Chapter 11: Fishing for Trouble (and Magic)

  BANG BANG BANG!

  The door shuddered under the force of the knocks, jolting me awake. My brain barely had time to process where I was before—

  BANG BANG BANG!

  “Arthur!” Veldrin’s voice rang through the wood, sharp and impatient. “Are you truly still abed? What are you, some pampered princeling wasting away in a perfumed parlor? Up! Time does not dally for those who sleep their lives away!”

  I groaned, rubbing my face. “Veldrin, it’s—” I glanced toward the window. The sun had barely begun creeping over the horizon. “—too damn early for this.”

  There was a sharp, offended scoff from the other side of the door. "Too early? My dear Arthur, did you somehow mistake this world for one where you could afford such luxuries?"

  I flopped back onto the pillow with a grunt. "You’re actually insane."

  "Yes, yes, madness and genius and all that—and yet, I’m still the only one awake." A pause. Then, in a dramatically hushed tone, he added, "Do you know what happens to those who delay when they should be preparing?"

  I sighed. "I'm guessing it’s—"

  "They die, Arthur. Horribly. Or worse, they remain ignorant."

  There was a sharp click from the door handle.

  "Wait—Veldrin—"

  Too late. The door swung open.

  Veldrin stood in the doorway, arms folded, eyes glinting with impatience. “Now. If you’re quite finished lounging about like some feckless layabout, get dressed and follow me. We have important matters to attend to.”

  I groaned and sat up, rubbing the sleep from my eyes. My body still felt sore from yesterday, though my shoulder was fine thanks to the Glimmergill. Small mercies.

  I pulled on my shirt, rolling my shoulders to loosen up. “You could’ve at least let me wake up on my own.”

  Veldrin scoffed. "And waste precious time? If I had left you to your own devices, I shudder to think how long you'd wallow in bed, indulging in idleness."

  I muttered something under my breath but didn’t argue. There was no winning with him.

  Trailing behind, I followed Veldrin down the creaky wooden stairs of the Frog Leg. The warm scent of fresh bread and sizzling meat met me halfway down, and my stomach immediately reminded me I hadn’t eaten yet.

  Well, at least I had Elunara’s cooking to look forward to.

  As we reached the bottom of the stairs, I scanned the tavern for an empty table—

  Only for Veldrin to seize my shoulder and steer me toward the door.

  I resisted, eyes darting toward the counter. "Wait—shouldn’t we eat first?"

  Veldrin didn’t break stride. "We’ll grab something on the way."

  "On the way to where?"

  He didn’t answer. Just pushed the door open and stepped out into the early morning light, dragging me with him.

  As we stepped outside, I spotted Bromm and Bob already waiting for us. Bob, face-deep in a basket of apples, let out a satisfied squeal, his tail wagging like a dog’s.

  At least someone got breakfast.

  Bromm looked up and gave me a nod. “Hope you had a good rest, lad.”

  I stretched, still groggy. “I did—until I was woken up so abruptly.”

  Bromm just chuckled. “Aye, he does that.”

  I exhaled and glanced between the two of them. “So… what’s the plan?”

  Veldrin scoffed. “The plan, foolish boy, is to train.”

  I blinked. “That’s… not very specific.”

  Veldrin ignored me, folding his arms. “We must get an understanding of what kind of power you possess—and how you came about it. The more we learn, the closer we may come to answering your predicament . Which means today’s goal is simple: we will make your magic manifest. One way or another.”

  I swallowed. “Right. And how exactly do we do that?”

  Veldrin’s lips curled into a sharp, eager grin.

  “Trial. And error.”

  A chill ran down my spine. That was not reassuring.

  Veldrin just grinned—the kind of grin that told me I probably wasn’t going to like what came next.

  Without further complaint, we headed westward—a direction I hadn’t taken yet. I didn’t ask where we were going. Figured I’d find out when we got there. But there was something I did want to know.

  “Hey Veldrin, what exactly is the Aetherstone? I get that it reads magical affinity, but how does it actually work?”

  Veldrin let out a long-suffering sigh, rubbing his temples like I had just asked him to explain why fire was hot. "Arthur. Try to keep up."

  He adjusted his robes, then launched into full lecture mode. “The ability to wield and shape mana comes naturally, as part of one's affinity. The Aetherstone itself merely reveals the specific type of magic a person is most naturally attuned to. It doesn’t grant power—it simply identifies potential. Alchemists long ago developed these stones by studying the interactions between mana and a person's internal energies, allowing us to recognize someone's innate magical strengths."

  His fingers twitched, as if resisting the urge to smack me for making him explain something so ‘obvious.’

  “There are only ten known Aetherstones in existence. Three belonged to the Umbral Arcanum, and one, as you have so astutely observed, is in my possession. Scholars like myself study these stones because understanding magical affinities lets us uncover new pathways for using and enhancing magic."

  He exhaled sharply, his pace quickening. “Usually, the stone shows a clear, singular affinity—fire, water, earth, shadow—and so forth. From there, people train in their specific school, becoming proficient over time. That is how magic traditionally works."

  His sharp eyes flicked to me. “And yet, you…” His fingers twitched again, like he wanted to grab me and shake the answers out of my skull. “You displayed every color. Every single one, even colors I had never seen before. Which means, Arthur, you are something entirely new—something outside of my current understanding.”

  A chill settled over me. “And… what exactly does that mean for me?”

  Veldrin scoffed. “It means I have no idea what you can do—or how you might go about doing it. It's technically possible to wield magic outside one’s affinity, but it is slow, difficult, and impractical. It can take years to master even the most basic spells if you're fighting against your affinity. That is why everyone sticks to their known school."

  He gave me a long, searching look. "But you? You're uncharted territory. And that's precisely why we must experiment."

  We walked in silence for a while, the dense trees of the Hollow gradually giving way to open terrain. The chaotic sprawl of massive trunks and twisted roots thinned out, replaced by rolling hills covered in tall, swaying grass. The sky stretched wide overhead—an almost impossibly bright blue, verging on teal.

  Far in the distance, mountain peaks loomed, their jagged forms capped in white. The sight was staggering, a reminder of just how vast this world really was.

  The massive trees of the Hollow gave way to smaller, more familiar ones—still large, their canopies casting generous shade, but nowhere near the towering giants we'd left behind. The dirt path beneath our feet became less defined, transitioning into stretches of grass and scattered stones, blending seamlessly into the wild terrain ahead.

  I glanced around. “Are we still in the Hollow?”

  “No, lad,” Bromm said, adjusting his pack. “We just crossed into the Vaelthorn Fields.”

  He gestured toward the rolling hills. “Beyond those, just out of sight, you’ll find some of the biggest farms in these parts—mostly run by humans and tauren. The ground’s rich here, good for crops, but the land’s dangerous. That’s why you don’t see farms everywhere.”

  I frowned. “Dangerous how?”

  Bromm’s expression darkened slightly. “The land out here is wild—plenty of monsters roam free. Farms that do exist are fortified, with mercenaries or strong fences to keep threats at bay.” He scanned the horizon, fingers flexing against the haft of his axe. “Even then, creatures occasionally break through. Attacks happen, though most are stopped before they cause much harm.”

  He kicked a loose stone off the path. “This road here? It’s one of the main trade routes between Mosswood Hollow and the larger towns beyond. That means merchants, supply wagons, coin-heavy caravans—all tempting targets for beasts clever enough to try their luck.”

  I hadn’t really thought much about logistics before, but it made sense. Zibbin couldn’t exactly conjure up new wares out of thin air—he’d need shipments, resupplies. The whole village would. Trade routes like this one kept places like Mosswood Hollow running.

  But if it was this dangerous, why were we heading straight into it? I frowned, glancing between Bromm and Veldrin. There had to be a reason, some goal at the end of this trek.

  Bromm wasn’t arguing. That alone reassured me that wherever we were going, it was worth the risk.

  Bob let out a high-pitched squeal and suddenly veered off the road into the tall grass. Bromm called after him, but the massive boar wasn’t having it. His stubby legs churned through the field with purpose, ignoring Bromm’s commands entirely.

  I sighed. “I guess we’re following Bob now.”

  As we trailed after him, I realized his squeals weren’t the same as the irritated ones he’d made when the Tufftails had stolen his apple, nor the deep, rumbling warning growl he used when danger was near. This was different—excited, eager.

  You could be reading stolen content. Head to the original site for the genuine story.

  Bob finally stopped near a broad, sturdy tree by a steadily flowing river. The water wasn’t as wide or dried-out as the old riverbank in the Hollow, but it was still impressive—swift currents forming whitecaps as they tumbled over smooth stones.

  But Bob wasn’t interested in the water.

  He wasted no time, jamming his tusks into the soft earth near the tree roots, digging with the sheer force of his bulk. Clumps of dirt and grass flew in every direction as he worked, his tail flicking wildly.

  Bromm rested a hand on his hip, watching the spectacle with mild amusement. “Whatcha find, Bob?”

  Bob gave a triumphant grunt, still furiously digging, but before he could get his prize, Bromm's eyes widened in alarm.

  “No, Bob! Don’t eat that!”

  With a strained huff, Bromm lunged forward, gripping whatever Bob had unearthed and yanking it free with a sharp tug. The thick roots resisted, but Bromm planted his boots and gave a final pull, nearly toppling backward as it finally tore loose from the ground.

  Bob was not pleased. His excited squeals turned into a sharp, angry whine as he looked up at Bromm with betrayed eyes, his massive head bobbing slightly as if pleading for his rightful treasure.

  “This is far too expensive to eat, boy,” Bromm scolded, shaking his head.

  Turning to me, he held the object out in both hands. It looked like an enormous morel mushroom, its honeycomb-patterned cap stretching wide, while thick, gnarled roots still dangled from the bottom, strands of dirt clinging to them. Judging by the effort it had taken Bromm to pry it loose, those roots must have run deep.

  “What is that?” I asked.

  Bromm gave a satisfied grin. “This, lad, is a Rootspire Bulb. Worth a fair fortune to the royals. They pay through the teeth for it—delicacy, see. Hard to gather, damn near impossible to farm.” He gave it an approving nod, wiping some dirt off the cap. “Aye, this is a good find. Bob’s got a nose for more than just trouble.” With that, he tucked it securely into his pack.

  Veldrin, however, wasn’t paying the slightest bit of attention. His gaze was locked on the river, fingers stroking his chin as he nodded to himself—seemingly deep in some silent, intense conversation with his own thoughts.

  After a long moment, he turned sharply toward us. “Yes… yes, this spot will do. It will do just fine.”

  I blinked. “For what?”

  Veldrin ignored me. “Arthur, do you know how to fish?”

  I hesitated, giving him a confused look. “Like… with a fishing pole?”

  Veldrin scoffed. “No, I meant with sheer force of will and a scathing glare. Of course with a fishing pole! How else would you catch fish? Leap in and wrestle them with your bare hands like some kind of lunatic?”

  I opened my mouth, then thought better of it. Trying to explain noodling to Veldrin seemed like a waste of breath. Instead, I just sighed. “Yes, I know how to fish. Though, my world’s version and yours might be vastly different.”

  Veldrin didn’t seem interested in entertaining that possibility. “Bromm, give him your pole.”

  Bromm reached into his pack and pulled out a small metal cylinder. With a practiced motion, he flicked a latch on the side, and the device extended into what looked like a medieval version of a modern fishing rod—guides, line, and all. A small wooden reel sat at the base, crude but functional.

  I turned it over in my hands, impressed. “Huh. This is almost identical to what I used back home.” I glanced up at them. “Yeah… I think I can actually do this. I spent a good part of my younger years fishing.”

  Veldrin pointed toward the river. “Excellent. Then go catch us some fish.”

  I walked over to the water’s edge, rolling my shoulders as I examined the pole. I thumbed the latch near the reel, testing the mechanism. It felt like it was magnetically held in place—stiff at first but snapping back forcefully once released, keeping the line from moving freely.

  This was actually pretty straightforward. Simple, but effective.

  A familiar sense of calm settled over me as I turned my eyes to the water, watching the current roll past. Maybe this could be a new daily hobby. Fishing had always been a good way to clear my mind—something I desperately needed right now.

  I glanced down at the end of the line, inspecting the lure. It was… different from what I was used to. A heavy, carved bit of wood, dark brown and worn smooth, with a set of large, hooked barbs jutting from four of its corners. Feathers, stiff and faded, were tied to its base with rough twine, giving it an almost totemic look. I scraped a fingernail over the hooks and immediately felt them bite, catching effortlessly.

  Well, at least they were sharp.

  I shrugged. I wasn’t here to overthink the mechanics. Right now, I just wanted to cast a line and be alone with my thoughts. The details could wait.

  I flicked the latch holding the line and gave the rod a firm snap forward, watching as the lure sailed through the air before splashing down near the rushing whitecaps in the center of the river. It sank quickly, disappearing beneath the surface, and I let out a breath, settling onto the grass with my legs crossed.

  The air was warm, but not unpleasant. A light breeze swept over the water, rolling through my hair and cooling my skin. I closed my eyes for a moment, just listening—letting myself enjoy the sound of the river, the rustling leaves, the distant chirr of insects hidden in the grass.

  Then—

  The line went tight.

  The rod bent sharply.

  I made a noise that could only be described as a mix between a "Yip!" and a "Yep!"

  Scrambling, I grabbed the rod tight and yanked back. Whatever was on the other end was heavy—and it was fighting. Hard. I could feel it thrashing, twisting, trying to shake itself free.

  Adrenaline surged through me as I dug my heels into the dirt, bracing myself.

  Oh, shit.

  I definitely had something.

  “Bromm! Veldrin!” I yelled, struggling to keep the rod steady. When I glanced back, expecting help, they were both just… watching me.

  Veldrin had a weird grin on his face.

  Bromm, as always, looked completely unfazed. Stoic as ever, arms crossed, not even pretending to be concerned.

  Okay. Guess it’s all on me then.

  The fight dragged on. I pulled back hard, giving slack when needed, trying to keep control. My muscles burned as I wrestled with whatever monster lurked beneath the surface. Then—

  The line went slack.

  “Damn,” I groaned, breathless. “Lost it.”

  I let out a strained ughhhh, rolling my shoulders as I started reeling in the line, already dreading what kind of damage I’d done to Bromm’s lure. But just as I was about to retrieve it—

  The line went tight again.

  No thrashing. No fight. Just dead weight.

  Then—slack.

  I frowned. What the hell?

  I reeled in more. Again, the line caught—tight—only to go slack a second later.

  A flicker of unease crawled up my spine. Something wasn’t right.

  Before I could fully process what that meant—

  The water exploded.

  A massive splash sent waves rolling toward the shore. I staggered back, my heart slamming into my ribs as something lurched up from the depths.

  And suddenly—I did not want to be fishing here anymore.

  The thing that emerged from the river was wrong.

  It looked like a crab fused with a centipede, its bone-like structure shifting unnaturally around a thick, jagged carapace. A grotesque, slit-like mouth stretched across its body, lined with uneven, needle-pointed teeth. But its lower half—

  Its lower half was worse.

  A mass of long, jointed tentacles thrashed against the rocks, each ending in bony, claw-like fingers, like the twisted offspring of a spider and a centipede.

  Holy shit.

  I went completely still, my brain barely keeping up with my own terror.

  “What the hell is that?!”

  Bromm’s voice rang out. “Riftjaw Lurker! Be careful, they’re aggressive—and fast!”

  Fast? It was already moving!

  Veldrin, meanwhile, had the biggest, most deranged grin I’d ever seen stretching across his face. "KILL IT! KILL IT!" Veldrin yelled.

  What the hell?! This was not fishing. This was not fishing! This was the exact opposite of fishing.

  I barely had time to swear before reaching for my axe and buckler, my mind racing. Damn it! If Veldrin hadn’t dragged us out here at sunrise, I could’ve stopped at the smithy—could’ve grabbed better gear, could’ve gotten new clothes that weren’t covered in yesterday’s blood and dirt!

  Too late.

  The thing lunged toward me, its bony tentacles whipping through the air. I tensed, raising my shield just in time—

  THWAP.

  The creature latched on. Its limbs coiled around the buckler like pale, jointed ropes, using it as leverage to yank itself forward. The force ripped my stance apart, my boots slipping in the loose dirt—

  And then I was down.

  Oh. My. Gods. I’m going to die.

  The Riftjaw loomed over me, its jagged, slit-like mouth splitting wider, revealing rows of uneven needle teeth—

  Veldrin’s voice cut through my panic. "USE YOUR MAGIC! NOT YOUR AXE, YOU DOLT!"

  I COULD STRANGLE HIM.

  What magic?! He didn’t know what it was! I didn’t know what it was! No one knew what it was!

  Did he expect me to just snap my fingers and hurl a fireball like I’d been doing this my whole life?!

  No time.

  The Riftjaw’s limbs tightened, pinning my shield arm—I roared and swung my axe.Wild. Instinctive. Desperate.

  I felt the impact—a solid, wet thunk as the blade bit deep into its underbelly. The Riftjaw twitched, shuddering, but I didn’t stop.

  I couldn’t stop. I just kept swinging. Over and over and over.

  Its body jerked violently, limbs spasming around me—then suddenly—Slack. The Riftjaw collapsed, a dead weight crushing down on top of me.

  Oh gods, it stunk!

  I wheezed, struggling beneath its bulk. "Get it off! Get it OFF!"

  Bromm and Veldrin finally moved—after standing there watching the damn show. Bromm, with a grunt, hauled the creature off me, tossing a severed limb toward Bob.

  Bob, utterly unbothered by the nightmarish horror of it all, gleefully grabbed the appendage and dragged it back toward the tree they’d all been standing under like this was some casual afternoon entertainment.

  I laid there, catching my breath, glaring up at the sky.

  This is the worst fishing trip of my life.

  Before I could catch my breath, Veldrin was already there.

  His wild eyes bored into me, practically vibrating with frustration.

  "I distinctly recall instructing you to use magic." His voice was a razor’s edge of disbelief. "Not brute force like—" He made a vague, flailing gesture at the now very-dead Riftjaw Lurker. "—like THAT."

  I blinked. Still panting. Still trying to process that I had almost been eaten alive by a monster I caught while FISHING.

  I opened my mouth—but Veldrin was already mid-tirade.

  "What part of ‘manifest your magic’ did you not understand? Hmm?! Was I unclear?! Did I speak in riddles?! Did I, perhaps, forget to specify that you should attempt literally anything other than hacking away like some drunken sellsword?"

  I scoffed, wiping blood—hopefully not my own—off my face. “Oh, I’m sorry, were you expecting me to instinctively hurl fireballs? Maybe summon a hurricane? Oh wait, that’s right—I DON’T KNOW WHAT MY MAGIC EVEN IS, VELDRIN!”

  Veldrin groaned as if I was the single most exhausting creature ever to exist. “Exactly! That is precisely the problem! You hesitate! Your body—your very soul—knows what it’s capable of, yet when faced with mortal peril, your first instinct is to wave an axe around like some deranged lumberjack!”

  I squinted at him. “…That’s oddly specific.”

  “BECAUSE I JUST WATCHED IT HAPPEN!”

  I groaned, dragging a hand down my face. “I didn’t exactly have time to have a spiritual awakening, Veldrin. I was a little busy not DYING.”

  “EXACTLY." He clapped his hands together excitedly. "Fear. Instinct. That’s the key, Arthur!" He jabbed at my forehead. "Magic doesn't manifest from calm, methodical thought—it comes from raw, primal need.”

  Bromm cleared his throat. “Aye, and yet the lad survived just fine with his axe.”

  Veldrin whipped around, exasperated. “Oh, well, by all means, let's ignore that he's a magical anomaly and keep encouraging him to hack things apart like an angry woodsman.”

  Bromm shrugged, amused. “Seems to be workin’ fine so far.”

  Veldrin’s eye twitched.

  I finally managed a deep breath.

  This was going to be a long day.

  "Leave the lad be, Veldrin," Bromm grunted. "At least let him wake up properly before you start screeching about magic. Or better yet, let him eat first. Come on, lad—let’s see if this Riftjaw’s any good roasted. We can forage for some nuts and berries while we’re at it. The plains are plentiful this time of year."

  I didn’t even want to imagine eating that horrifying creature, let alone its appendage. What kind of hell had these two dragged me into? But my stomach had other priorities, and I found myself trudging toward where Bob had proudly deposited the Riftjaw’s severed limb.

  Bromm had already started a fire, working with practiced efficiency. He grabbed a sturdy branch, whittled one end to a sharp point, then speared the tentacled limb, winding it around like some grotesque spiral-cut roast. As he held it over the flames, the flesh began to shrink almost instantly, curling inward with a series of wet pops and crackles. The sight alone was enough to make my appetite stage a full retreat.

  It just kept getting worse.

  Desperate for a distraction, I cleared my throat. "So, you mentioned trade caravans. Does that mean you have mounts?"

  Bromm gave a small nod, not taking his eyes off the roasting meat. "Oh aye, plenty. But not so much in the Hollow."

  I frowned. "Why not?"

  He snorted. "Because mounts make noise, and noise attracts the wrong kind of attention." He turned the spit with a slow, deliberate motion. "Out here, stealth keeps you alive. Bringin’ a horse through the Hollow’s just askin’ for somethin’ to come sniffin’ after ya."

  That made sense.

  Bromm continued, voice casual but firm. "Now, when the trade caravans come through? Whole different story. They’ve got heavy escorts—mercenaries, hired blades, mages if they can afford ‘em. But lone travelers?" He let out a dry chuckle. "No such luxury. Makes them easy pickings."

  Bromm nonchalantly tore a hefty chunk from the now-shriveled appendage, chewing thoughtfully before breaking into a wide grin. “Hells, this is actually really good!” He held it out toward me.

  Without even thinking, I grabbed the stick. My body acted before my brain could argue, and before I knew it, I was sinking my teeth into the roasted Riftjaw.

  …Damn.

  It was good. Too good. Rich, almost buttery, with a depth of flavor that tasted seasoned—but Bromm hadn’t added a damn thing to it. I pulled back, blinking down at the meat in suspicion. “Ugh. Too good.”

  Bromm chuckled. “Aye, nature’s got a way of surprising you”

  “Where exactly are we heading?” I asked

  Veldrin, who had been silent up to this point, exhaled sharply. “The closest farm.” He dusted off his coat, as if merely discussing it was offensive. “A Tauren lives there. A Shaman. A ‘speaker,’ as they like to call themselves.”

  I frowned. “A speaker?”

  Veldrin waved a hand in irritation. “One of those spirit-touched, vision-seeing, future-mumbling, rock-stroking, tree-hugging types. Basic shaman nonsense.” He scoffed. “A dreadful waste of magic, really, but sometimes they stumble across useful insights. Like blind rats tripping over breadcrumbs.”

  Bromm smirked but said nothing.

  I raised a brow. “And you think this particular Shaman can help?”

  Veldrin sniffed. “Doubtful. But if suffering through their cryptic ramblings gets us even a shred of useful information, I suppose I can endure it.”

  Without hesitation, he plucked the stick from my hands and tore off a massive chunk of meat, chewing with a surprisingly pleased expression.

  Well, at least food was something he could appreciate.