Mana Exhaustion
A medley of different colors assaulted Roger's subconscious.
None of them made sense. They were all different hues and fluctuated in vibrancy. It was a kaleidoscope of possibility and adaptability that threatened to make his mind explode.
He was barely conscious, everything passing him by in a blur.
It all ended as quickly as it started, leaving Roger waking up in the dirt. He had a headache unlike anything he had ever experienced before, a throbbing pulse constantly bouncing against his skull.
He clutched it with a groan, dirt and broken roots tangling with his stumpy hair.
His body felt weaker than he could ever remember it, only coming close in comparison with his first few weeks in prison. Those times were very similar to this.
'Look at you Roger, we've come full circle.'
He groggily pushed himself up from the ground, wondering if this was becoming a habit of his.
'I feel like I'm getting up more than anything else.'
He rose to his feet and wobbled awkwardly, flailing his arms out to keep his delicate balance. With one foot in front of the other, he began to stumble back towards the camp, praying to the shattered gods that Lila would know what was happening to him.
His vision was blurry and constantly shaking, and the constant headache threatened to make him fall every few steps.
It was a trial that compared to even his most difficult moments, one he would surely remember for the rest of his life.
As he approached the campfire, the sun finally dipped under the horizon, bathing the sky in oranges and reds.
To Roger's addled mind, the colors blended into his vision, making everything look warped and misshapen. He half-walked, half-shambled, into the main area of the glade, spotting Lila reading one of the books near the fire. Roger couldn't tell which book it was, too preoccupied with getting help.
Although Lila didn't look up at first, Roger's groaning quickly caught her attention.
"What is it?"
Finally looking up to speak with him, she recoiled and covered her mouth in a gasp.
"Dear gods, what happened to you?"
Unable to speak, Roger collapsed to the dirt, clutching his head as he fell. The impact send fresh shockwaves through his brain, making him wish he had been lobotomized as a child.
'It's never too late. Once I survive this, I bet I could use one of the swords to end things here and now…'
Seeing him collapse, Lila jumped out of her seat and rushed to his side, kneeling and placing her palm on his forehead.
"You feel cold to the touch, not warm. What were you doing?"
Roger tried to respond, but all he managed was an incomprehensible rasp.
Realizing it was futile, Lila looked over to where he came from and saw the hoes lying in the dirt. Her eyes widened as she understood what he did.
"Did you try and farm magical seeds? On Avar? Did you even bother reading the book first? You don't have the mana stores to cultivate even a single seed yet, moron!"
Her voice rose in volume as she spoke, her anger beating out her concern.
"Why would you risk your life like that? You're lucky to be alive! Mana exhaustion can kill you know! The longer you're a mage, the more your body relies on the mana you naturally produce! Running out of that mana is like holding your breath until you find more air! Hundreds of people die every year from mana exhaustion, which is a lot considering how few magi there are!"
Despite her harsh words, Roger thought he could detect a note of worry beneath it all.
It was just as likely that his headache was making him envision things, which would explain all the strange mixing of colors he was seeing in the sky.
In his state of delirium, he reached out to try and grab the colors but instead grabbed a handful of Lila's hair.
She recoiled in shock and fury, punching his arm hard as retribution. She reeled back to throw another when she realized the dazed and unfocused look in his eyes. He didn't even react to her first blow, his arm hanging limp in the air.
Roger, meanwhile, felt himself go further and further into a state of unconsciousness, his vision slowly fading to black. The last thing he remembered was a pair of pale arms reaching out and grabbing him, making him feel strangely warm despite the chill permeating his body.
That chill seemed to fight against him, causing him to rebel against it. More out of instinct than intent, he felt his lingering mana flare up, flooding his blood with the strangely nebulous energy of mind mana.
The flowing element chased down the chill, banishing it from his body and leaving only the familiarity of his own power, a power that he would claim for himself one day.
'I'm going to make this power mine, one way or another. It might not be Lila's artifact, nor is it going to help me against everything, but it's what the System gave me, gods damn it! It had to have a reason, no matter how warped its logic is! I will master Dark Mimicry, even if it kills me!'
He felt comforted by those thoughts, even if they were caused by his magical illness. He felt sleep call to him, his exhausted body and mind eagerly accepting it's call.
Strangely, the dreamscape's mana never left, suffusing his entire body as he drifted off.
When Roger entered a dream, he barely recognized anything around himself.
He was in a large stone hall, with rows of plush red chairs framing a long rectangular table made of black stone. A raised dais held a golden and red throne, but no one currently occupied it.
Looking around, Roger realized he was alone in the hall, a fact he found strangely comforting.
To his surprise, he began to move without any intent behind it, slowly stepping around the table and chairs and approaching the throne. A robed hand reached out and lightly touched the top of every chair, an action that he knew he used to do often, despite having never seen the room before.
He felt sad, for some reason. No, not just sad. He was mourning. Despairing. Something that betrayed the very concept of possibility had occurred, striking him not just at his heart but his soul.
A bond that he had held onto forever was broken, his other half being taken from him before he ever had a chance to truly know him.
His steps slowed to a crawl the closer he came to the opulent chair, a sense of foreboding silence permeating the room. Finally reaching the bottom step, he raised his leg and brought it down, moving slightly closer.
Each step was more agonizing than the last as if some otherworldly force was pushing against him in his quest to reach the strange throne.
The world pushed back against him, willing him to turn away now and spare himself the agony that he knew waited at the top, but he wanted to see it one last time.
He had to.
Even with all the force pushing him back, Roger's strange body pressed on, mounting the final step and staring at the gold-framed seat with barely concealed desperation.
Once he was level with the seat of power, the force vanished, and he slowly walked towards it.
He stopped in front of it, and reached out, rubbing the armrests with a feeling of longing that almost broke Roger on the spot.
He didn't know why or how, but he knew that the throne's occupant was dead.
That fact almost made everything he had worked for meaningless.
'Wait, what have I been working for?'
Despite his attempts to chase the random thoughts down, they led nowhere, leaving only their impact and not their meaning.
Surprising himself, Roger kneeled down on one knee, bowing his head before the regal chair and speaking in a voice that was most definitely not his own.
"I will avenge you, brother. You will know peace in the next life, even if it costs me everything we worked so hard for."
He raised his right hand and placed it on the velvet seat, feeling nothing stop him as it connected.
For reasons unknown, Roger knew that confirmed what he already knew.
He was gone, and there was no going back. Not now, not ever.
Without any more fanfare, he rose, walking down the steps and approaching the large doors on the other side of the hall.
The strange forces did not stop him from leaving.
Once he reached the edge of the table, the vision faded, leaving Roger floating in darkness.