The next few days were a whirlwind of focused, productive labor. Under Bastian's surprisingly effective and exacting guidance, the small, mismatched community threw themselves into the construction of their future town hall. The dragon-in-disguise, it turned out, was a master of logistics. He coordinated their efforts with an efficiency that was both inspiring and slightly intimidating. Barin and Oleg, with their basic knowledge of building, led the physical work, directing Amiri and the others in hauling stone from the nearby ridge for the foundation. Even Thorn and Rose helped, carrying smaller rocks and fetching tools.
By the end of the third day, a rather large, precisely measured frame for the foundation was set in the north pasture. Delores stood looking at the outline, appreciating Bastian's grand vision but also feeling a fresh wave of anxiety at the sheer scale of the project. This was going to be a statement, a fortress of governance for a barony that currently consisted of less than a dozen people.
In between the demanding physical labor, Bastian also took on the role of an impromptu magical tutor. Delores, in particular, found his insights invaluable. He pushed her to move beyond her reliance on the small river stone she had used as a focus since her days at the Guild.
"The stone is a crutch, Baroness," he had told her during one session, his ice-blue eyes analytical. "It helped you channel your nascent power. But you are a sorceress, and you now bear the anchor of a powerful elemental creature. Your power source is within you. Rely on it."
With Ozin's mark now a permanent, warm presence on her side, Delores discovered Bastian was right. Focusing her will through that connection, she found she had a startling, intuitive control over flames. It was far more precise and potent than her earlier, wilder sorcery. And when Ozin was actually retreated within the mark, existing as pure essence inside her, her control became even more profound. She could conjure small, dancing lights, instantly heat a pot of water to a perfect rolling boil, or, with more concentration, create a focused jet of fire hot enough to singe stone without her familiar focusing stone.
Rael, meanwhile, had become obsessed. His every spare moment was dedicated to perfecting his teleportation spell. He now used it almost constantly for short-range travel around the homestead, much to everyone's amusement and occasional alarm. He would shimmer into existence a few feet from the dinner table, in the middle of a conversation, or, most frequently, a foot or two to the left of where he intended to be, often resulting in him stumbling into a wall or tripping over his own feet. His accuracy was safe within a few feet, but Rael wasn't content with that.
One afternoon, Delores saw Bastian working with Rael in a clear patch of grass away from the construction. Bastian was describing an ancient draconic incantation, a minor spell in theory, but one that required, as he put it, "an almost incomprehensible degree of focus and control to manifest." It was a test of precision, not raw power.
Delores watched as Rael, his brow furrowed in intense concentration, stood hunched over, his hands cupped together near his chest. He stood motionless for what felt like a full minute, his body trembling slightly with the effort of gathering and shaping the precise magical energies required. Bastian watched him, arms crossed, his expression neutral.
Then, with a sharp, explosive gasp, Rael threw his hands forward. For a single, brilliant instant, a thin, perfectly focused beam of golden light and pure concussive force shot from his palms, no wider than a finger. It flew forward about ten feet, silent and absolute, before it wavered, fizzled, and vanished into nothing.
The effort, though brief, completely drained him. Rael collapsed to one knee, panting heavily, sweat beading on his forehead.
Bastian, however, stared at the spot where the beam had disappeared, his usual composed expression completely gone, replaced by one of absolute, unadulterated shock. His eyebrows were raised so high they nearly disappeared into his vibrant blue hair. He looked from the empty air back to the exhausted tiefling, a slow, disbelieving smile spreading across his face.
Bastian, still looking at the exhausted but triumphant Rael with an expression of pure shock, caught Delores watching from the edge of the clearing. He recovered his composure with a slight shake of his head and waved her over.
"Baroness," he called, his voice tinged with a new level of respect for the latent talent in her small group. "Come. Your turn."
Delores approached as Rael, with a satisfied grin on his face, managed to push himself back to his feet, still breathing a little heavily but clearly pleased with his breakthrough.
"Rael has informed me," Bastian began, his ice-blue eyes now fixed on Delores with an intense, analytical gaze, "that you possess a unique talent. You can channel your sorcery through your music, to affect the will and emotions of those who listen. Is this correct?" He raised a questioning eyebrow.
Delores nodded slowly, a little self-conscious. "Yes. I did it at the bandit camp. But honestly, I have no idea how I did it. It just happened. Usually, when I play my hurdy-gurdy, I can only manage small, simple illusions on command. Nothing like that."
Bastian considered this, a thoughtful hum resonating in his chest. "What you described is a form of spatial magic, Baroness. Not in the way Rael manipulates physical space through teleportation, but you are manipulating emotional space. Affecting the very air and sound around you to produce a tangible result."
Delores scrunched her face up. "Emotional space? That sounds vague."
Bastian waved a dismissive hand. "Semantics. Your magic physically touched their emotions. It created a compulsion, a tangible effect over a large area. If you can move emotions," he said, a slow, predatory grin spreading across his sharp features, "then with enough work, you should be able to move actual things."
Rael nodded in agreement, having caught his breath. "He's correct, Baroness. The schools of magic are not as separate as the Guilds would have you believe. It's all just will and energy. Transmutation, evocation, enchantment… they are all connected. That's what makes it magic. The connections often make no logical sense, until they do."
Delores looked from Rael's earnest face to Bastian's challenging one. "Alright," she said, intrigued despite herself. "So, what are you planning to teach me, Bastian?"
In response, Bastian simply held his arm out, palm open, towards a nearby pile of stones left over from the foundation work. He stared at the pile for a long, silent second, his brow furrowed in concentration. Then, with a low grunt, he thrust his hand forward.
Delores felt, rather than saw, a wave of invisible force ripple through the air. The pile of stones, ranging from small pebbles to rocks the size of her head, shot upwards into the sky as if launched by a catapult. They rose twenty, thirty feet into the air, hung there for a single, impossible, weightless moment, and then plummeted back down to earth with a series of heavy, resounding thuds.
Bastian turned back to her, a wicked grin on his face, his eyes gleaming with the thrill of raw power.
"Gravity magic," he stated simply.
Delores stared, her mind struggling to connect the dots. Emotional space, moving things, gravity magic. It felt like trying to read three different books at once. She watched, still slightly dazed, as Bastian chuckled at her confusion and walked calmly over to the scattered pile of stones. He selected a rock roughly the size of a loaf of bread, carried it to a clear patch of grass a dozen feet away, and set it down by itself. Then he walked back, dusting off his hands.
"Alright, your turn," he said, as if he'd just asked her to pass the salt.
Delores sputtered, her jaw dropping slightly. "My turn? Now? Bastian, I've just barely gotten the hang of not accidentally setting my own hair on fire with Ozin's magic! You want me to start making rocks float?"
Bastian simply nodded, his expression expectant.
Rael, seeing her hesitation, interjected with the quiet confidence of a scholar. "He is correct to push you, Baroness. Your innate power, the sorcery you used at the bandit camp, it was a form of influence, of will projection. This is merely a different application of the same principle. The connection should be there." He then added, a little too earnestly, "Just… whatever you do, try to focus on pushing or pulling on the stone's gravity, not throwing a massive ball of fire at it. The outcomes would be markedly different."
Delores furrowed her brow, turning her gaze from the innocuous-looking stone back to Rael. "And how, exactly, am I supposed to do that?" she asked, exasperation creeping into her voice. "When I call on Ozin's magic, it's a feeling. I can feel the heat, the energy, building up inside me. It flows through my arms and out my hands like a wave of hot air. I can direct it. This… this is different. I don't feel anything to pull."
Bastian put one hand on his hip, using the other to scratch his chin thoughtfully, a gesture that looked oddly human on the disguised dragon. "Rael isn't far off when he says to 'pull'," he mused. "But don't think of it like pulling a rope. Think of it more like a lever. An invisible one that exists in your mind."
He met her confused gaze, his ice-blue eyes intense. "Every object has a weight, a connection to the earth. Gravity. Messing with it is about mentally pushing or pulling on that connection. If you push hard against the stone's connection to the ground, it will shoot upwards into the air, but only so fast, and only as far as your will holds it." He then made a pulling motion with his hand. "If you pull on that connection, reinforcing it, the stone will become heavier, slamming down or making it impossible to lift."
He gestured to the lone stone. "Don't think about fire. Don't think about Ozin. Forget heat. Focus only on the stone. Feel its weight, its simple, heavy presence on the grass. Then, in your mind, find that connection, that anchor holding it down… and push."
Delores stared at the rock, then back at Bastian, her expression a mask of profound doubt. This sounded less like magic and more like some bizarre philosophical exercise. But the memory of Bastian effortlessly launching the entire pile of stones spurred her on. With a heavy sigh, she turned to face the rock, took a deep breath, and held out her hand.
Seconds ticked by, stretching into a long, silent minute. Delores stood with her hand outstretched, her entire focus narrowed down to the single, mundane-looking rock resting on the grass. She tried to "feel its weight," to "find its connection," as Bastian had instructed, but all she felt was a growing sense of foolishness. The rock just sat there, being a rock.
Another minute passed. Frustrated, she held her other hand out as well, as if the extra limb might somehow amplify her non-existent gravity-pulling abilities. Her fingers twitched with unspent energy. She scrunched up her face, closing her eyes tightly, pouring all her mental effort into a single, silent command: Push! Lift! Do something!
She held the focus for as long as she could, then cracked one eye open to see if anything had happened.
Nothing. The stone remained stubbornly, infuriatingly motionless.
She dropped her hands with a groan, turning to look at Rael and Bastian. They both just gave her a small, encouraging shrug.
"It took me a few months to reliably move stones of that size," Bastian admitted, a hint of sympathy in his voice. "This is not a magic of fire and fury, Baroness. It is one of subtle will and immense control. It requires a different kind of mental muscle." He nodded towards the rock. "Keep practicing. Focus on the feeling, not the result. For now." He then turned to Rael. "Could you fetch us some water, Rael? This kind of practice is… dehydrating."
Rael nodded and, with a now-familiar shimmer and a soft pop, blinked away, reappearing a moment later near the homestead's well.
The rest of the day passed in a similar, frustrating pattern. Under Bastian's occasional guidance, Delores tried again and again. She tried pushing, pulling, picturing levers, imagining strings. She tried using her hurdy-gurdy, hoping the music might help her find the right "frequency." Nothing worked. The rock refused to budge. After a while, Bastian and Rael left her to keep trying in the hopes she would find her own understanding.
As the sun began to dip below the horizon, painting the sky in brilliant hues of orange and crimson, a thoroughly defeated and annoyed Delores was sitting cross-legged on the grass, lazily holding one hand out towards the unmoving stone. Hours of trying had yielded absolutely nothing. She couldn't even make it roll over.
This is ridiculous, she thought, glaring at the rock. That giant lizard could have at least stuck around and given me some sort of entertainment instead of leaving me to stare at a lump of granite all day. Her annoyance peaked, mixing with the exhaustion from a full day of failed magical exertion. Stupid rock! Just MOVE!
As the frustrated thought flashed through her mind, she felt a sudden, sharp snap inside her, like a tightly wound spring being released. A bolt of something invisible, something that felt less like heat and more like pure, kinetic force, shot from her outstretched hand.
CRACK!
The loaf-sized rock didn't lift. It didn't float. It simply split perfectly in half, the two pieces falling neatly aside as if they'd been sliced by an impossibly sharp, invisible blade.
Delores stared at the two halves of the rock, her mouth agape. She hadn't felt a wave of heat, no surge of fire. Just that sharp, internal snap, followed by the result. She immediately felt a profound, dizzying drain of her energy, the magical backlash hitting her all at once.
She pushed herself to her feet, swaying slightly. "Okay," she muttered to the bisected rock. "That's… a start, I guess."
Taking the unexpected result as a cue, she decided she was done for the day. She stumbled back towards the farmhouse, her body weary but her mind buzzing with a new, exciting kind of confusion. She couldn't wait to get cleaned up, get some food, and then she couldn't wait to tell Valerie all about it. The rest of the evening passed in a comfortable, domestic haze. Dinner was a hearty affair, though Delores noted the absence of Amiri and the children. She supposed they were enjoying their first proper meal in their new home, a thought that brought a genuine smile to her face. The core group of Delores, Barin, Rael, Bastian, and Oleg were gathered around the familiar wooden table, the conversation light and easy after a long day of work and practice.
Later, tucked away in the quiet of her room, Delores sat cross-legged on her bed, Valerie's book open on her lap. The soft candlelight flickered, casting a warm glow on the page. Communicating with the mysterious lich had become a nightly ritual, a strange but comforting constant in her chaotic new life. She found herself enjoying their silent conversations, even though Valerie remained a reclusive enigma, deflecting any personal questions with infuriating grace.
Delores dipped her quill, finishing her entry for the day.
"...and then the rock just split in half. No fire, no heat, just a snap and then… crack. Bastian calls it gravity magic, but it felt more like I just got really, really angry at it for not moving. I'm exhausted now, but also… intrigued. Is this how it's supposed to work?"
She sat back, watching as her last few sentences shimmered and then faded away, sinking back into the pristine parchment. A few moments of silence passed. Then, Valerie's elegant, flowing script began to bloom across the page.
"Progress, Delores. However unexpected. That 'snap' you felt was your will imposing itself directly upon an object, untethered to an elemental force like fire. It is a purer, more potent form of sorcery. You must keep practicing. You must get stronger. Your potential is vast, but raw potential is useless without control."
Delores read the words, a swell of pride mixing with the pressure of Valerie's high expectations. More words began to appear.
"Speaking of control, your barony requires structure. You cannot be the sole authority on all matters. You need a council. Appoint roles to your friends; give them titles and responsibilities. It will solidify their loyalty and legitimize your rule. Rael, with his intellect; Barin, with his martial prowess; Oleg, with his wisdom and connection to this land–they should be your founding Lords."
The script paused, then continued. "As for the warrior, Amiri, you should ask her what she desires. She may wish for the title of Lord as well, or she may prefer to remain separate from the politics, focused on the protection of the children she has taken under her care. Grant her the choice. Agency is a powerful gift."
Delores's mind reeled at the suggestion. Lords? A council? It sounded so official. So real. Valerie's final message appeared, pulling Delores's thoughts to an even more daunting reality.
"And you must prepare yourself, Delores. Your title was granted by a royal decree, but it is still provisional. You will have to meet with King Theron of Elarvain sooner or later. He will want to see this upstart gnome Baroness for himself. Keep watch for a royal convoy; it is likely he will summon you to the capital before the winter sets in, to have you swear fealty and have your barony officially recognized. Be ready for that meeting."
The final words faded in, gentle but firm. "Keep this on your mind for now. Rest well, little spark."
Delores took a deep breath, letting it all sink in. A council of Lords. A meeting with a King. Her small, adventurous life was snowballing into something grand and terrifying. She picked up her quill one last time.
"Thank you, Valerie. For the guidance. And for sending Bastian. He's surprisingly helpful for a cranky dragon."
She grinned as she watched her words shimmer and vanish, leaving the pages perfectly blank once more. The future was a daunting, complicated mess, but for the first time, she felt like she might actually have a map. Putting the book away on the nightstand, Delores blew out the candle and settled into her bed, her mind buzzing not with anxiety, but with plans.