20th September, 1137, by the Euthian calendar, three years after Canvas’s disappearance

  “Young fella, where are you rushing in Mid-autumn?” the old lady yelled.

  “Sorry!” Although he was sorry, Acryl didn’t bother to pick up the basket and the mandarins he had tripped over. He had no choice but to run through the most bustling and hustling street of Songhua city with his friend, who was almost like a sister to him—Neon. He held the tickets to Euth in his hands, tight as he thought about what could have happened to Canvas in his three years of missing.

  He had searched for him for years in Siyue, only to find out that he was never there. But yesterday, he had received a letter from Canvas, saying that he was in Euth and that there was nothing to worry about. Even though Acryl had asked Neon not to come with him, she still accompanied Acryl, regardless of the Mid-Autumn Festival. Her father seemed not to mind it.

  Everything around him reminded him of the ticking clock.

  “Do you think we could make it?” Acryl asked, panting.

  “Of course! It’s less than a minute away. If we run fast enough, we may have time to catch a breath!” Neon said as she smiled.

  The moon-pancakes were being packaged, queues shortening as he ran. Everything was jolly, and only he was worrying. He could see the molten sugar on the tanghulu slowly dripping down and being shoved into icy water right after. His nose was filled with the smell of candies and burnt crisp from fireworks. A slight sweet scent melted in his mouth as if to keep him in Songhua City. For no apparent reason at all, Acryl took a look back and saw that the basket and fruits he had tripped over were back in the old lady’s hand.

  And as Acryl and Neon dashed through the boxes and stalls, past folks with nowhere-to-rush happy faces, the top of the aircraft that read “Siyue-Euth” was already visible through the heads of the crowd. The airship’s port was right in front of them.

  They passed the security and identification check and ran to the boarding area.

  The bottom of the aircraft was already off the bridge. The mechanical paddle, powered by Realm-arts and fuel, moved the ship upwards as the runes engraved onto the ship’s body shone. The aircraft was already more than ten meters off the ground.

  “What?! Serpent Father damn it! Have you ever seen an aircraft taking off earlier than its scheduled?” Neon complained as they both ran towards the already flown-away aircraft. The smile disappeared from her face as if she had been informed that she had failed a test she had studied for weeks.

  Out of nowhere, Acryl crashed into a man in blue. The armful of contents in the man’s hands fell out, his hat spiraling around on the concrete ground as he and Acryl fell on the freezing ground, some papers fleeing away, and things that seemed to be Realm-arts related scattering all across.

  “Sorry…I didn’t see you coming.” Acryl apologized.

  “What in the Starseeker-forsaken world was that?!” the man exclaimed as he picked up his belongings.

  “Oh, not you, I mean the takeoff,” the man added, “speaking of which, do you know what to do?”

  “Acryl, your Realm-arts! Do something!” Neon said as she grabbed Acryl’s arm.

  “How?”

  “I dunno, just improvise!”

  “Yeah, improvise!” the man followed up. Acryl quickly thought of any use of his Realm-arts that could solve this trouble. The surroundings vibrated as if they were a palette full of colors being stirred with a brush.

  He felt the tingly feeling around his spine, around where his Realm-arts were implanted with the runes and hexagon marks. In the blink of an eye, the concrete ground stretched towards the slowly flying airship’s deck’s handrail, fifteen meters above the ground, as the other end of it wrapped around Acryl’s arm.

  It grappled with it, Acryl knew that he didn’t have much time left. For a moment, he felt like he was a madman, an aggressive painter splashing color all over the canvas. As he snapped back, his back was wet with his cold sweat. Acryl could feel his feet and muscles trembling, he had never taken a risk like that, not to mention the only thing he had done with his Realm-art was to create colors to save money.

  This content has been misappropriated from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.

  What if it breaks? What if my Realm-art turns off mid-air?

  “Acryl, how long can you hold on?” Neon asked as she grabbed harder onto Acryl’s arm, even though they were less than ten centimeters away from the ground. Yet he could feel Neon’s hand trembling.

  “Not sure…But I can’t seem to pull us upwards,” he said as his feet left the ground. He knew that he didn’t fear heights, but somehow his heart pounded faster than ever, perhaps it was because someone was looking at him as he slowly ‘flew’ away.

  “Need a helping hand?” the man suggested, reaching his arm towards Acryl’s position. Around him shone a dim light like the stars Acryl had gazed at in the outskirts of Grand Dome, where not a single ray of light stained the sky.

  “Sure?” Acryl answered.

  “Sure.”

  The light around the man’s hand grew brighter. Dots and dots that resembled Acryl of drawn constellations on encyclopedias connected towards his colorful creation. Forming a bridge that held the three together. Acryl didn’t mind that the man decided to pin himself with Neon since they had the same destination anyway.

  “Should do the job right now,” the man in blue said as his Realm-art expanded downwards and caught whatever he had with him.

  “Can you pull us, like all of us three, upwards? Y’know, shrink that big glob of…colors.”

  “…Uh…I don’t think so, to be honest, my Realm-art wasn’t sharpened, it can only create that ‘big glob.’”

  “I see, but many of the casters aren’t sharpened, not even most of the messengers. Why do you think people seek powers from the Existences?” the man explained. Acryl knew what the man meant. Sharpen meant an improvement in Realm-arts itself, gaining new abilities or strengthening the already existing ones.

  Sharpened Realm-arts were almost like a lottery, it only happened when a choice or realization was significant enough to change the Realm-arts user’s life or help them march towards their goals. Such a rule applied to all four archetypes of Realm-arts.

  “Well, now may be your chance! What if this is the right choice to push your journey or dreams closer?”

  Acryl took a look up at the airship’s runes. The glow of it illuminated his Realm-art’s creation as if it were blazing his path. He recognized that glow. The trait of fuel lighting up in the rune’s pipes. The light became brighter and brighter, a spotlight that only shone on him. And a clock telling him that there was no time left.

  “Fella, listen, the less regret, the further you walk on the path of Realm-arts…I don’t know what or why you decided to go to Euth when the flowers of festivals and joy are blooming in this city.”

  “Now, do you want to leave regret?”

  “…I—I don’t, but…I want to prove—”

  “Then don’t worry! Worrying doesn’t fix the problem, doing does!”

  The unfinished sentence was still in Acryl’s mind: “Prove myself worthy of my mentor’s teachings.”

  Acryl knew that he wasn’t a gambler. Yet he knew that his journey was full of twenty-sided dice to roll. He looked down, and the glowing night of Songhua City was right under his feet.

  A firework exploded. Following it, dozens of them sparkled. His heart felt stirred, half filled with fire seeking something ahead, and another—a familiar self sitting in the corner of the classroom. Two feelings contradicted each other, as if to solidify his own choice, he took a look at Neon. In her eyes, Acryl couldn’t see what he saw himself in the mirror.

  Nothing but trust and excitement in her turquoise-colored eyes. He couldn’t see the unsteady, shy, quiet young man in her eyes. Not even he could recognize himself in the warped reflection.

  And in the end, the burning heart filled the other half. And in this moment, the magic-like power implanted around his spine unsheathed completely. And it was the same moment he came up with a name for his Realm-art:

  Realm-arts: Pure-White Palette.

  Acryl’s Realm-arts roared. He felt like the creation of his Realm-art was a part of him; he could adjust and change its properties like mixing colors on a palette. The side effects- pain and hexagon marks crawled up his body as if they were the same fireworks that sparkled alongside with blinding light of the airship’s rune. And as if he were a firework himself, his Realm-arts dragged all three of them up to the airship’s deck. In mid-air, he adjusted the length and shape of it before they landed on the aircraft’s deck.

  Under the flying ship, Acryl saw the blinding light of the colorful fireworks, reminding him of the shelf full of different mineral powders, color specimens, and grids of watercolor sets.

  Knowing that he was on the way to his own story, as Neon would say, he put out a long breath and closed his eyes as the wind combed through his messy hair. Acryl slightly touched the hexagon marks around his arm. It was aching as if a burning coal was touching his skin. Yet he felt no pain or annoyance, only a bit of comfort and steadiness as he assured that his Realm-art was now sharpened.

  That meant the road ahead was easier to walk than before, even if he didn’t know what it brought him.

  The fireworks beneath exploded and danced as if they were a symphony of celebration. Celebration for him to flip a new page in the sketchbook named Acryl, an ode for him to walk towards that silhouette in his memory.

  And a blessing to-

  himself.