Hah.
Hah.
Hah.
In a wide, open courtyard frad by ancient stone walls, a dozen figures moved in perfect rhythm. n, won, and even a few teenagers, all dressed in simple, monk-like robes, stepped, turned, and struck with controlled force. Their movents were graceful, precise—almost like a dance—but there was strength behind every motion, and a quiet discipline in each breath.
Not far above, two figures hovered in the air, concealed by a powerful enchantnt. One wore flowing golden robes that caught the evening light. Beside her stood a young man with his hands lazily tucked into his pockets, watching the scene below with quiet curiosity.
The Sorcerer Supre had brought Maverick here after hours of intense conversation. The sun had begun to dip below the horizon now, casting long shadows across the mountains. Since midday, he had asked questions—more than he could count. And she had answered nearly all of them. The few she did not were t with a simple explanation: It is not my place to say.
Much of what once puzzled him was now beginning to make sense.
And he finally understood why she had warned of complications. Practising Eldritch magic was not as straightforward as he had imagined. Wizards like him possessed internal magic that flowed through their bodies and souls. Sorcerers, however, drew their power from outside—from other dinsions. And apparently, those two sources of magical energy did not always coexist peacefully.
But it wasn’t impossible. At the end of the day, both were just forms of magical energy—different fuels for the sa engine. Spells were just the language used to shape that energy and bend reality. But just like a petrol car won’t run on diesel, and a diesel one won’t run on petrol, the energy had to match the system. Mix them, and the whole thing breaks down.
The problem for mages who have magical energy flowing through their bodies is exactly that.
Unless, of course, one possessed exceptional control of the mind and a deep capacity for understanding. Then it becos entirely possible to wield either form of magic. After all, she had already ntioned four individuals from the wizarding world who had successfully learned to channel both.
Still, there was a limitation. At any given mont, he could only use one type of magic. Either the structured, wand-based spells of a wizard, or the intricate and powerful arts of a sorcerer. Never both at once.
When their discussion ended, she had opened another portal—one of those srising, golden rings that shimred in midair like a spinning sun. And through it, she had led him here.
This was one of the sanctuaries of the Mystic Arts—the one in Nepal. She had hinted there were others, and Maverick, of course, already knew that.
Hah.
Hah.
The sharp exhalations of the disciples drifted up to them, their steady rhythm like a heartbeat beneath the fading sky. Maverick watched them for a long mont. There was sothing oddly peaceful about it.
"I believe what I’ve explained to you so far is enough to give you a foundation," the Sorcerer Supre had her gaze fixed on the courtyard below as well. "But before you begin, there is still one thing left. Sothing every student of this temple must learn first."
She raised her hand, and another portal flared to life in front of them, crackling softly with golden light.
"Co," she said, and stepped through.
Maverick cast one last look at the trainees below, then stepped into the portal after her.
---
They stepped into a quiet room that wasn’t too big or too small—just enough space to breathe. Four shelves lined the stone walls, each filled with neatly arranged books. A low wooden table sat in the center, flanked by two simple futons on either side.
That was it. No windows either, and just one door at the corner for entry and exit. Maverick glanced slowly around the space. Nothing extravagant... but there was a quiet charm to it.
The Sorcerer Supre moved toward one of the shelves without a word. Her fingers brushed lightly across the spines, pausing here and there, before settling on a slim, leather-bound book. With a soft tug, she pulled it free and turned around.
"I co here when I want peace," she said simply, then made her way to the center and lowered herself at the low table.
"Sit."
Maverick followed and settled across from her while his eyes flicked to the book as she placed it on the table.
Chakra ditation? What is this... Konohagakure? He thought amusedly.
He then saw her open the book to the first page, then looked up with a faint smile. "This is where every acolyte begins—the foundation of the Mystic Arts."
Without sounding rushed, she began to explain like a patient tutor.
"As the na suggests, it’s basically about clearing the mind and fully relaxing the body. I believe wizards like you practice sothing similar when learning... what’s it called..." She paused, then added, "Ah yes... Occluncy."
Maverick gave a small nod. She was right. Before diving into the ntal arts, every witch or wizard learned to push away all distractions. He was no exception—well, except that once he got started, he simply cheats.
"Here," she said, pointing at a diagram. "Sit like this first."
Following her instructions, Maverick adjusted his legs and posture until he matched the figure in the book—cross-legged, back straight, hands resting loosely on his knees.
She nodded. "Close your eyes and clear your mind. With your level of magical training, this should be easy."
Maverick did as told without asking questions. The posture felt cliché, of course—but... never mind. He brushed the thought aside.
The second his eyes shut, his mind followed suit. He had done this countless tis during Occluncy training, and now, with master-level proficiency, it was instinct. It didn’t even take effort—just habit.
"Now, adjust your breathing," her voice ca again. "But before you do that, let go of all your innate magic."
Maverick opened his eyes and raised a brow.
"That ans stop even your sensory magic. It’s subtle, but it’s still a function of the magical energy inside you. As long as you’re using internal magic—even passively—you won’t be able to feel cosmic energy. And that’s the goal of this ditation exercise."
Saying that, she just held his gaze, and waited for him to follow instructions.
Maverick, after a mont, closed his eyes again.
The hesitation wasn’t without reason. Shutting off his Magical Sense completely ant lowering his guard—leaving himself exposed. Vulnerable. If anything happened, he would be blind to it.
But then again, this was the Sorcerer Supre. And this was her domain. So far, she had been nothing but respectful. Oddly so.
He decided to trust her.
Still, given his current rank, if anything did go wrong, he should be able to sense it in ti. Probably.
"Listen to my voice," she said quietly. "And follow the rhythm I give you."
His breathing began to slow as she guided him through the rhythm. It wasn’t the usual inhale and exhale of oxygen, but sothing stranger—sotis deep, sotis shallow, sotis long, sotis short. It felt unnatural at first. Then... smoother. As if his body was syncing with sothing unseen.
"One breath at a ti. Keep the rhythm," she said softly.
Ti passed.
One minute.
Then two.
Then five.
Fifteen minutes later, he opened his eyes again. The Sorcerer Supre sat with a book in hand, sipping tea from a small porcelain cup. She glanced up at him and smiled.
"I don’t feel anything," Maverick muttered.
"Of course not," she said, setting her tea down. "Even Ambrosius took..." She paused, smiled wider, and added, "I’ll tell you once you sense your first strand of dinsional energy."
He let out a slow sigh.
"I should tell you," he said hesitantly at first, "I can’t stay here for long. And..." He rubbed his neck a bit sheepishly. "I’ve read quite a lot of fantasy stories written by Muggles. From what I’ve seen, the first step in this kind of training usually takes months. Years, even."
The Sorcerer Supre opened her mouth to say sothing, then let out an amused chuckle and set her cup aside. "Then you must share these stories with . They sound delightful."
"I have two weeks this sumr— all I can spare," he said with a sigh. "I know it’s selfish... rude, even. When it’s you of all people, personally taking ti to guide —"
"You may leave whenever you wish, Mage Caesar," she said, cutting him off gently. "Take the book. Study it. ditate at ho if you must. Co back when you’re ready."
"If you don’t mind asking... why? Why are you guiding personally?"
Maverick had wanted to ask this for a while now. When he first ca, he thought he would be handed over to another master to teach the basics and never really imagined that the Sorcerer Supre herself would ntor him.
He saw that her smile didn’t change when he asked the question. If anything, it grew a little too wide before she said, "I can’t say why. Not yet, at least."
Maverick sighed. "Fine. Have it your way. But know this... I am grateful. And if the Sorcerers ever need help, in whatever capacity I can, I’ll be your ally, always."
The Sorcerer Supre closed her book with a quiet thump, and for a mont, her smile looked genuine to him.
"Then will you be leaving now?"
He shook his head. "No. I’ll stay for... two weeks. And hopefully by then, I’ll be able to feel this... mysterious energy you’re talking about."
Saying that, he closed his eyes again and fell back into the breathing rhythm.
Ti crept on in silence.
Later that evening, she brought him out of his ditation, and they stepped out for a light local al. Two others joined them—both masters, though not nas he recognized from the Doctor Strange movies he had watched in his previous life. Perhaps it was too early in the tiline, or maybe those familiar nas were still students here.
Still, the two masters weren’t bad. Nice people. One looked East Asian, and the other was very likely Russian. Weird, he thought.
They ate quietly, exchanging only a few words and getting acquainted. The Ancient One introduced him only as soone from the magical world, a special guest of hers, and said nothing about him being a leadership figure.
They didn’t seem surprised that he was a wizard and treated him like any other special guest of hers.
After dinner, the Sorcerer Supre led him to a small guest room inside the Sanctum and gave him one simple instruction, to ditate until morning instead of sleeping.
Maverick nodded without any complaints. He was actually looking forward to it.
As the night deepened around the quiet Sanctum, the world fell into stillness. The only light ca from a lone candle near the far wall, casting gentle shadows that danced across the floor.
Maverick sat cross-legged in the darkness, breathing steadily in the special rhythm he was taught the last night.
He had read everything in the small booklet the Sorcerer Supre had given him. It hadn’t taken long. Despite looking thick, most of the pages were illustrations—postures, energy diagrams, breathing patterns. The words were large and spaced out, just enough to fill the pages but not enough to feel heavy. It was more of a beginner’s guide than a proper manual.
So far, nothing had changed. No mysterious energy, no sensations like the ones the Sorcerer Supre had described. He felt no different than he did hours ago. Just... quiet.
Still, he continued. Breath in. Hold. Breath out.
And then, sothing brushed the corner of his awareness.
His eyes opened, and his gaze imdiately caught the anomaly that had made him lose his concentration.
That familiar, translucent prompt hovered in the air before him. It had been a while, he thought, then grinned, thinking about the reason for its sudden appearance.
[ Eldritch ditation – Beginner ]
Honestly, he wasn’t expecting the system to prompt at all from this, but only after he actually started learning the mystic arts.
A talent? He humd, rubbing his chin.
It wasn’t listed under spells, but as a talent. Well, obviously. But that ant the cost for upgrades would be much higher later on. Still... I’d worry about that later. For now—
Pushing those thoughts aside, he turned his attention back to the prompt.
If the system recognized it, that ant one thing.
He could cheat.
So, without wasting another second, he opened his status window and invested ten points. The prompt changed imdiately.
[ Eldritch ditation – Interdiate ]
A wave of clarity washed over him almost instantly. mories filled in the blanks—the posture, the breathing, the ntal state. It felt as if he had practiced for weeks, even though only a mont had passed. His body responded naturally, slipping into the rhythm with ease.
Eyes closed again, he breathed in once more. His body knew the pattern now. What to expect. His mind was calm, ready. Soul... aligned.
Then he felt it.
Not exactly magical energy. At least, not the kind he knew coursing through his body and soul. This was sothing else—yet similar in a way.
At first it was like a tremor in the air, like the whisper of wind through silk. Faint, delicate, almost not there at all. But it shimred. Not with color or sound, but with presence.
Invisible, yet undeniably real.
Like threads stretched across the universe, vibrating just beneath the surface.
Is this... cosmic energy?
It didn’t rush toward him. It simply was, waiting. He reached for it—not with his hands, but with his will.
A strand brushed against him, and he pulled.
Energy stirred, slow at first, then faster, pulled in by his intent. His fingers, resting lightly over his knees, began to tingle. The sensation crept up from his skin into his bones. And then—soft sparks flickered over his fingertips. Tiny wisps of gold shimred in the dark, curling around his fingers like smoke.
—————————
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