There are pitifully few surviving records of how the System came to be. Many details were different even in those that did survive.

  However, there was one constant. It was the fact that it was all the brainchild of one man. A man who hadn’t even comprehended a single concept when he’d touched upon the truth of the Universe.

  -Excerpt from the notes of Scholar Thakos Inelt of the 3rd Universal Knowledge Repository.

  ***

  Talin looked deeply into each one. There were a total of seven colored fruits, each representing a different effect.

  The blue ones, Bee’s favorite and the one she immediately snatched, replenished mana upon eating. Talin had eaten quite a lot himself, and even with his absurd mana pool, it only took two to fill him back up from empty. It was also astonishing how no one ever blew themselves up if they ate too much.

  Red was next and had been dubbed the Fruit of Immortality. That was only a rumor though, as it only ever healed. A lot.

  “I mean, it could probably give some unique creature out there several years of life,” the tree said. “So it’s not a complete lie.”

  Talin just rolled his eyes.

  Yellow was a fruit for the soul. All it took to understand its power was to read the tale of a necromancer who’d made it her phylactery once. It made her nigh unkillable, even if you grabbed hold of the vessel.

  “Now that I think about it, is that guy still there?” Talin raised a brow.

  “Yes.”

  Poor guy. He thought for a moment. Just a single moment, then forgot about it in the next. The guy had been a handful even for him.

  Next was Green, perhaps in keeping with the theme, this fruit was nothing but a condensed essence of Life. Too dense to be used for healing. But it could give life to everything else—it was the main reason Aristosa even existed on Gikilefsi.

  A modified version of it was what they’d used to supercharge his array.

  The last three, though, were complicated. One was black, with fibers perfect for artifacts—like his gloves.

  The second was white and was the complete opposite in that it repelled practically all magic—also perfect for artifacts.

  And the last was of a myriad of colors. Its skin and flesh shifted from one color to the next, showing colors not even represented by the other fruits. It was the only one he hadn’t tried.

  “Can you remind me again what this one does?”

  “This,” his friend paused, his smugness and overwhelming pride obvious for all the world to hear. “Is the fruit of reformation. One capable of reforming the body of any being from the ground up. Theoretically, could turn the talentless, into a genius. I can only make one of these once every ten millennia.”

  “…there has to be a catch, no?”

  “Well, you would have to know what makes a genius, a genius.”

  “Right,” Talin stared blankly at the fruit. “But what exactly do these fruits have to do with the fact that my array couldn’t quantify you?”

  “Simple,” the tree cleared his imaginary throat. “I acquired the ability to make fruits when I finally understood Life.”

  “Life with an emphasis? I’m guessing the life I’m thinking of is different from the one you actually mean.”

  “Yes and no. Life, as in the energy. Or perhaps the underlying rule that pervades all throughout creation.”

  “…of course it is.”

  His head began to ache.

  If Talin were honest, he actually wasn’t unfamiliar with the underlying concept his tree-friend had mentioned. Records existed of people who had somehow turned from mortal, all the way to almost all-powerful—at least to the author of said records.

  There was a tale of an ascetic who’d spent several years sitting inside the trunk of an ancient, hollow tree that had been struck by lightning. Said person apparently felt a beckoning of some sort from the traces of lightning inside the bark.

  The person, who was a stranger to magic just before his meditations had started, somehow became a savant in a rare variation of lightning that could spur on the growth of plants.

  The person called it a Concept.

  There were a few other accounts of people with the same circumstances. Many, many more even tried to replicate their successes through various experiments. None did. And most died.

  But that was all Talin knew about them.

  “Is it a concept, then?” he voiced his assumption,

  “Not exactly. Though I myself can’t say exactly what it was. The feeling I get, is that it’s more than a Concept. Maybe an… ideal? Even that doesn’t sound quite right. It even sends a pulse of derision when it’s called that.”

  “So, it’s sentient?”

  “More of an instinct, if I had to say.”

  As they talked, they noticed the child among them had her eyes gloss over as she wobbled. They immediately apologized and moved on to more pressing matters.

  Talin sighed. “Okay, old friend, we might need to put this conversation on hold,” he tapped a pulsing spell circle on the back of his left glove. “Looks like the other archmages also felt the disturbance. They’ve called for a meeting of the ‘high council’.”

  Unauthorized content usage: if you discover this narrative on Amazon, report the violation.

  They both shared a mental roll of their eyes, which Bee somehow also did.

  Looks like the grandfather’s views were rubbing off on the supposedly innocent granddaughter. The former was only ever happy for it. Though he’d probably need to teach her how to hide her contempt.

  “Let me send you off,” the tree said, his consciousness lingering on Bee for a second. “The fun route, yes? Two birds with one stone that way.”

  Two sinewy, green hawks emerged from a nearby vine as Talin noticed the insinuation in his friend's words. “Thank you, as always.”

  “It’s of no matter. I do not half-ass the help I give friends.”

  Talin chuckled. “You really need to work on your vulgarity. It’s unbecoming of a being as ancient as yourself.”

  “One thing I’ve understood in all my time—is that giving a shit is a waste of time,” his friend replied as he saw an image of a treant shrugging.

  He shook his head and helped Bee get on the hawk as they headed back home.

  Just as they were about to set off, his friend transferred images of his son to his mind. He seemed to be doing well, all things considered.

  Thank you, friend. He sent back.

  ***

  Decimus, or as he insisted his friends still call him, Bob, was massaging his head. In front of him were the causes of his unwelcome migraine—The High Council, or as he called them, magical failures.

  They, who were once powerful archmages in their own right, had long since abandoned any hope of studying magic any deeper. Even the title ‘Archmage’ was too much in his view. It was true that they’d earned the title once, but with the development in their fields over the years, none of them could call themselves masters anymore.

  If it were up to him, he’d have removed them from their seats long ago. If it were up to his teacher, they would have all lost a sense or two for giving in to politics of all things. Because that’s what they were now: politicians.

  “Where is the Primus? How could he be late to a Special summons?!” what used to be an Archmage of Fire said.

  “Agreed! A sanction needs to be brought down on his bloated head for this disrespect!” a former Archmage titled “Shroud of War,” added.

  Bob couldn’t help but mentally scoff at them. They only had the guts to say dumb shit like that when his teacher wasn’t around. Perhaps they’d forgotten the stories? It had been over a century since anyone had warranted a… reaction from the old man.

  It was also possible that they had just been bought out by some random noble houses. He wouldn’t be surprised if they’d already taken sides among the various subsidiary kingdoms under the Empire. Hell, he would even be shocked if they hadn’t at least considered it a hundred times at this point.

  He sighed as he looked around. At least they weren’t all lost causes. A few still looked uncomfortable at the mention of the strongest mage in the world.

  Unfortunately, none were uncomfortable enough to call the cowards on it.

  “Enough,” he said with a slam of his gavel. “We all know why my teacher is late.”

  Bob eyed each being sitting on their luxurious chairs, contrasting heavily with the plainly decorated room and one stool.

  Ten seats made up the council, with the stool placed slightly farther away reserved for the current Primus as a deciding vote. With how politics currently worked in the world though, it had been a long time since a tie had occurred. Which was probably why the stool was a stool. And why it looked unused.

  Anyone could see the state of the council just by looking at the two dragons. Both even had the same ancestor, yet looked ready to break each other’s jaw.

  Bob shook his head and tried thinking of something else when the most unique looking being in the council caught his eye. It always surprised him that anyone actually got along with the Dreamwalker. He always found them especially hair-raising.

  The Dreamwalkers couldn’t hold a defined shape outside of dreams. This resulted in them looking like nothing more than a shifting, shadowy mass that looked entirely different even after just a blink. True to their race, they always seemed to be transforming into people the beholder had recently dreamed about.

  Which was why most tended to avoid them. No one liked having their private thoughts read. Well, not blatantly at least.

  Right now, it took the shape of a woman… someone he hadn’t thought of for a long time, but who had apparently appeared in a dream he’d forgotten about.

  The dwarf mage shifted uncomfortably in his seat before clearing his throat. “Decimus, sire, ye know I’m not one for agreeing with the likes of fireboy over ‘ere,” the stocky, yet clean-shaven dwarf pointed to the human fire archmage with his lips. “but, they do ‘ave a point. The Primus is late. There ain't much use in whatever his excuses are, as we all rarely gather as it is.”

  Bob nodded his head in mock agreement. The dwarf was one of the more sensible ones, but the man still did not know his teacher like he did.

  “And I agree with you,” Bob replied. “But we all know that none of us can control what he does. I suggest we start with the smaller topics that I’m sure some of you want to bring up.”

  They all looked amongst each other with a round of nods and surely some telepathic communication before acquiescing.

  “Very well, as the rules dictate,” the Giant’s surprisingly gentle voice spread through the room. “An issue that I bring up will take precedence.”

  She cleared her throat and sat up a bit straighter as she adjusted her size to become a hair larger. “The kingdom of Marisabel has been encroaching on the land of Riessis for the past year. I propose—”

  “No offense to you, Lifegiver, but should we not discuss the reason why this meeting was called in the first place?” the Leviathan interjected.

  The Giant, Lifegiver furrowed her brows, but nodded in the end.

  “Oh? Do you happen to know something, honored Nightstalker?” The Dwarf asked, adjusting his goggles.

  It immediately clicked for Bob. It was no wonder the Dwarf had spoken out earlier, they must know something.

  “I do, yes. And I had to seek counsel from an elder of my race to know what it was,” The Nightstalker nodded gravely. “A new rune, or at the very least, a runic array, has been made and recognized in the fabric of our reality.”

  Everyone turned serious at that, and Bob wasn’t an exception. He’d read about one such case in the records of the Empire, but he always wondered why it was determined to be that exactly.

  “How sure are you of this, Nightstalker?” he asked.

  “Quite, honored Decimus. As you all know, my people are the longest-lived beings on this planet. The elder whom I asked is even older than the tree.”

  Bob’s left brow raised. The fact that the Leviathan still hadn’t expanded on what he said only meant one thing. “And what exactly do you want in return for more in-depth information?”

  “It’s fairly simple,” The Leviathan smiled and winked at the giantess. “Marisabel wants Riessis, The Forests of Aristosa, and Erym to cede a small piece of their territory.”

  The giantess slammed the table in a fit of rage. “Do you think I’ll stand by and—”

  Bob sent a dense wave of mana through the room as he saw both the Lifegiver and the Dreamwalker fume at the demand.

  “How much, exactly?” he asked the smiling Leviathan.

  “Oh, not much.”

  Then, just as the Leviathan took out several pieces of paper from his spatial pocket, a familiar pressure fell upon all of them. It did almost nothing to him except make him aware, but to all the others… well, half of them had their eyes turn red because of exertion, and the other half had their own mana flared to combat the pressure that threatened to suffocate them of both air and mana.

  “To think, someone else would actually try to profit from my scraps,” the voice of his teacher echoed across the room, carrying a more purposeful intent than the already stifling pulse of mana earlier.

  They all looked in the direction of the stool to see the Primus smiling. And it chilled them to their bones.

  ***

  Talin was amused. And curious. More of the latter, really. He’d arrived just in time to see the human fire Archmage voice his irrelevant question and decided to watch and see. It was disappointing at first when not even his former student could sense him, though he seemed to have a feeling that something was wrong. Then he heard that the Leviathans actually might know more than he did about new runes?

  He was just thinking how he could gain the information on his own when the so-called “nightstalker” had given him the perfect excuse. Since he’d demanded something of a council member, he had the right to mediate.

  A mess that he’d have to spend years cleaning up was now unnecessary.

  And to someone who was just debating in his mind whether to grace them with his presence, that alone made interacting with the idiots worth it.