When he was a naive and starry-eyed six-year-old boy, Caen sat down with the children of his great-grandmother's clutch and listened attentively as she told them a story about collaboration. It went like this:

A great and noble farmer who had mastered all the nuances of Nurturing magic could tame the wildest of beasts. She could make any plant grow in whatever terrain or environment. By her mere presence, the flora and fauna in any ecosystem flourished and bloomed. Awakened beasts and plant life answered her call. Nations instituted festivals in her honor. Yet when her spirit was marred in an accident involving strange and formidable Planar creatures, all her power was for naught. Unable to heal this core and essential part of her existence, she crumbled ethereally, dying in moments.

In the Chulus Archipelago, a mighty and kind healer-of-blood journeyed across the isles, teaching mystical and mundane medical arts to the locals. The people brought their sick and ailing to him in crowds. There was no disease he could not cure, no bodily affliction he could not mend. He grew lost body parts anew, opened blind eyes, and pulled the dying from the very jaws of death. To this day, statues of him remain erected in cities that worshipped him as a god of life. One day, the island he was ministering to was overrun by an awakened grove of self-replicating vines. He had known of the dangers there, for Chulus was a truly terrifying place in those times. The spindly tendrils sought to devour every living thing they came in contact with. For all his power, the Blood-healer could do nothing. Like many upon that isle, he was consumed by the vicious flora.

In the ridges of Irnst, the heroic leader of a large tribe of mountain folk had mastered the arts of Earth, Liquid, and Wind. He silenced storms with a word. Reshaped mountains with a thought. Redirected floods as he saw fit. The practice of magic in his lands was strongly discouraged, as his power was more than sufficient to aid his people. He unified the scattered tribes, and under his leadership, his ketur, his kinsfolk, thrived. Some worshipped him as the incarnation of a great ancestral spirit, while others claimed that he had personally erected the very mountain they all lived on. When a dark plague that ravaged the flesh struck his domain, slowly killing his people, this leader was powerless. No winds, no matter how fiercely commanded, could heal their lesions. He could demolish armies by instructing the land upon which they stood. Knock out arrows from the sky. Create tributaries that brought sustenance to all. Yet this plague had him watch on as his kinsfolk died. And in time, he too succumbed to this darkness.

When she came into the height of her power, our Spirit Mother was unrivaled in the art of Dynamism: affairs of the spirit. But she was wise. Though they were her peers, she had learned from the lives of all these great individuals and had come to understand the reason for their failure.Among equals, collaboration comes first. And so she cultivated diversity in her progeny. One child took to Nurturing and another to Sanation. Others still were inclined to the elements, and she encouraged them all. She fostered the progress of whichever among her kin possessed the spark of Spirit. In time, she had grown communities of people who could perform a plethora of magics. For when a Nurturer was harmed in spirit, one of their sisters versed in Dynamism would heal them. And no Healer of Blood was in danger when they encountered plant life, as a Nurturer was always close by. And the various powers of strong matter never had need to fear for plagues. And every Spirit-healer could trust in the protection of their elementalist ketur.

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This is important because collaboration is how we have survived many long nights. And it is how we will survive many more to come. We must work together. No one discipline of magic is all-powerful. Even Dynamism at the highest possible levels cannot accomplish everything. There are limits to what each person can achieve by themselves. But together, the possibilities are endless.

This story had confused Caen to his core. Why had none of the legendary practitioners here considered learning multiple arts of magic? Collaboration seemed so much more beautiful to him when everyone could do many things.

Also, couldn't Nurturers arm themselves with awakened beasts and plants possessing dynamic abilities? Caen had read many stories about wondrous plants and animals. Balntih was a special plant that extended a strong spiritual shell, which could be used by a skilled Nurturer to protect themselves when worn around the skin. Slaaun was said to utterly dull spiritual activity within a radius of several yards, and could be used to restrict even the most violent of probes. Perhaps the monsters that the Nurturer had encountered were just too powerful.

The part about the Blood-healer was the hardest for him to understand because while Blood-healing did not have control over the floral arts, it was a cousin. An awakened vine system was more animal than plant. And his grandfather had told him countless tales of Blood-healers who had suppressed Planar awakened plant life.

Why had the mountain folk grown overconfident in their chief’s limited skillset? Caen had wept as he heard of the doom that befell them. Shouldn't the chief have encouraged his ketur to continue training the self arts at the very least?

When Caen asked his great-grandmother these things, she told him that no one person could practice various disciplines of magic, nor should they, lest they spread themselves too thin.

This answer troubled Caen even more. Holding himself back to one facet of the arcane seemed… wrong to his little mind. He was starved of magic and wanted all of it. He began seeking out tales about archmages who had performed numerous feats of magical prowess due to having a vast array of skill sets.

Once his affinities finally manifested, he would emulate them. And with his passive augmentations, he would finally be strong and healthy and able to use magic to his heart’s content. He would stop falling ill and getting injured all the time. He wouldn't make his parents cry anymore. Maybe he would be able to play with other children his age. They'd stop calling him names. Everyone would be happy, and he'd be able to collaborate with as many people as he wanted, practicing whatever discipline of magic he desired.

Once his affinities manifested. It wouldn't be too long. Any day now, he told himself.

His affinities did not manifest.