Chapter 69 – The Meld

  Residual traces of mana still flickered in Ezra's fingertips as he and Marcel exited the volunteer ward. The air inside had been dense with the mingled scents of sterilized linen, herbal salves, and the faint metallic tang of the doc leaf blend, a blend Ezra had come to associate with quiet suffering and hope. As they stepped into the open, the academy courtyard greeted them with a tranquil clarity, the kind that made you forget, if only for a moment, that anything dark or dangerous could exist just beyond its gates.

  Sunlight poured across the flagstones like molten gold, warming the skin and glinting off the high-arched windows that framed the ancient stone halls. Borders of carefully tended wildflowers framed the pathways, their petals vivid in hues of violet, amber, and ivory, species imported from the distant southern glades to create a microcosm of botanical wonder. The wind, gentle but insistent, rustled through the canopy of the surrounding copperwoods, sending motes of pollen drifting lazily through the air. Distant echoes of sparring drills drifted in from the training fields, underscored by the clatter of wooden practice swords and the occasional burst of laughter.

  Ezra cast a sidelong glance at Marcel. The other boy’s stride was as relaxed as ever, hands tucked loosely into his coat pockets, but his gaze, those strange, silver-threaded eyes, remained thoughtful, perpetually half-focused on something beyond immediate reality. There was always a subtle detachment to Marcel, a sense that part of him was running a calculation no one else could see.

  “You ready?” Ezra asked, voice casual but laced with a current of anticipation.

  Marcel nodded once. “We’ve talked about trying the mind-meld for quite a while. Can’t keep dodging it forever.”

  Their path took them around the eastern dormitory block, toward the overgrown training grove tucked away behind a tangle of ivy-covered archways. The grove had once been maintained by a group of Battle Discipline scholars, long since graduated or reassigned. Now it lay mostly forgotten, an oval clearing hemmed in by towering oaks, their roots coiled like sleeping serpents beneath the earth. The grass was soft, wild in places, and the silence was complete except for the rustling leaves and the occasional birdsong overhead.

  Marcel dropped to a cross-legged position on the grass, the sun dappling patterns across his tunic. Ezra mirrored him, settling into a mirrored posture as the ambient energy of the grove closed in like a breath held in quiet suspense.

  “Focus,” Marcel said. “Same as I showed you before. Open, not forceful. Try not to resist.”

  Ezra nodded, closing his eyes. He let his breath slow, his consciousness open. He reached inward, then outward, extending his thoughts like pond-skaters across a still lake, waiting.

  There. A shimmer, then a distinct tug.

  And then Marcel’s body slumped sideways, his consciousness gone from it.

  Ezra’s eyes snapped open, his breath hitched. Panic rose, then halted.

  “...This is bizarre,” Marcel’s voice echoed, calm and amused, inside Ezra’s skull.

  Ezra exhaled. “You’re in my body. That feels... unsettling.”

  “You should be honoured to have me here." Marcel said haughtily.

  "Oh shut it."

  Marcel chuckled before changing the topic, "Focus. Do you feel it?”

  Ezra closed his eyes again, this time probing inward. And yes, he felt it. Not just the echo of Marcel’s thoughts, but the clarity of shared presence. A second consciousness, not invasive but fluid, blended like two overlapping brush strokes.

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  He lifted his hands. On the left, he summoned Time threads, golden and fluid. On the right, Essence threads pulsed with a red energy as they sucked the life from the stump they had been embedded in. Normally, dividing attention between affinities was incredibly taxing, now it was almost effortless.

  “This is unreal,” he whispered.

  "Let's split and head to the forest to test it out."

  "Good idea."

  As Marcel leapt back into his own body, it jolted upright, as if all of its muscles had contracted at the same time.

  "Hey, let's just wait a sec. Hopping back over was hella tiring. I think i'll need a minute before we go."

  "Hmmm, good to know. This will have to be a proper last minute trump card since you'll be useless when we split again. I'll need to remember that."

  "Calculating as always, Ezra. Just hope it doesn't stop you from getting a girlfriend. Wouldn't want you being lonely your whole life." Marcel replied with a chuckle.

  ***

  About an hour later, the two of them arrived at the forest. They performed the ritual again, becoming one. Marcel's body was left behind a tree, both out of sight, and safe.

  A short walk brought them to the combat enclosure near the edge of the forest, a stone-ringed field connected to the centre of the magical forest via a marked trail. Creatures were corralled and stored here through the path for combat training.

  At the entry pillar, they selected the monster type - goblin, and chose three. For a few moments after pressing confirm, nothing happened. But not long later, the ground vibrated, and a gate clanked open.

  Three goblins shuffled into the enclosure, skin the colour of old moss, their limbs wiry but taut with lean muscle. Their yellow eyes gleamed with a mean hunger, and a will for revenge against their captors. One of them hissed and bared a mouthful of crooked teeth.

  They smirked. “Let’s warm up.” Ezra thought.

  The first goblin charged. They tapped into Time magic, creating a slowing field around the creature. Within its bubble, motion dragged like honey. They sidestepped, raised the dagger in their right hand, and stabbed it in the side, kicking it away with great power. The goblin hit a tree with a wet crunch, leaving a mark in it as it fell.

  “Sloppy footwork,” Marcel observed. “Two more. Let's get some mind magic in this time.”

  Ezra agreed silently. Their Mind threads flared, casting overlapping illusions of Ezra sprinting in divergent directions. One goblin lunged after a phantom and was rewarded with a fake vision of Ezra's dagger to its abdomen. The other paused, uncertain.

  They closed distance, gripping their dagger, and impaling it in a clean thrust.

  Three bodies lay still. The air thrummed with post-combat energy.

  “Effortless,” Marcel said. “We’re wasting potential. Lets try a few orcs next.”

  They selected the new. This time, the ground trembled deeper.

  Two orcs lumbered forth. Towering brutes with matted hair, tusks, and massive axes. Their gazes locked onto the boys with immediate aggression.

  The duo pre-empted them. Time magic surged into his limbs, heightening speed and strength. They layered on an illusion, dozens of Ezras sprinting in a vortex around the orcs.

  One orc growled, swung at a phantom. The boys darted behind and slashed at its Achilles tendon. The beast roared.

  The second charged. They planted a foot, ducked beneath its swing, and shot their dagger into its torso. They flooded the orc's senses with images of fire and screams. The orc stumbled, blinded.

  “We need to finish this, quickly,” Marcel urged.

  They leapt, both minds guiding a precise arc of motion. Their blade pierced deep into the creature’s neck. Blood gushed. The orc fell.

  The second turned, injured and enraged. They baited it with false retreats.

  “Now!”

  They surged forward, driving Ezra's blade into the orc’s heart in a fluid, brutal motion.

  Stillness settled.

  The clearing reeked of blood and burned air.

  Ezra’s breathing slowed. “Oh my god... we've transcended anything anyone could have ever imagined. I can't believe no one's ever managed to pull it off.”

  “We've truly seen what two mages can accomplish when they successfully meld, but I don't think we've gone as far as we could.” Marcel replied, his voice still echoing faintly inside.

  “We can always work on it more next time we have a day off. We should disconnect. Before someone finds your empty body and starts asking questions.”

  “Fair point. I'll get it done.”

  Marcel concentrated, gently unravelling their linked threads.

  A pulse of disconnection.

  Marcel gasped awake, blinking against the light. He groaned. “That’s disorienting. Like falling into my own skull.”

  Ezra extended a hand and pulled him up. “Worth it?”

  Marcel grinned. “More than worth it.”

  Ezra turned to the field, to the fallen creatures, the blood still cooling in the grass.

  They’d not only tested a theory. They'd proven that something remarkable is possible, when before it was a mere thought.

  And yet he felt, deep down, that this was what might lead to his downfall. When all he wanted to do was stop wars, he may not live long enough to have the chance

  And if this was just the beginning...

  What might they become?