Eight 1: A LitRPG Novel of Magical Survival by Rabadi Samer

Author:Rabadi, Samer
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Fiction
Publisher: Publisher
Published: 2022-08-30T00:00:00+00:00

The rune with three wavy lines had turned out to be Aeromancy.

There was a new notification too:

Spear Arts increased from 0 to 1.

Stealth increased from 1 to 2.

Interestingly, both Spear Arts and Stealth must’ve ranked up overnight.

There was an article I’d read years ago that talked about memory encoding during sleep. Supposedly, the lack of sensory inputs made it easier for the sleeping brain to stabilize and consolidate memory, which, when I thought about it, was what the System did—preserving memory in amber, forever within reach.

Funny how the article came to mind just when I needed it. Or was that my 5 in Biology at work? Maybe. Possibly. Probably. Even though it felt just like me remembering something by happenstance.

Focus, Ollie. This isn’t the time to get distracted.

I picked up a stiletto to refresh my memory of the runes inside, and then closed my eyes to remove any visual distractions. It took a while to calm the oscillations in my mind and ignore the watery fear in my belly enough to build a mental image of the Nature and Anesthetic runes.

My mana poured into the combined runes. The feeling of something fresh and lively flashed through me—filling me like a balloon—before it overflowed and spilled out. The feeling hung in the air, and in that moment anything seemed possible.

But only for a moment. Directionless at the cusp between potentiality and reality, the spell threatened to dissipate, so I willed it toward my injury. The throbbing disappeared. In fact, I couldn’t feel my leg at all. It was as numb as a rock.

The rest of me felt relief, and underneath that—below the terror of potentially losing my leg to amputation—was jubilation. I’d been excited before to move water with my will, but this was a proper spell, my childhood dreams realized.

As a kid in little Sherwood, Oregon, I’d been a freak and an outsider. I’d done my best to assimilate. I learned to dress like the other kids, to talk like them, and cuss like them. I learned to play football and basketball. I even gave up on speaking Spanish. But none of that mattered. I was a halfbreed born to a traitorous woman who married a Mexican man.

Then, when I found science fiction and fantasy, that had just sealed the deal. I was a freak, an outsider, and a geek. No one wanted anything to do with me.

The stories gave me refuge, as did the woods out behind the family house. If it wasn’t for them and for mi abuelito, I don’t know that I would’ve made it. And now, here I was, making magic. Real, visible magic, just like in the stories. It was so damn satisfying.

All the time I spent hanging out in my imagination with Merlin, Pug, Harry, Kvothe, and all the other magicians—it hadn’t been for nothing. The feeling ran deeply through me. I was moved, down in my bedrock, like my whole existence was validated. There was still work to do—I didn’t have time to celebrate—but for a moment I felt whole.

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