New Eden: Live to Play, Play to Live

In Bastion City, somewhere in between the planes, in Aravelle’s hidden study, Astaroth was watching the Elven mage pace nervously, muttering to himself.

It had been half an hour since he started pacing, after Astaroth revealed he had perfect mana sense, and the man still looked like a nervous wreck.

“Aravelle? Hellooooo? Urgh… Please just let me leave…” Astaroth complained, still sitting on the soft-cushioned sofa.

He had watched Aravelle pace patiently for thirty minutes, but he was done. His patience only extended so far.

“Aravelle. I’m going to leave now. I’ve got shit to do. Call me when you snap out of your stupor, okay?”

But as he tried standing, a force suddenly locked him in place.

“Sit, boy. I’ll be right there with you,” Aravelle said, still pacing.

He then resumed his muttering to himself, his pacing unabated.

Astaroth looked at him with anger.

“Listen, man. I’m done indulging you. You’d think a millennia-old man would have undone himself from feelings like nervousness and angst. You need to let me go until you got your shit in order.”

Aravelle didn’t even look at him.

“Fine… The hard way it is.”

Astaroth used Soul Sap and invoked all the power of his soul companions, including Shegror, and snapped free of the weak spell holding him down.

With a single step forward, he appeared in Aravelle’s face, giving him a crisp slap to the face, snapping him out of his rambling.

*Slap*

Aravelle looked at Astaroth with incredulity.

“How did you…”

“It doesn’t matter. Listen, man. I’ve had enough of your nervous rambling and incessant pacing. If you are done with your explanations, I will be leaving. You have wasted enough of my time already.”

Aravelle was unfazed by the slap he took, having felt nothing through his permanently up mana skin. But the fact Astaroth could lift himself from the chair, even if he didn’t put much effort into holding him there, was nothing to scoff at.

“I am not done with you. Give me time to think, young man.”

Astaroth glared at him.

“You’ve had over thirty minutes to think. Time’s up. If you get your shit together right now, I’m tearing this place a new exit. And believe me, I couldn’t care if you were a god right now. If I say I’m leaving, you better not fuck with me, or we’ll have a problem.”

Aravelle looked at Astaroth, his face becoming stern.

“Sit down, boy. Fine, I’ll keep my thinking for later. But do not threaten me. Not in my domain. You may think nothing of me, but I will find ways ever so creative to tear you to pieces until you give me my due respect. Now. Sit.”

Astaroth felt a shiver run down his spine. Aravelle was not kidding.

The murderous intent that had seeped into his words made him instantly cool off. He was still mad at being held here for so long, for nothing, but he couldn’t just throw his weight around.

Not against a being like Aravelle.

Clicking his tongue, Astaroth cut off his spell, making the cooldown on his soul companions shorter, since he didn’t use the entire duration shorter, and sat down.

But when Aravelle sat back down across from him, taking a long sip of tea, Astaroth at least understood his time wouldn’t be wasted anymore.

“I must say, it has been a while since someone struck me, physically, I mean. You have some balls, young man. Or a death wish. I can’t quite put my finger on which one, yet.”

“Probably the latter…” Astaroth muttered under his breath.

“Hmm?”

“Nothing. Please proceed, Aravelle. I have things to do, and people waiting on me.”

“Yes, yes, yes. A kingdom to rule, and all that. I understand,” Aravelle said, waving his hand dismissively.

Laying his teacup back on the table, Aravelle waved his hand slowly above the table, making a sphere appear semi-translucent, and with bright blue lines snaking across under the surface.

Astaroth’s eyes squinted, recognizing some reliefs.

“Is this?”

“Yes. It’s our world. New Eden. And under the surface, the world’s veins. The Ley lines.”

Astaroth looked at the spinning globe with attention, his previous anger gone. He opened his map in the interface, comparing the layout to find reference points.

And he didn’t take long to find a few.

The towering mountain of Sunpeak.

The plains of Themiscus, that he got from Phoenix’s map info-sharing.

The eternal forests of the Elven kingdom.

But something caught his attention.

Under the surface of the world, many of the veins, or Ley lines, seemed to intersect at a dozen places across the globe. And a few of these places ended up in places he was familiar with.

One of them, in the Elven forests.

“Isn’t this here?” he asked, pointing to the four crossing Ley lines on the spinning globe.

Aravelle smiled.

“Very astute, young man. Yes, this is indeed under the tower, or Bastion City’s palace, as you would call it. There is a reason for this mage tower’s existence. It is what I wanted to teach you.”

Astaroth’s interest suddenly came back, and he sat straight, looking at Aravelle insistently.

Aravelle snickered internally.

‘So voracious for knowledge. An excellent trait to have for a young mage.’

“The tower sits directly over a Ley line hotspot because I was using it to strengthen the world. After the war against the demons, and what we did to close the portal and banish the demon lord, the world was weak, and a colleague of mine gave us this solution.

“We were to inject Aether into the world’s Ley lines ourselves, to restore the damage we had done. That is why when a portal appeared so suddenly in my tower and corrupted my dragons, I was too weak to deal with it.

“The me you saw at that point was the weakest I had been in millennia. It was a good thing you arrived when you did. I don’t know what would have happened if you didn’t.”

Astaroth listened to Aravelle’s explanation with curiosity. But he still didn’t understand why the mage was suddenly back here.

Why come back after so long, if he had left?