The debate between Ragnar and Marius continued, a tug of philosophies wrapped in sharp words and old memories. Across the room, Elof and Shayara sat quietly, listening. The tension in the air wasn’t just political, it was arcane.

  After a pause, Elof finally spoke, his voice thoughtful.

  “Sirs, if I may interject… What you’re discussing here doesn’t just reshape battle tactics, it redefines magic itself. Or rather, it separates magic from something else entirely. Because what you’re speaking of, it’s not magic. It’s Law.”

  Both Ragnar and Marius turned toward him.

  Elof continued, “Traditional magic functions through a trifecta; we have intent, the imagined shape and purpose of the spell.Then catalyst, the source of power. That could be elemental, like fire or wind; divine, like a god’s blessing; or artificial, like a charmed relic. Lastly, Focus, the very means of execution: glyphs, chants, gestures, sigils… something to channel the veil.”

  He paused for a breath, then continued, “Laws don’t seem to follow this structure. They don’t weave the Veil. They… pierce it. Isn’t that right?”

  “Yes,” Ragnar replied. “The catalyst becomes irrelevant in Law-casting. The bearer themselves is the catalyst. The mind doesn’t shape the Veil, it tears through it to touch what lies beneath.”

  Elof leaned forward, intrigued. “What if we added a catalyst anyway? Could that help with stability or control?”

  Marius shook his head. “Tried it. Doesn’t work. No known catalyst can bind a Law, not even divine relics. I even hired a Hemar blacksmith I knew, and asked him to forge something that might carry it. Their craftsmanship is legendary. Still failed.”

  “He was a Hemar?” Ragnar mused. Then he turned briefly to Shayara, as if offering a quiet lesson.

  “Hemars are believed to descend from Heim, the God of Ice and Stone. He’s depicted with five horns and a blue-ringed halo, standing atop Mount Haytia. The Hemar are proud mountain-folk, gifted stonemasons and exceptional rune-carvers. But even their relics can’t hold a Law.”

  He turned back to the table. “Would you like to add anything, Shayara?”

  Shayara sat up slightly, startled by the question. Her mind raced, but no answer came to her. She simply shook her head.

  “That’s alright,” Ragnar said gently. “Just listen for now. You’ll find your voice soon.”

  Marius leaned forward. “Alright, then how about… many people?”

  Ragnar frowned. “What do you mean?”

  “What if we use multiple minds rather than one? That way, piercing the Veil becomes easier, and the impact is spread out.”

  Ragnar shook his head. “Not possible. It takes years of study and experience to become an expert mage. You can’t just hand out Laws to a crowd and expect them to wield that kind of power.”

  “No,” Marius said, “but they don’t have to wield it. They can absorb the impact.”

  Ragnar’s eyes narrowed. “You’re essentially suggesting we use them as… cattle. The feedback from the Veil would slaughter them.”

  “Exactly,” Marius said without flinching. “If we time it right, we could channel the full backlash into our enemies, provided they’re close enough.”

  Ragnar gave a low whistle. “You’re terrifying. But… would it even work?”

  “You can test it tomorrow.”

  “That still doesn’t solve our problem with the law of causality,” Ragnar countered. “It’s the principle that makes magic accountable. Every magical act, no matter how wild or wondrous, obeys a tether: a cause must yield an effect, and every effect reveals its cause. When we cast, we aren’t creating miracles; we’re enforcing transactions. Even if a spell bends time or rends flesh, its cost is paid, by the caster, the world, or something unseen. To master this Law is to decide where that debt falls.”

  Marius tilted his head. “If that’s true, then think about how Causality interacts with Regression. They’re both Laws. There has to be a link.”

  The author's tale has been misappropriated; report any instances of this story on Amazon.

  “Uhm… may I say something?” Shayara asked.

  Ragnar gestured for her to speak.

  “In the academy library,” she began carefully, “I read a book once. It said that magic over a singular origin is often the source of truth, because these origins are the fundamental blocks of our reality. If a mage can alter that fundamental structure, they can add or subtract from reality itself.”

  “Fundamentalism,” Marius muttered. “Old theory. No one researches it anymore. Mostly because magic is never truly singular, at least not the important spells. And how did you even read that? I thought it was banned, something about it not aligning with the divine principle.”

  Shayara’s face went pale. The thought that she’d committed heresy hit like a blade. “I swear, I just found it in the library…”

  “It’s alright, Shayara. You’re safe,” Ragnar said, steadying her. “Now, continue with the theory.”

  “Uhm… for example,” she said, “take a magic arrow. It has two components: the information needed to create it, and the energy needed to produce it. If you alter the information in such a way, the arrow could appear without requiring any energy at all. But to do that, you’d have to change your own perception of how the arrow is created.”

  Marius scoffed. “As I said, not possible. That’s why the theory probably died out even before it was banned, it doesn’t make sense. ‘Altering your own perception’? What does that even mean? Sounds like nonsense.”

  “Uhm… it works,” Shayara said softly.

  “I know, I know..” Marius stopped mid-sentence. “Wait. It works? What do you mean, it works?”

  Ragnar and Elof both turned to her sharply, their attention fully locked.

  “Shayara,” Ragnar said, voice even but intent, “could you break that down for us?”

  “Uhm… I tried it and it worked,” Shayara said, glancing between them. “When you cast a spell, you can alter your perception of the spell itself… and it changes. I made my magic arrow turn green by altering the intent of the arrow.”

  Marius exhaled through his nose. “Changing color isn’t the same as removing the energy requirement. The former just breaks the natural law of the spell’s design.”

  “Not quite,” Shayara countered quietly. “Changing color should increase the energy cost, in theory. But in practice… it didn’t. I measured it with a charmed stone.”

  That made Marius pause.

  Ragnar leaned forward. “Can you demonstrate something for us?”

  “I can,” she said, a hint of nervousness in her voice. “I’ve been working on a spell for scouts, to improve their vision. It’s not perfect, but… I used the same principle.”

  “Show us,” Ragnar said.

  Shayara hesitated. “Can I cast it on you, Lord Ragnar?”

  Ragnar nodded.

  Marius hesitated. “This could be dangerous.”

  “We’ve faced worse,” Ragnar said with a dry chuckle. “Remember the kite worm experiment at the academy?”

  “That worm wasn’t trying to rewire your eyes,” Marius shot back. Then, to Shayara: “What are the chances he goes blind?”

  Shayara’s voice wavered. “None. I’ve tested it, it works. But… it’s disorienting.”

  Ragnar gave her a steady look. “Then let’s see it. Continue.”

  Shayara closed her eyes and lifted her right hand, tracing symbols in the air. Lines of faint light curved and intersected, forming a sigil. In her palm, she held the white feather of an Articus, an uncommon bird of the high hills, prized as a potent catalyst for support spells. In her left hand, a charmed stone glimmered faintly, feeding a small trickle of energy into her casting.

  The sigil flared once and settled into a steady glow. Shayara opened her eyes. “Look at the center,” she said.

  Ragnar focused on the sigil’s heart, and suddenly his perception fractured into a thousand layers.

  He saw the entire tent at once: the map on the war table, the books on the shelf in the corner, the lizards darting beneath his bed. And then, most jarring of all, he saw himself, standing in that space, watching the sigil.

  The vision swam. His head spun violently, and the floor rush up to meet him. Somewhere far away, he heard Shayara’s panicked voice.

  “I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to…”

  Marius’s voice cut in, sharp. “What in the abyss did you do? If something happens…”

  Then Elof’s voice, calm but urgent. “General, can you hear me?”

  The spinning eased, and Ragnar pushed himself to his feet.

  “Are you alright?” Marius asked, still wary.

  Ragnar glanced at Shayara, tears streaked her cheeks. He gripped her shoulders firmly. “That… was incredible. How did you do it? You truly have a rare talent.”

  Shayara blinked at him. “It was… good?”

  “It was more than good,” Ragnar said. “I perceived everything. The shelves. The map. The lizards under my bed. Even myself, like I had multiple eyes. Overwhelming, yes… but remarkable.”

  “No wonder,” Elof murmured, studying her with renewed interest.

  Marius dropped into a chair, frowning in thought. Ragnar followed, both men turning over what had just happened.

  “How does this even work?” Marius asked, his tone shifting from skepticism to fascination.

  “I caught a hint of Law in that spell,” Ragnar said.