a mercenary horrified him.

"What of your honor?" Stronggrow said.

"What about my honor? Hunting monsters who threaten unprotected settlements, bandits, and rogues who had betrayed their clans… All guild work is honorable. It might not be prestigious or glamorous, but all of it is extremely honorable. That's the point, to let awakened earn an honorable living and keep their heads high."

Taken from Royal Road, this narrative should be reported if found on Amazon.

Stronggrow allowed the silence to settle, speaking only when he found the proper words. "Newstar, the guild is a gathering place of vagabonds, it was made to keep the wanderers from banditry. Only the poor resort to joining it." Stronggrow had more to say, but Newt snatched his chance to speak.

"Teacher, pardon my disrespect, but our family is so poor, we sold our previous patriarch and his wife into slavery." Newt's words struck the old man like a slap. "We have no resources to purchase saurian cores to awaken the new generation, and we have dwindled from a clan where someone of our realm was only fit to clean the kitchens to the point where those ancient cleaners are stronger and longer lived than our standard for elders and councilors."

Newt looked his teacher in the eye, and could still see the wise man's denial. "Teacher, we are so poor, we should envy the beggars. But the good news is we can work and earn, and little by little, help our family rise to its former glory."

Stronggrow's eyes grew wet, he was on the verge of tears. He wished to cry not out of gratitude or joy, but out of humiliation. He, a wise man nearly two centuries old, needed a sixteen-year-old youth to fund him and his kin.

"Don't be so dejected." Newt placed a hand on the frail old shoulder. "We could make it a family tradition. Once someone reaches the second realm, or better yet, the third, they join the guild for a year or five, see the world, earn some resources, and return home to enrich us both with their knowledge and their wealth."

"Newstar…" Stronggrow didn't know what to say, so he hugged his student and wept.

"Once you return to claim your birthright, I will join the guild." Stronggrow broke the hug and stared into his student's sapphire eyes. "I will speak with Marrow. He will probably volunteer once I return. If we are establishing a tradition, we should lead by example and show the next generation there is no shame in the deed."

Newt could still sense his teacher's resistance and helplessness. He squeezed the old man's forearm. "Teacher, don't let this become a heart demon."

Stronggrow jerked, sitting straight, eyes open wide. "You're right. It's just doing some communal service. It's neither shame nor doom for our clan, but returning to the empire the blessings the empire has graced us with."

The abrupt change shocked Newt.

"Teacher," Newt hesitated, his voice faint, "how bad were your heart demons?"

Stronggrow held Newt's gaze for a long moment. "Bad. I took over a hundred years to rid myself of them, and we shall not discuss that topic."

Newt changed the subject, talking about what he had learned from Blackfist, or at least the matters they agreed Newt could share with others. He tried to explain spell seals to his teacher, and while Stronggrow understood the concept, he lost Newt once the young man started discussing the flow of energies between the various glyphs forming the runic array.

Newt spent another three days home, transcribing fourth realm techniques for future reference, visiting cousins, and taking time to enjoy himself with people he had once held dear. By the first evening, he found that the conversations were empty pleasantries.

He had drifted too far. Three years of slavery, the rush of sculpting his realm, and braving the dangers of Magmin's realms had changed him. While his body was sixteen, Newt felt like an old man, and the others could sense it too.

When he left, Stronggrow and Marrow were the only ones bidding him goodbye at the castle's gate.

"Take care, Newstar," Marrow said. "I wish you luck on your travels."

Newt nodded in acknowledgement. As for Stronggrow, all he and Newt exchanged was a long look. There was no need for words or pleasantries. The old man understood his student, and the student understood his teacher.

"Take care of the clan." Newt knew his senior cousins would die rather than let the family down once more, but he still felt the need to say the words to acknowledge their effort and determination.

And so, Newt left his home for the second time in less than half a year. Had anyone told him four years ago that he would spend three years locked up in the dark, before going out to roam the world, the young lordling of the Salamandra family wouldn't have believed them, but life was strange, full of twists and turns, hopefully leading to a bright future.

He had a feeling years would pass before he saw his family's castle again. Which was fine. His home had become a place riddled with bad memories, full of strangers fearful of him and his newfound strength.

Newt smirked. Objectively speaking, the only reason he had to return was Magmin's realm hidden inside the mine. And even the secret realm was just a convenient deposit of mana, rather than a guide Newt could follow to shape his realm.

No, instead of the infernal realm of madness, Newt would take inspiration from the real world and its methods. Instead of death and ashes, he would build his power on life and knowledge, and maybe amiability.

Blackfist's idealistic approach was tempting. Cooperating to reach greater heights rather than devouring each other like saurian manabeasts.

Newt took a confident step with a clear heart, taking in the world.

The snow around Dragon's Rest had melted days ago, revealing green grass while swelling streams gurgled and trees showed pink buds ready to bloom. And in the distance, the menacing Summersweald promised abundance to those brave enough to venture in and strong enough to venture out.

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