"...weak?" The word brought with it a crushing realisation that had Cyran's mind reeling. The term seemed foreign yet so relatable at the same time. He trained diligently. He swung his blades until the skin on his hands melted away and yet still he swung them more. He believed that there were few his age that could match his martial prowess, and that would be true if it weren't for-
"Magic. It exists whether you approve of its being or not and now, you have the ability to wield it. Your ignorance of magic is not your fault, but of your father's. By not telling you everything he knew, he has made you weak," Abus spoke softly, but vehemently.
Cyran erupted out of the chair, knuckles white, "don't you dare speak ill of my father!" No sooner had the words left his mouth, he realised that his legs were once again immobile. Looking down, Cyran saw that his legs had sunk into the ground, parts of the floor had started encircling his body, binding him as it went and rendering him useless. Confusion and fear started to douse the fire his anger had created, leaving a cold tightness in his chest.
"This isn't the forest. As you may have noticed, my lavish abode has a distinct lack of green. What you will come to notice is that newborn children here know more about magic than you do. And that is what will get you killed.
"In the forest you may have been a big fish, or whatever it is you ate there, but here you are not. Without at least a basic understanding of magic you will be killed. Since you have awakened to the gift, a fundamental mastery will be a huge advantage to you. Otherwise, you will be killed before you can even find your family. I can only hope, for yours and Virion's sake, that they are still among the living." Abus was still sat comfortable in his chair, his eyes aglow with magical affinity.
Cyran suddenly felt his body being expelled from the ground as though he were a thorn in the side of a giant beast. Standing once again on firm ground, he quickly re-evaluated how he should approach Abus in anger. The man, whilst eccentric and seemingly a friend of the Arthelius household, was also powerful. The limit of his power was unknown to Cyran and he suddenly felt his need to test that boundary had fled with its tail between its legs.
Before Cyran could continue his thoughts, Abus clasped the arms of his chair and thrust himself to his feet, "right, well I guess that is enough about that. I guess I should do some sort of inspirational speech but... well, I was never good with speeches. Or kids..."
Cyran flinched as Abus clapped his hands, causing two gates to appear side by side.
"I have my own things to attend to but I will contact you in time. Through there you will find yourself inside Sol Arcana, one of two magic academies. I am a popular man but even I only have so many contacts. Have a great time, ciao!" Whilst waving his hand in farewell, the mage walked through a gate that soon after closed behind him leaving Cyran alone in the room with nothing but a rippling tear in time and space to keep him company.
Alone again, he had no distraction for the torrent of emotion he was feeling. Helplessness. Despair. Grief. Anger. Hate. Yet, after all of that, he could not refute the mage. He was right. He was stopped by him twice without any real effort on the mage's part and Cyran knew that he had not even seen any real measure of power from the man. Mages were capable of so much more and Cyran was armed with swords. He was mightily capable with them but also heavily outgunned. He needed to know more about magic and how to counter it. Though he held a sour taste in his mouth at the thought. It was magic wielding raiders that had stolen his village life, his father and spirited away his family. If all magic users were similar in their tastes for destruction using the gifts bestowed on them then he wanted nothing to do with such people.
Cyran stepped through the gate to find himself in an office, simple in its design yet lavish in its decoration. It was circular in design and, looking up, he saw portraits of aged men and women line the walls. Each one looking regal, refined and arrogant.
"Ahem,"
Cyran turned to see a pure white desk, with spires of paperwork framing it. Behind it sat a man with hair as white as the desk he commanded, his features rather pursed and stretched out gave him the look of someone who was shrewd by nature and unfairly well informed. As well informed as someone who looked to be permanently sucking on a lemon could be.
"So you're the boy Abus recommended? Come in! You're letting in a draft," the man said. As soon as Cyran did, the gate closed behind him. The man behind the desk stood and, hands clasped behind his back, began to stroll around the desk. The man was average in height and build, and dressed himself in a a shirt, waistcoat and trousers with a long, brilliant white scarf line his shoulders.
"I am Bergand, Head Magister of Sol Arcana. One of the finest magical academies in the Movarrian Kingdom. And you are?"
"Cyran. Cyran Arthelius."
Bergand's face quivered slightly but soon recovered. "Of the Arthelius line you say? Yes, I know that name quite well. So that would make you of elven descent, would it not?"
"That's right."
"I see. Well, anyone with a reference from Abus will always be welcome here. An academy such as Sol Arcana prizes students with the will to learn and excel above all else. That being said, we do have standards for conduct and, should you accept your offered position here, you wold be expected to abide by them."
"And what would those standards be?" Cyran asked tersely.
Bergand ignored the tone and continued, "Firstly, the spirit of integrity is something we seek to nurture. To that end, we would encourage you to be forthcoming and in return, judge fairly and accordingly. Secondly, social classes do not exist within the mage academies and as such, students will receive neither preferential nor derogative treatment. We have the children of some powerful noble families dwelling within these walls and they would be seen the same as someone whose parents were shoe makers.
"And thirdly, we also have members of various races attend classes here. These walls are a haven to them as they can be to you. Bullying or ostracism of students for any reason will not be tolerated. Though, it shames me to say, only those transgressions that are witnessed or can be proven will be acted upon. I, for one, know all about the chaos our people caused when they warred with each other. It is something I loathed and aim to change. Though not all families share this sentiment. Though I offer protection here, I would also advocate vigilance," Bergand laced his fingers together and leaned against his desk as he seemed to size Cyran up.
"In this academy, we boast some of the top respective magisters of their fields. Should you have the aptitude, we can show you the wonders of magic. We can show you-" unlacing his hands and holding them outstretched, a fierce ball of flame ignited in one hand whilst a conjured ball of water appeared in the other, "mastery of the elements. Knowledge of their destructive capabilities is the goal for some. But for others..."
With that, the Head Magister slowly brought his hands together. The water hissed and bubbled as the fire fought to keep its flame alive. Birds emerged from the steam and began to gracefully swoop around the room, taking sharp twists and turns before diving towards Cyran and landing neatly on his shoulder.
"Others come to understand the beauty that magic can weave."