Chapter 48
Branches and Power
…
Then.
A minimal sound—like a wet tic—ran across the sheet.
A tiny flash snaked between the dry strokes, barely illuminating the angles of some letters.
It was so subtle that many blinked, wondering if they had imagined it.
A second flash crossed the surface, clearer this time, like light reflecting off a thread of oil.
And then…
The ink moved.
First it vibrated, almost imperceptibly.
Then it began to shift, stretching from the edges of each letter, as if a microscopic creature were pushing from within.
The crooked words straightened.
The poorly made strokes rearranged themselves.
Arrows, symbols, and scribbles untangled, running over each other like an organized swarm of insects that knew exactly where to go.
A murmur ran through the group, but no one dared to speak.
The lines slid, forming clean columns.
Paragraphs separated with space between them.
What was once chaos now transformed into a sheet filled with precise, elegant words… almost beautiful.
When the ink stopped, the sheet looked as if it had just been written by a professional.
*-…-*
"…What the hell?" whispered one of those present, unable to contain himself.
And then—
"It works," said Eilor, not taking his eyes off the ink that had just reacted, the surprise curving his mouth into a full, frank, almost childlike smile.
Eli couldn't help but lean a little closer, bracing herself with both hands on the table. Her eyes shone with pure fascination.
"That… was incredible," she said, her voice low but full of contained energy.
"Can you make it read by itself?"
Eilor looked up at her, the surprise still etched on the muscles of his face.
He blinked a couple of times, looked at the sheet… then the pen… then Eli.
"I don't know," he replied, and his tone betrayed him. He sounded excited.
The ink, spread across the sheet, vibrated.
Subtly.
Minutely.
Like a muscle preparing.
As if the sheet itself were inhaling.
Eli raised an eyebrow, a small smile sharpening her expression.
"Then ask it," she said.
And the silence that followed was so expectant you could cut it with a knife.
Eilor swallowed.
His throat vibrated slightly as he did so.
The entire group fell silent without anyone ordering it; the air tightened around him, warm from nearby breaths, cold from shared tension.
His fingers adjusted their grip on the pen.
The tip still brushed the dry letter, making a small point of shadow.
Eilor inhaled slowly.
"Alright…" he murmured to himself.
And then, loud and clear, he ordered in a firm voice, though the firmness had to fight its way through an involuntary tremor:
"Read my notes aloud."
The command came out precise.
The group held its breath without realizing it.
For two seconds, nothing happened.
Not a centimeter of ink moved.
Then, from somewhere inside the sheet, a murmur was born.
At first, it was a low, irregular noise.
A wet, guttural sound… but alien.
The letters closest to the pen's tip began to darken.
A blue glow—with touches of sky-blue, like moonlight under water—began to well up from the edges, rising through the strokes like a liquid.
One by one, the characters lit up.
First one word.
Then another.
And another.
When the third word was completely blue, the voice emerged.
And it wasn't mechanical.
Nor metallic.
It was human.
Too human.
The first syllable came out rough, raspy, as if someone were waking with a dry throat after years without speaking:
"A—"
The sound echoed in the room.
The second word appeared illuminated, and the voice continued—now more defined, deep, almost intimate—reading word by word what Eilor had written.
---
〈Branches and Colors〉
The voice pronounced it with unexpected gravity, as if the title were more important than the subject itself.
"The academy uniforms, the imperial and militarized ones, use colored stripes…"
As the voice advanced, Eilor saw the entire paragraph stretch out, showing a more organized list than what he had hastily written:
"…a range of six colors that can vary in quantity, having two or—rarely—three colors. Each unit representing a type of power known and cataloged by an organization called the Human Alliance."
Upon hearing "Human Alliance," several in the group straightened up.
Others exchanged quick glances, as if the name felt too big to be mentioned aloud by something like a sheet.
Eilor said nothing.
He just let the voice continue narrating.
The ink formed a brief separator line.
Then the next section began: an opinion of his, written in the margin, clumsily and hastily.
The voice read it without softening anything, word for word:
"So… even though the empire is a nation, does it still have to follow the rules of a larger group? Just like cities to the empire."
Silence.
It was like hearing someone read from inside a closed room… or from inside one's own skull.
Several heads lifted.
Others tensed.
One of the young men took a step back, bumping into the table behind him.
But no one spoke.
No one wanted to interrupt.
The ink trembled again.
A soft blue pulse ran along the lower lines of the sheet, as if something inside were preparing to speak again.
The raspy voice emerged once more:
"So eye colors are the easiest way to recognize a person's type of power… and what's used to say someone has 'x' power."
Eli tilted her head, interested.
Others moved a little closer, wanting to see better.
The ink kept moving:
"Orange: Sorcerer."
"Violet: Psychic."
"Yellow: Mage."
"Dark Green: Tattoos without power? If they have no power, then… why classify it as a type of power?"
"Blue: Alchemists."
"Red: Aura."
The young man in the blue coat let out a short sound, almost a humorless laugh, when he heard "Blue: Alchemists."
But before he could say anything, the voice continued reading the marginal note, even the part where Eilor doubted:
"But Bairon has his uniform with red, and his eyes are green. Is there a difference between light green and dark green?"
It was as if the sheet were breathing.
The voice narrated slowly, without rush.
It wasn't robotic or flat; it had human cadence, human modulations, even small pauses as if… thinking.
And each member of the group heard it inside their head, regardless of their distance from the sheet.
Some touched their temples, bewildered.
Eli narrowed her eyes, fascinated.
Teo lowered his chin slightly, observing the sheet.
Eilor, rigid, kept the pen still on the paper.
He watched it, unable to blink.
Because now he heard it with absolute clarity:
It wasn't a voice created by ink.
It was an undeniably human voice.
A something that had been dormant.
And that now read with the naturalness of someone who had been doing it all their life.
And the room—motionless, expectant, incredulous—was merely the audience for this new presence, awakened word by word, syllable by syllable… line by line.
The raspy voice resumed reading:
"So, eye colors don't represent the power you were born with, but the power most attuned to you upon awakening."
A couple of murmurs arose at the table; some exchanged glances as if they had already suspected this, others frowned because they hadn't.
The ink pulsed once more.
"So… if one dedicates themselves, could they use all six powers?"
Eli let out a soft laugh under her breath, while Teo raised an eyebrow, interested.
The voice continued:
"Each power uses a different type of energy, plus a different organic structure. If you release your energy without restraint, it will take on the color of the power used."
Eilor followed it with his gaze, fascinated.
"That's why, for most of the First Era, the system was based on the idea that each power had a single energy source," the voice went on, "thus raising several generations of 'specialists.'"
A few in the group nodded.
"But, by the end of the Second Era and with the creation of the Third Citadel, that changed due to the new idea that all colors had the same origin… but that it branched into other energies within our bodies."
The group fell silent.
"Does that prevent us from acquiring other powers?" the voice continued, reading Eilor's opinion.
Without time to opine on the matter, the raspy voice continued the reading:
"So other powers can be acquired… though the time required varies depending on the person and their affinity."
The sheet vibrated.
Then, as if measuring the pulse of each word,
The black ink became denser in some parts, paler in others, as if marking the numbers with an emotional weight.
The voice read:
"Magic to Sorcery: almost impossible. Three out of ten."
"Magic to Psychic: above average. Six out of ten."
"Magic to Dark Green: unknown."
"Magic to Alchemy: very difficult. Four out of ten."
"Magic to Aura: compatible. Ten out of ten."
The group watched in complete silence.
Eli crossed her arms, leaning a little more toward the table.
The ink moved again, tracing the next table with surgical precision:
"Sorcery to Magic: manageable. Seven out of ten."
"Sorcery to Psychic: almost impossible. Three out of ten."
"Sorcery to Dark Green: unknown."
"Sorcery to Alchemy: almost impossible. Two out of ten."
"Sorcery to Aura: impossible. Zero out of ten."
One of the boys clicked his tongue.
"That's worse than my grade in physical combat," he murmured.
Some laughed softly; Teo did not.
The voice continued, unperturbed:
"Psychic to Magic: very difficult. Four out of ten."
"Psychic to Sorcery: almost impossible. Three out of ten."
"Psychic to Dark Green: unknown."
"Psychic to Alchemy: above average. Six out of ten."
"Psychic to Aura: compatible. Ten out of ten."
Teo nodded, murmuring, "That makes sense."
The young man in the blue coat lowered his gaze, thoughtful.
The ink, now more confident, rearranged the next block without waiting for instruction:
"Alchemy to Magic: very difficult. Four out of ten."
"Alchemy to Sorcery: difficult. Five out of ten."
"Alchemy to Dark Green: unknown."
"Alchemy to Psychic: very difficult. Four out of ten."
"Alchemy to Aura: compatible. Ten out of ten."
Upon reaching this point, Teo narrowed his eyes, clicking his tongue.
"The world would be simpler if it were a lie," he said.
The boy in the blue coat let out a bitter laugh.
The voice concluded with the last part:
"Aura to Dark Green: unknown."
"Aura to Sorcery: impossible. Zero out of ten."
Then a silence fell.
The paper vibrated as if exhaling.
The last words of Eilor—his most personal notes—lit up softly, the edge of each letter breathing a faint blue:
"So you can acquire other branches depending on compatibility… plus everyone can use Aura. At Takran, now that I think about it, learning Aura was mandatory. Is that where 'mixed academy' comes from? Two branches?"
The ink stirred, organizing itself into two brief columns.
Then the words resonated, enveloping the room with a graver tone:
"The only drawback of learning more than one branch…"
The ink vibrated.
"…is that half of your internal production and personal energy storage is sacrificed."
Eli stopped playing with her bracelet.
Several straightened up, and one of the more distracted boys cleared his throat as if he had suddenly understood something important.
The voice continued:
"That's why, if you don't have large reserves, it's recommended to learn only a maximum of two branches."
"Especially… Aura, for its physical enhancements."
The illuminated ink dimmed, highlighting the final comment just a shade brighter than the rest.
The silence that followed was dense.
"And… there you have it," someone murmured in the back. "That's why no one walks around with three branches nowadays."
Another nodded, making a face.
That last phrase, however, ignited the ink again.
Eilor's final words—his thoughts written without filter—glowed:
"Okay, that clarifies why no one learns more than two branches these days…"
The echo of the voice faded.
The ink retreated into a slow pulse.
Eli was the first to break the silence.
She straightened up, placing both hands on the table, her hair falling to one side.
Her violet eyes moved from the sheet to Eilor with a naturalness that seemed like a constant challenge.
"It's like…" she began, "adding more outlets to a water container without having a way to close them."
The entire group visualized the image instantly.
Glances drifted to the floor or the sheet, as if everyone had suddenly understood something too obvious.
Eilor raised an eyebrow slightly, surprised by the clarity of the comparison.
"Honestly, that's a good explanation," he admitted.
Eli smiled sideways, proud of her contribution.
But in Eilor's mind, the thought slipped further back.
"What a good comparison…"
The text appeared in the ink, writing itself, as if the artifact copied the line of thought as soon as it felt it being born.
Eilor started slightly.
"Hey, don't write that," he whispered toward the sheet, uncomfortable.
The ink stopped.
Then, in a subtle curve, a new phrase appeared, softly:
"…though it sounds like someone else said it before. Could it have been a professor at the academy?"
The group watched as the phrase formed without Eilor speaking it.
Eli stopped smiling.
Teo opened one eye, analyzing the phenomenon with a mix of professional curiosity and latent alarm.
"Is it reading your thoughts?" one asked, his voice tense but fascinated.
Eilor went perfectly still.
He even stopped breathing for a second.
Then he exhaled, slowly, trying to recompose himself.
"No," he lied very poorly. "Not at all."
The ink vibrated.
A single word was drawn, small, almost mocking:
"Yes."
Laughter exploded.
Eli hit the table with her fist, stifling her guffaw.
The boy in the blue coat brought both hands to his face.
Teo leaned back with a long sigh.
"Excellent," Teo said, crossing his arms. "A freshly awakened artifact that already contradicts you."
He turned his head toward his apprentice.
"See why dormant artifacts aren't left loose?"
The apprentice just murmured something like "Great, now it's sarcastic too."
Eilor buried his face in his hands.
The sheet trembled under his palm, ready to keep writing as soon as it sensed another doubt, thought, or impulse.
Eli, still smiling, spoke in a sweet and dangerous voice:
"Well, Eilor…"
She leaned forward.
"If it's going to say what you're thinking… then you'd better think interesting things."
The group roared with laughter.
Eilor moved the pen away with a brusque, almost childish motion, as if physically distancing it would be enough to stop it from writing what he was thinking.
Eli kept staring at him, a silent edge that said, "I'm going to remember this."
The group's laughter kept growing behind her, surrounding him like an inevitable wave.
"Pff…" Eilor exhaled, defeated.
He tried to hold back, pressing his lips together…
but the sound of a boy in the back laughing with a strange squeal broke his restraint.
"Hahaha—" he ended up exploding too, letting himself be carried away by the general laughter.
The collective laughter lasted a full minute, one of those minutes that feel longer because of the chaos of sounds:
palms on the table, someone tapping the floor with their heel, a couple crying from laughter, the wet sound of someone coughing from laughing too hard.
Even Teo laughed softly, with that tired adult laugh that doesn't want to admit it got infected.
…
Finally, the intensity receded like a tide.
Amid the calm, one of those present raised his hand.
He was a young man with yellow eyes—a deep, almost golden tone—and he wore a chain of silver bones around his neck, each piece sharpened like a polished nail. It wasn't a common adornment; more than one had looked at him with respect since they boarded the ship.
"Hey…" he said, as the last laughs died out. "Since we're on the topic, and the eras came up…"
He adjusted his chain with a distracted touch.
"How about we talk a bit more about that?"
The idea was well received.
There were nods, murmurs of approval; someone even said, "Yeah, go on, I want to see what else you remember."
The boy smiled, proud to have the floor.
"Great," he said, lowering his shoulders like someone preparing an old tale. "Look, I have a curious fact I remembered when the ink talked about the First Era."
He cleared his throat a couple of times.
An automatic gesture, almost ritualistic.
Then he raised a finger.
"During the first era, the first known powers were Magic, Sorcery, and Psychics," he said, marking each name as if it were part of a list.
He paused, looking around.
"Though originally…" his eyes shone a little brighter, "they were believed to be the same power."
The group went still.
"The same power?" Eli repeated, leaning forward.
"Yes," he confirmed, moving the bones of his necklace, which jingled like little metallic bells.
"Because of the similarities they had at the beginning… during the First Era of the First Epoch."
Teo, from the back, opened his eyes slightly, interested.
The boy in the blue coat crossed his arms, attentive.
Eilor looked at the sheet, wondering if the ink would react to this information too.
The atmosphere became denser, but not tense; it was the density of shared interest, of ancient knowledge that suddenly seemed close.
"And why did they think that?" someone from the back asked.
The boy took a deep breath, like someone preparing to open a chest full of something old.
"Well…" he smiled. "Because for them, back then, all impossible things seemed to come from the same place."