The Forsaken Hero

I spent a few more minutes studying Adaptive Resistance before focusing on the oppressive crystal enchantment. There were several effects in the magic, from strengthening humans to the mysterious curse effect, but the only one that mattered to me was the element that crippled my magic. It was a constant burden on my soul, siphoning mana as it recovered, as I cast spells, on from any active spells.

The problem was that the entire enchantment was a seventh-level effect, and thus, Adaptive Resistance was ineffective against it. But the power I felt in my ability wasn’t weaker than the enchantment, it was just... passive.

I frowned, rubbing my horn, my gaze fixed on the floor. The Eyes of Fate had been an active ability, but its effects became passive when it evolved into the Oracle of Eternity. That shift wasn’t due to the change itself, but rather my growing familiarity and skill. It always consumed a bit of mana, but I’d become so efficient that the drain was negligible, easily replenished by my passive recovery.

Through training, I’d developed an ’active’ state for the Oracle, lifting my perspective beyond the grip of fate, slowing time, and allowing me to see the stars of fate. With more practice, I’d compartmentalized these effects, able to see the stars without slowing time. My ability to see visions had followed a similar path, granting me a measure of control over triggering them and what I saw. With more practice, I might even attain full control, perhaps even choosing the specific future and time period I witnessed.

So why wouldn’t Adaptive Resistance follow the same pattern? After Soltair learned it could grow and overcome Curse Magic, I’d come to view it with trepidation. It was a passive ability that protected me from magic, and I’d left it at that, the weight of my memories and the unease halting any attempts at further exploration.

My fingers curled into the ruined scraps of my dress, cracking the blood-stained fabric. So much hung in the balance; I couldn’t afford to hold myself back anymore.

My tail twitched, begging to be stroked, but I kept my hands in my lap. What I was going to do would be hard enough without provoking my injuries.

"Here goes nothing," I muttered, tightening my grip on Adaptive Resistance.

Trying to control the ability was like folding a blanket. It allowed me to sculpt it, but the moment I relaxed my attention, it collapsed and smoothed again as if nothing had happened. Every attempt, however, brought me more familiarity, giving me a little more of an idea of what I was doing.