Searing 1, 122 Age of Steel
Avamande was not a patriot. That thought had resounded in their mind over and over again since the beginning of the war. They would do their part within the confines of Ale'Ephirum, and consider themselves to have done more than could be expected of them. Citizenship in Kalzasi had always been a matter of convenience more than anything else, a decision made before their birth in recognition of the fact that the Jewel of the Northlands was the best fit for their goals. It neither suppressed nor greatly regulated its mages, and that was all their parents needed to know about it.
With war having come to Karnor however, calculations had changed. It was true that they had no particular love for Kalzasi, but the dangers of a Zaichaeri victory were far too much to consider. Oh, certainly, they could evacuate to more civilized lands even if that calamity were to come to pass, but it would be a massive distraction from the work, not to mention no environment would be as kindly to them as the current one.
So it was that despite their lack of love, or even necessarily loyalty, to Kalzasi they had answered their city's call to arms. Mages were in high demand for obvious reasons, but the Hytori found themselves in an odd position. All of their skills were defensive at best, if not simply worthless in a fight. Sufficiently creative uses of their magics could prove weapons in a pinch, but that was no way to march to war. They required something more, something that would enable them to assist on the battlefield and defend themselves if the need arose while ideally also having a place in the broader schema that was their research.
Kinetics was the only real option, but luckily it was something of a staple among both the Circle of Spells and the Battlemages of the Sky Guard. It was somewhat unusual that the Hytori mage who showed up at the makeshift camp was neither of those, but Avamande had sworn the necessary oaths and could prove it when pressed. Magic on an industrial scale was being performed for those being inducted into the defense of Kalzasi, most being given more or less safe Runes for their first initiation. Some balked at the notion of inscribing the far more dangerous Kinetics upon this newcomer, who insisted on remaining a civilian no less, but they had already borne the dangers of Traversion. By comparison, Kinetics was a calm experience.
They had never met the woman who began to tattoo them before this day. She told them her name, but they did not attach much in the way of sentimentality to it. At least, no more than those who had granted them their first two Cardinal Runes and then claimed the title of parents. If this was unkind to her, they did not particularly mind, advising themselves that they had no way to know if she would be dead from a caster shell in a week. There would be time enough for sentiment after the war was won, perhaps then he would seek her out. Avamande did not pride themselves on traditionalism, but it was true that there was a bond between a mage and the master who tattooed their Rune upon them. It was also something of a novelty to them to know that they finally had one such master who was not going to disappear through a Traversion portal for decades at a time, one that they had yet to internalize before she had finished her work and Kinetics flared to life, another pathway to Aetherium opening in their very soul.
It was a strange sort of Threshold Sickness, for Kinetics was a strange sort of Rune. Having taken to it, they were given permission to go home to wait off the effects and overcome them, or die. Death was considered quite unlikely in their case, considering their previous exposure to magic in general and to Traversion in particular. They were gently informed, through implication and innuendo, that if they did perish it would be quite messy, not to mention morale damaging, so it would really be best for everyone if they left.
Pressure pounded down from every direction, and pounded out from every direction as well as they made their way through Kalzasi's streets. A dim, hazy understanding of the fundamental forces under girding and connecting reality began to develop, mostly just to the point that Avamande achieved a greater understanding of the absolute hell that they had decided to put their body through. Aether pervaded all things, and right now the aether that pervaded Avamande's body was being both crushed and torn in every direction simultaneously.
Letting them return to their home instead of being put under observation would be absurd for most Runes, but again, Kinetics was strange. Instead of being thrust directly into the worst aspects of the Sickness, they would endure it for an entire day. Potentially two. A senior mage to mentor them through this would be provided in most circumstances, but Kalzasi was hard pressed, and Avamande genuinely did have a leg up over most initiates into Kinetics. Unlike a truly novice Kinetic, their understanding of Traversion gave them an analogy with which to grasp the first sensations of the aether flux.
However, this did not make the process any more pleasant. Their bones began to grind against each other by the time they were halfway home, and in desperation Avamande began to cheat. Braving Slipspace while undergoing Threshold Sickness was not something that they were keen on, so instead of sliding into it themselves they began to manipulate it to help them stay upright. Beads of sweat rolled down their forehead as the first sensation of blood filled their nostrils.
Each step only compounded their agony, even with judicious use of Hitch to make the process easier. It was only an hour by foot to their apartment, but the past thirty minutes felt more like an eternity. Their pace slowed as they tried to maintain their composure, but they were already beginning to get looks. At least when the blood did begin to spill it was only in small, short, drops that blended in with their customary black clothing. Their posture became nonexistent as they let their upper body crumple under the force of the aether flux crushing down upon them, the Hytori stumbling their way through the streets more like a drunkard than a powerful mage of some renown. But there was more wisdom in having them walk than they had first realized, their body had been made to press against the force of their Threshold Sickness, each exertion staving off the power of the new Rune.
Despite this suffering, or perhaps because of it, their arrival at their door took them by surprise. The journey had felt both too long and too short, an eternity having passed in which they had gone nowhere. Yet, here they were, hands fumbling with the key to their apartment door. This was not helped by the fact that the flux had already crushed their hand into a permanent fist, and it refused to open no matter how much force they exerted in an attempt to do so. It was with more frustration than conscious intent that they first made use of their new power, Avamande grunting in pain as another wave of coruscating force crashed upon them. Seizing upon one of those strands of power, they pressed outward with a sharp cry, only to stare in shock as a wave of pure power shot forth from their hand and pressed the door handle out of the frame and clattering upon the ground.
Reminding themselves that they had to get that fixed was a distant and minor priority, but Avamande's mind registered it nonetheless as they at last stumbled inside of their home. They all but collapsed as soon as they were inside, the will that had borne them this far dissipating as soon as they crossed the threshold of their apartment. But they could not quit just yet. They were so close, so incredibly close, but not quite there. A cry of agony was only half heard, their very throat constricting upon itself as their muscles locked and threatened to seize. Dignity was a farce as they forced themselves to hobble, step by step, towards their bedroom, afraid that a single overexertion would cause what remained of their muscles to rebel against them as they realized what they were being put through.
Flux worked its bloody due across Avamande's body, the Hytori's eyes and ears freely dripping blood by the time they at last made it to the foot of their bed. Lacking the ability to throw themselves, they instead simply fell, toppling over like a felled tree or an ancient ruin, and one could not be blamed for thinking that their twitching body was soon to be a corpse, the mage undergoing their death throes. Desperation and will combined in an attempt to save themselves, and they clutched upon the half reflexive action they had taken to get inside their apartment in the first place. Suffused in the aether flux, they began to thrust it away from them with a destructive desperation, each pulse of their newfound power relaxing the pressure upon their lungs and permitting them to draw in a breath that they had not known they needed.
Holding themselves, alone in the dark, Avamande fought off the force that they had begged enter their body, and they settled in for a long conflict now that they had acquired the weapon to fight back.