Vision of the Absolute

"Your… son??"

Arthur sat down, trembling, as the King sat next to him.

"I…"

He was struggling to process every implication of this revelation.

"I—I don't…"

"It's okay, son, take your time."

"Don't call me that!" Arthur cried, surprising even himself. "I can't be your son! I have a father, a father who loves me and who has raised me since—since—"

He couldn't finish.

Mother…

He clenched his teeth, a grimace deforming his face.

The King stayed silent, patient, waiting for his son to break the ice.

"Does that mean…my mother…was—is—"

"Let's not talk about that, Arthur," said the King. "Your mother is a fine woman."

"Then did you—"

"No," the King replied, firmly. "I would never."

"But you would have an affair with a married woman."

Arthur wasn't dumb. The full implications of what the King was saying were laid bare before him, just like his—

No, I mustn't think like that.

"I have had many affairs," said the King, a tone of solemn regret edging his words. "It is my vice, and one which I lack the strength to fight. Blame me for that, not your mother."

"Unless you—you know—you both share the blame."

Is this what she meant by 'I'm sorry?'

"That's fair."

The King said nothing more in defense of either of them. He knew that the emotions Arthur was experiencing weren't the kind that mere words could appease, and unfortunately, neither was there was no action that could do so.

Arthur looked up at his father, his eyes red and full of anger.

"Did you bring me all the way here just to destroy my relationship with my mother?"

The King sighed.

"No, Arthur," he said. "In fact, I brought you hear because there's something even more important which we must discuss."

"What could possibly be more—"

"Your inheritance."

The room was silent for a couple seconds. Arthur's thoughts, once consumed by anger, were now racing in directions he could never have anticipated.

If he—no—he couldn't want—

He must mean some other inheritance.

This is probably a formality before he publicly declares his heir.

If he's telling me beforehand, he's probably explaining why it isn't a direct family member; that rules out Vivianne Loch, who's the other one? The one living abroad?

Morgan. That's the name. Morgan Lafayette.

It's probably her. He has probably already let Vivianne know—

"Yes, that inheritance."

The King's voice was low and firm, completely different from when he had announced that Arthur was his son. Despite having never spoken with his father before, Arthur was sure that he was being completely serious.

"You're telling us—your actual descendants—that you're going to choose Morgan, your niece, aren't you?"

"No, my son." The words brought up ire in Arthur, but what the King said next erased any other thought from his mind:

"I fully intend for you, Arthur Trevena…no, Arthur Pendragon, to inherit the crown of Britannia."

No.

This has to be a joke.

All of this…my mother—it's a ruse. A royal joke for a perverse king's amusement.

The King could see Arthur's disbelief written on his face.

If this kid is going to inherit my throne, he's going to have to learn how to hide his emotions, thought the King. Though, I suppose I can't blame him. This is a lot to process.

"Arthur," he said, "I'm sorry to be placing such a burden on you all at once. However, this day was inevitable. Circumstances demand that you take up your position as my heir as soon as possible."

At this, Arthur looked up.

"What…" he cleared his throat. "What circumstances, King Uther?"

"Please, call me Father."

"What circumstances, King Uther?"

The message of Arthur's words was not lost on the King.

I guess he isn't ready to accept me just yet.

The King sighed, reclining in his seat.

"How much have you been paying attention to global politics?"

Arthur tried to recall everything he could, but it was still likely less than his father expected.

"I know we're in a pretty precarious position," he finally said. "I know we're one of the three magic superpowers, but we're at the bottom of the list. The only reason we haven't been taken over yet is because of the Absolute."

The King nodded gravely.

"That's more or less the gist of it," he admitted. "We've been able to hold on for the last hundred years due to the Ravensleigh Grimoire. It still contains many secrets, but even those aren't enough to keep the dogs off our scent. The Maldives Incident… if it weren't for the appearance of the Absolute, the Peoples' Republic likely would've begun moving against our kingdom en masse."

The Absolute, thought Arthur. That freakishly strong magician.

The one who made flying slag look like motes of dust, the one who crushed an invading armada like they were paper dolls.

The one who saved my life.

The only thing inspiring fear in our enemies, and the only thing keeping us safe.

The best among Ultimates.

"What do you know about the Absolute?" he asked, cautiously.

"Good question," his father replied. "Not as much as I'd like to. He appeared to our MI5 division in the Maldives that day and offered his support, but none of them were able to identify him. Apparently, he used some sort of recognition-prevention magic."

Arthur recalled the feeling of looking at the strange man, how it felt as if his eyes were seeing but his brain couldn't understand, and wondered how MI5 decided to trust someone who could do that.

"Shortly afterwards, we lost contact with him," the King continued. "There have been incidents across Britannia in which we suspect he had involvement, but nothing can be confirmed."

"What about his power?" asked Arthur. "When I saw him in the Maldives, it looked like he was using Instinctive Magic, except he was using it with a precision and skill I've never seen before."

The King smiled.

Kid's got good intuition.

"Our agents reported the same thing," he replied. "Of course, before we discuss any more, I should mention that anything we've spoken about or will speak about is highly classified, not to leave this room unless you're given my explicit permission."

Arthur nodded.

"We do believe he uses instinctive magic. However, as you said, the level of control he has over his spells is unbelievable. Not even our highest-ranked Master or Ultimate magicians could replicate it, and we've been running experiments over the past three years to do so. No luck, none whatsoever."

"Does he have some sort of special power?"

"That's what we think, but we can't imagine what it might be. According to current magical theory, such control should be impossible. However…"

The King paused, seeming unsure of himself for the first time since the start of their conversation.

"However?"

"However…" he continued, "we don't actually need to know who the Absolute is or how is power works. We can use him as-is, and that's more than enough."

"Use him? How?"

The King stared Arthur down, making his son squirm in his seat.

"We can take his name."

…

"Who's the other guy?"

Elisabeth Blackstone and Caspian Dawson were standing in the courtyard of the Societie Royale clubhouse, a moderately-sized and well-decorated Gothic building with two wings on either side of a large central hall. The Executive Board of the Societie met them outside, and though they had been expecting Elisabeth, Caspian was an unexpected addition.

"He's a second applicant," said Jessamine, emerging from the hall with Duke Henry Cahill in tow. "I just finished briefing our Chairman here and was about to tell you all, as well, but it appears our applicants are here early."

She glanced over at the other two standing behind Caspian.

"Who are your friends, Mr. Dawson?" she asked, narrowing her eyes to convey her disapproval.

"My apologies, Ms. di Cadenza," he said. "We have first-year Principles of Magic together and are going out to dinner after I'm done here. This is Ms. Gwen Rivierra, and Mr. Lance Johnson."

"We'll wait outside," Lance offered. "We're sorry for intruding."

He brought friends along like he's making a trip to the store, thought Jessamine. How can he be so calm about this? Does he not understand the impact that joining the Societie could have on his life?

"No, it's okay," she replied. "The Chairman and I have agreed to a test, of sorts… a competition between Ms. Blackstone and Mr. Dawson. The winner will be accepted into the Societie. There's a practice arena nearby where the test will be conducted. You're welcome to attend and support your friend."

"Thank you, Ms. di Cadenza," said Gwen.

The Societie leadership, who had been excluded from this decision-making process, looked to Henry for answers.

"It is as the Vice Chairwoman said." Henry's tone indicating that the decision was final and should not be challenged, which was unusual for a man renowned for his open-mindedness in making decisions. "We've discussed Mr. Dawson with the faculty, and it appears he has a fascinating understanding of magic and magic technology. He may not be nobility, but we do believe he will be a valuable asset to this Societie."

"And you recruited him because he had the courage to directly oppose Elisabeth Blackstone?" Henry had asked. "How are you sure it's courage, and not foolishness?"

"I can't," said Jessamine. "But there's something about the look in his eyes… I think he's more than he seems. His professors seem to agree."

"Well, Jess… let's see how it goes, I guess."

Surely, some of the Societie leaders were hoping that Caspian would beat Elisabeth so that they wouldn't have to deal with the Blackstone heir. Others wondered that if this had secretly been the Duke's intention from the beginning, only pretending to support Elisabeth's inclusion whilst secretly working to prevent her from joining the Societie.

Elisabeth wondered this as well.

"Ms. di Cadenza," said Elisabeth, "Just what kind of 'competition' are you expecting us to engage in?"

"A duel between magicians," Jessamine replied. "Only lethal spells are prohibited; otherwise, whomever is standing at the end of one minute will be accepted into the Societie."

Elisabeth's brows arched contemptuously.

"You are aware that this commoner can't cast magic, right?"

"It is my understanding that he can't cast chanted magic," Jessamine clarified. "If his knowledge of magical technology can overcome your skill with magic itself, we see no reason why he should be excluded from the Societie."

"What? You can't chant magic, Caz?" asked Lance, surprised.

"Nope," he confirmed with a small smile. "My brain just can't translate the chants into magic structures."

That's a little different from what he told me earlier, thought Jessamine.

"And you're okay with that?" asked Elisabeth, who was clearly annoyed at the prospect of competing with Caspian.

"Yes," said Duke Henry. "And if you have an issue with the Societie's decisions, Ms. Blackstone, you're free to leave at any time."

Elisabeth huffed and crossed her arms, but did not protest further.

"Let's proceed to the practice arena, then, shall we?" said the Duke.

The arena was only a short walk from the Societie clubhouse, and yet the walk seemed to take far too long—in no small part due to the overt animosity between Elisabeth and Caspian.

No doubt due to that confrontation the other day, Jessamine thought. Looks like it hasn't been resolved…

There's still something about him that feels weird.

What is it?

Jessamine attempted to focus her senses on Caspian; despite being a graduate student, she was already a Master-level magician who had been honing both her physical and metaphysical abilities for over a decade.

And yet… in spite of her intuition, she couldn't see anything out of place with the young magician.

Wait a moment.

His aura…

…something's wrong with his aura.

But, his aura seems appropriate for a Novice-level magician. I can't feel anything unusual—

No, wait—

His aura… it's too…

It's too cold.

It feels cold, artificial, fake.

Like a completely smooth stone in a bed of gravel.

Is there a way to fake your aura? I haven't heard of one—I don't know if even I could pull off such a technique at my current level, no Master-level magician could.

No, that can't be possible.

A form of Instinctual Magic, maybe? Aura Control, or something like that?

No—a magic device. That's got to be it. An Aura Shroud, a tool that overwrites your aura with a fabrication. That's the only thing I can imagine which makes sense.

Jessamine threw a sideways glance at Caspian, who, despite not looking at her, gave Jessamine a vague sense of being watched.

If he's prodigious enough to invent such a device, scouting him was definitely the right call. He might also stand a chance against Elisabeth Blackstone—I'm actually interested in the outcome of this duel!

…

In a nondescript office building located inconspicuously in London, the economic capital of Britannia, an important meeting was taking place.

The participants of the meeting were the executive officers of S2 Magus Technology Holdings, Inc., led by company president Matthew Gödel.

S2 Magus Technology Holdings, Inc., was dedicated to furthering the research and development of magical technology by providing funding for up-and-coming innovators through strategic and safe stock market investments. At least, that was the tagline they presented to investment partners. While they did in fact serve as a holding corporation which dedicated its profits to funding magical research and development, the corporation was initially founded with another more insidious purpose in mind.

It was this purpose which called for the meeting of executive officers currently taking place.

"We have reliable intelligence from Buckingham," said Gödel. "The King has made the preparations to name his heir. It's scheduled for later today. I've called you here to inform you that the necessary preparations have been made and our men are in place."

Gödel was by no means elderly, but spoke with the authority and cadence that would have been expected of a man twenty years his senior. His prematurely-whitened and clean-cut hair lent him an atmosphere of respectability; it was easy to understand why he had been selected for this mission.

"Will there be any fallout on our other missions?" asked one of the officers.

"Nothing immediate, no," Gödel replied. "The operative won't be easily traced back to us, and our operatives elsewhere remain on high alert to handle any unexpected ramifications."

"I have said before that I am opposed to this course of action," said another, "though I supposed I am outnumbered among our company. Nevertheless, may I be allowed to state my reservations?"

"You may," answered Gödel, though he was noticeably uninterested.

"Thus far, we have operated with maximum discretion and have been able to spread our roots deep across the land as a result," the man said. "High-profile actions like this will draw attention to us, and the public outrage will light a fire under MI5, driving them to pursue us. We also risk drawing attention from outlier groups whose actions cannot be easily predicted."

"Your concerns have been noted, Mr. Franklin," said Gödel. "I should say that this strategy has been approved by the Director and his superior, and we have been given the go-ahead to proceed. While we do not wish to draw undue attention to ourselves, this is a critical opportunity to destabilize the Kingdom of Britannia, one which we cannot afford to let pass."

"I understand, Mr. Gödel, but I still think—"

"This is not a democracy, Mr. Franklin," Gödel interrupted. "Your concerns have been noted. Only the approval of Mr. Burton and myself is required to begin the mission. Mr. Burton?"

"My approval is granted."

"Excellent," said Gödel. He pressed a button on his cell phone, double-checked the number, and brought it to his ear. "This is Section 1. Proceed according to schedule. From this moment forward, communications blackout is in effect. Reestablish contact at 2400 hours. Confirm. Over."

The officers heard a sound from Gödel's phone.

"Verbal confirmation obtained. Over and out."

Gödel looked around at the room at the faces of his co-conspirators.

"Well, gentlemen. Stand by."

…

The group arrived at the practice arena and Elisabeth and Caspian took their places on opposite sides of the field. Henry, with the rest of the Societie leadership and Caspian's party behind him, had taken up a position to act as referee for the match.

"Ms. Blackstone, are you ready?"

"I am."

Elisabeth smiled, her face filled with pride, contempt, and total assurance.

I know exactly how this is going to end.

"Mr. Dawson, are you ready?"

Caspian looked at the audience, at his friends, at Jessamine, and at his opponent—

Elisabeth Blackstone.

She's a child of the Blackstone family.

She's a formidable opponent.

Still…

…there's no question of who the winner will be.

"I am," Caspian replied, his own smile bursting across his face.

He took one last look at the audience and met Jessamine's eyes.

Show me what you can do, her eyes said.

"The duel will commence on my mark," said Henry.

"3…"

Caspian slowed his breathing.

"2…"

Elisabeth shifted to a combat stance.

"1…"

They smiled.

"Mark!"

To most of the people watching, the battle was a flurry which could barely be followed with the naked eye.

Immediately, Caspian drew a pistol from a concealed holster within his leather jacket and fired off three rounds at Elisabeth. Magic rounds, no doubt; the gunshots had the unique sound of bullets being propelled by something other than expanding gas.

However, the bullets evaporated in puffs of green light as soon as they got close to Elisabeth. Jessamine had previously noticed the runic patterns sewn into the younger woman's overcoat; this answered the question of their purpose.

Shield magic, huh? It appears Caspian noticed as well, since I said that lethal attacks were banned… the only way those magic bullets wouldn't be considered lethal is if he knew they would be blocked.

It was clear that Caspian's goal was not to directly harm Elisabeth, but rather to distract her whilst he repositioned himself. He had begun running in an arc towards Elisabeth's right side, continuing to fire, while his target slowly moved towards him.

"Purgel malprg pan ardox!"

Elisabeth's chant produced a ball of flame at the end of her extended hand, which then flew speedily towards Caspian. He dodged it at the last second with a sharp dash, and the fireball shattered into a shower of embers when it hit the ground.

Caspian's magazine was empty; as he continued running in an arc around Elisabeth, with Elisabeth herself slowly closing in on him and throwing more fireballs his way, he pulled another magazine from inside his jacket and reloaded. This time, he aimed at the ground.

Four more shots rang out; Jessamine looked to Elisabeth, where she saw patches of ice causing the young woman to lose her footing—the instability caused Elisabeth to halt her chant midway, causing the forming fireball to fall apart in front of her.

Ice magic? Liquid nitrogen rounds, I presume. But those are very expensive, definitely out of his price range… did he make them himself?

Liquid nitrogen rounds worked on the same general principle as basic magic ammunition, where the energy of the exploding gunpower was used to power magic runed inscribed on the shell casing. However, these runes were designed to completely deconstruct the atoms of the bullet and reconstitute them as a form of massively-condensed liquid nitrogen, and then apply forward momentum. The nitrogen would freeze anything it came into contact with almost instantly. Understandably, the runes required to accomplish such a complex task were necessarily complex as well, which drove the price of liquid nitrogen ammunition through the roof.

The ice had provided a small opening for Caspian, who pivoted and began rushing towards Elisabeth. He drew his secret weapon: an expanding iron baton, carved inside and out with runes, which he extended with a flick of his wrist towards his target. He began pouring magic into the baton and drew a sigil in the air; the sigil began appearing at the tip of the baton, glowing a bright blue color and flying towards Elisabeth when completed.

Elisabeth felt the rune inscribed into her coat begin to falter, a phenomenon that among the audience only Jessamine and Henry noticed. They gave each other side-glances, both thinking the same thought:

Magic cancellation?

Caspian was now only feet away from Elisabeth, one of his arms drawn back and readying a punch.

Elisabeth smiled.

She stepped to the side, and Caspian's attack missed. However, Caspian now had no way of stopping before he encountered the icy ground that he had created to trap Elisabeth, and he was going too fast: he lost his footing.

No! thought Jessamine. He made a mistake—Blackstone will surely take advantage of it.

As he started to tumble, Elisabeth began chanting.

"Ozongon parmgi arxe!"

An invisible gust of wind, small but powerful, struck Caspian in the back. The force of the impact completed the work that the ice had started; Caspian tumbled face-first into the ground, landing in a rather unceremonious position.

When he looked up, Elisabeth was standing before him with a fireball in hand.

"Yield, peasant."

Caspian gave a weak smile, and made a show of shrugging his shoulders nonchalantly.

"I yield."

He stood, offering a handshake to Elisabeth, which she slapped away.

As Elisabeth walked past him, she leaned over and whispered something in his ear; something about the small action irritated Jessamine, as she and Henry left the audience.

Caspian smiled.

"Caz!"

Gwen and Lance were running towards him.

"You okay, man?! That looked like it hurt!"

Caspian rotated his neck and stretched, wincing slightly, but replied:

"It hurts a little, but I'll be alright. This was probably one of the better ways this could've ended."

Henry and Jessamine approached them next.

"Well-fought, Mr. Dawson, Ms. Blackstone," said the duke. "And additional congratulations are in order for Ms. Blackstone. Welcome to the Societie Royale."

She performed a half-curtsey, with a "Thank you" that was slightly too genuine for her personality.

"Now, if you'll come with us—" began Henry, though he was interrupted by his cell phone buzzing urgently. He would've ignored it, except that Jessamine's phone began ringing as well; so did Elisabeth's, and many of the phone of the Societie leadership.

That was usually the sign of a grave emergency.

Jessamine answered the phone first. It was her mother.

"Jessamine? Have you heard?"

"What's going on, mom?"

"Are you alone?"

"No—do I need to be?"

There was silence for half a second on the other end as Annalise di Cadenza decided what to say.

"Listen carefully, Jessamine. The King has been shot."