Web of Dreams - Chapter 22: The Deal

Dreams assaulted Akari while she slept—one after the other in rapid succession.

But no … this couldn’t be sleep. Those soldiers had knocked her out with a steel rod to the face. Unconscious people didn’t dream, did they? Still, some part of her seemed desperate for these visions. Maybe it was her soul, or maybe it was the Construct Elend had placed inside her.

Time’s running out, she realized.

Akari couldn’t normally sense Elend’s Construct. But now she felt it fading as clearly as she felt her own mana. It would dissolve soon, and so would their fake marks.

Wake up. Relia needs you.

Nothing happened. Her dreams had been fragile things before, fading at the slightest stray thought. Now, they came far more insistent, and Dream Akari’s will dominated her own.

She sat in the audience of Last Haven’s arena, watching Kalden rip through his opponents in the ring.

First, he fought Rina Watase, a Lightning Artist who sprinted faster than a raptor. But for all her speed and mobility, Kalden had predicted her exact path, and she’d impaled herself on his flying blade.

Then he faced a Stone Artist named Tashiro Kamoto. Like Watase, this boy didn’t have a proper Cloak technique, but he covered every inch of his body in solid rock, charging Kalden head-on.

Kalden abandoned his own defense and shrank his mana blades to pinpricks. The needle-like techniques wove through the gaps in Kamoto’s armor, and the fight ended in less than a minute.

After that, he faced Darren Warder who wielded a pair of submachine guns. The other boy must have infused his bullets with mana because they curved like Missiles as they flew, seeking their target and exploding on impact.

Guns were a great way to close skill gaps with their speed and power, but they usually lost to traditional Mana Arts. Today was no exception. Kalden deflected the stream of bullets, and Darren’s own defenses were no match for the storm of blades.

Akari switched to another dream where she rode her bike down a winding asphalt road. Thick forest surrounded her on all sides, and the wind smelled like spring—cold, humid, and filled with life.

Her path continued downhill for several miles, steeper than any slopes she’d ever seen. Eventually, she passed over a train track and found her destination—an old diner with a red neon sign on its roof.

Akari walked her bike through the parking lot, dodging potholes and puddles from the recent rainfall. A galvanized steel rack sat by the front door, and she locked her bike into place. No one worried about theft in Last Haven, but she’d heard rougher stories about the outside world.

She stepped inside, ordered a coffee, and found a booth far away from the chatting locals. An air vent blasted her from above, even colder than the air outside. Akari zipped up her hoodie and curled her fingers around the steaming mug. Rain spattered the windows, and the trees thrashed in the wind outside.

Great. Twenty miles down the mountain hadn’t been so bad, but the ride home was going to suck.

The minutes dragged on, and she checked her watch for the hundredth time.

1:59.

Akari glanced out the window, past the steady flow of water droplets. No one else had shown up. Would it be better if she turned around, too? Sure, she was pissed at her parents, but did she want to go behind their backs like this? Did she really want share their secrets with a stranger?

The clock struck two, and a man appeared in the booth across from her.

“Shit.” Akari jumped back, losing her grip on her mug.

Mana flashed from the newcomer’s hand, and he caught the falling cup with a Missile technique. Several drops of brown liquid froze in midair.

Only a Master had mana control that good.

“Sorry for the scare,” the man said with a smile. He was Espirian like her father, and about the same age. His blue eyes pierced her like two Missiles of ice mana—far brighter than any eyes she’d ever seen. His hair was red like Relia’s. But while Relia’s hair was bright like a fire, this man’s was dark as a pool of dried blood. The rest of his features were smooth, and his smile seemed genuine—the sort of face you’d see on TV.

Akari’s mug rose from her lap and returned to its place on the table. She glanced down at the cup, then back at the man who’d just appeared out of thin air. “Are you Ashur Moonfire?”

He nodded once, just as a waitress passed their table. She gave no reaction to his sudden appearance. In fact, no one else in the diner seemed to notice him.

“Hell no.” Akari scooted out of the booth. “I didn’t sign up for Dream Mana.”

She’d half expected the man to freeze her in place. Instead, he gave a casual shrug. “Suit yourself. But I’m no Dream Artist.”

Akari hesitated.

“There are other ways to avoid being seen. Some people from your sect might recognize me, and I’d rather not antagonize them.”

She activated her Silver Sight, expecting to see an intricate web of mana around Ashur. Instead, she saw nothing. No invisible Construct surrounded their booth, and no Missiles passed between them. He’d even veiled his soul.

But what if he’d already gotten inside her head? He could easily blind her to his techniques, the same way he’d shrouded his appearance. He could be influencing her decisions right now, encouraging her to stay,

“You’re uncomfortable.” Ashur slid out of his seat, buttoning his jacket as he stood. “I understand.”

What was this? Reverse psychology? But why would a Dream Artist resort to mundane tricks?

“Not gonna make me stay?” she asked him.

He raised an eyebrow. “Why would I do that?”

“You need information from me.”

“I won’t manipulate a child.”

Child? Please. Aside from Ashur, she could probably defeat anyone in this diner. Even the Apprentices.

“Have a good day, Miss Clifton.” Ashur put his back to her, and space bent in front of him as he opened a human-sized portal. A dimly lit room waited beyond, filled with shelves of leather-bound books.

A Space Artist? But that could be faked, too. Even Akari had tried this technique with a bottle of liquid space mana. She’d failed, of course. Drinking the mana wasn’t the same as having the actual aspect. Even if she’d succeeded, alchemy was prohibited in the Foundation leagues. She needed an aspect if she wanted to beat Kalden Trengsen, and this man might be her only chance.

“Wait,” Akari said.

Ashur paused halfway through the portal, turning to face her. “Change your mind?”

“Yeah.” Akari let out a long breath and sank back into the booth.

Ashur joined her in the booth a second later, and the portal snapped shut behind him. They sat there in silence for several heartbeats, and Akari scrambled for the right words. He already knew her situation from their emails, and she’d come prepared with the artifacts and information.

Finally, Ashur broke the silence. “Your parents are holding you back.”

Akari nodded, curling her fingers around her mug. The contents were still warm despite their trip through the air.

“They’re right to fear the unknown,” he said. “A spacetime aspect has never been done before. If it fails, then half your mana will be useless. You’ll be crippled for life.”

She swallowed, and her fingers continued to fidget with her mug. Her parents had given her similar warnings in the past, but they’d always seemed so confident in their plans.

He must have sensed her discomfort because he raised a hand. “Sorry. I’m not trying to scare you, or make your parents sound like the bad guys. I’m sure they want what’s best for you, but they’re not certified instructors. That’s probably one reason they brought you to this sect. They want to make their own rules without consulting the experts.”

Good point. Her parents always acted smart by referencing academic journals, but they seemed to lack common sense. Worst of all, they’d always valued their own experiments over her life.

“But I’ve seen videos of your duels,” Ashur said as he leaned forward. “You have so much potential. With a proper aspect, you could be the greatest Mana Artist of your generation.”

Finally. That was her goal, of course, but everyone else sailed around the storm. Hearing it spoken since shivers down her spine.

“But you’re plateauing,” he said. “Techniques from a tier four aspect take years to develop. You need to start training yesterday if you want to compete at the collegiate level.”

"Try telling my parents that," Akari muttered.

"They see your potential too," he said. "But they'd rather shield you from that life of fame, convincing themselves it's for your own good."

"But what if they're right?” Akari asked What if spacetime mana makes me stronger in the long run?" She agreed with everything Ashur had said, but she'd wrestled with this last question ever since her duel with Kalden. What was the cost of being wrong?

Ashur spread out his hands on the table. "You're still in for a hard journey if your parents are right. It won't be as simple as inheriting both of their techniques. More likely, you'll need to invent your own techniques from scratch, or force this new form of mana into more traditional molds. It will make you an academic curiosity, but it won't be practical. "

That was about what she'd expected. Even after all these years of waiting, she'd still have to work harder than everyone else to catch up.

"Alright," she said. “I’ll go go with space mana." That had been a tough decision too, but her father's aspect was far more practical for combat than her mother’s.

Ashur nodded. "You'll need at least three different artifacts for the ritual. These should be handcrafted by a Space Artist—infused with mana and intention. It's best if they come from your father. His connection to you will increase your chance of success."

"They're all right here." Akari patted her backpack, which sat in the booth beside her. The bag itself held a pocket dimension, and the other two artifacts sat inside.

"What about the ritual itself?" she asked. "How's it work?"

Ashur's lips curled up at the edges as he raised his hand. "That's the part we're negotiating. You have the information I've asked for?"

Akari laughed under her breath. He'd ask her the name of Last Haven's enemy—the person her parents actively defied. "Only one name I can think of. But you might not believe me."

"I think I will," he said. "My people have our suspicions, but we need a confirmation."

She narrowed her eyes at him. "What will you do with this if I tell you?"

"Nothing. I study the sects for research, and I report back what I find. That's all."

"But you disagree with the sects?"

"So do you," he noted. "But I wish them no ill will."

She let out a breath. "And all I do is tell you the name, then you teach me the ritual?"

"That's the deal."

Her conscience still itched at the thought of betraying her sect. But what choice did she have? Her parents refused to listen, and no one else in the sect had offered to help. They’d all forced her hand.

Akari spoke the name, but the sound left her mouth in a blur. More like a rush of water than actual words. At the same time, the ambiance of the diner grew louder, and pressure built in her ears until they popped.

Talek. What was this? All her other memories had been clear as glass—Elend's technique had seen to that. It was as if someone had taken special care with this particular name. Could it be the one who’d taken her memories in the first place?

Her ears had been deaf to the sound, but she'd felt her lips move as she spoke. The name was long—at least six syllables.

The sound returned to normal when Ashur spoke again. "Thank you.”

Akari nodded as she fought down her guilt. "So when do I get my aspect?”

He sent a burst of mana over his shoulder, opening another portal. "Right now."