The next morning, Terem ate a light breakfast before departing for the adventurer's guild. Along the way, he noticed that the day started early for people in this town: the fishing boats were absent, the women were beating rugs and washing clothes, and the children were... well, they were doing what children do best.
Terem, once again, was reminded of his white hair since many people, young boys especially, gawked at his head. It wasn't pleasant, but at least nobody was aggressive towards him, more curious.
Upon arriving at the guild building and creeping up towards the counter, he discovered that Blue Lightning, Ron's adventuring group, had already departed on another herb gathering request. Terem wasn't bothered by this since he wasn't looking for them in the first place. Instead, he asked for Tom. The receptionist hurriedly pointed the way, leading Terem up a flight of stairs and depositing him in a grand room.
Maybe grand was an understatement, but the point remains that the room was astounding to witness. The ceiling was over thirty feet tall, supported by well-lacquered arches. A sturdy center beam glossy enough to act as a mirror bore directly through the floorboards to the ground floor below, cementing itself as a striking feature within the somewhat large space. Paintings that depicted fantastical scenes of beasts and canyons and waterfalls in meticulous detail adorned every wall, drawing the eye in no matter where one looked. This was Tom's room.
Terem couldn't believe it until he saw the man sitting at an intricately carved desk that spanned a whole 8 feet, over half the diameter of the entire room.
"What brings you here today, Terem?" Tom's voice was level. Upon closer inspection, a pair of glasses gently balanced across Tom's nose while he busied himself with the stack of intimidating papers directly in front of him. In fact, papers littered the whole area of the tabletop, along with quills, ink jars, and other miscellaneous trinkets one might need on a day-to-day basis. In other words, it was a catastrophe of desk work that Terem would never subject himself to; the fate he would suffer would be too cruel for words to describe.
Terem collected himself before responding, straightening his back and looking directly into Tom's eyes.
"Could you teach me magic?"
"Sure."
Silence enveloped the room, only interrupted by the continuous scratching of Tom's feather pen against parchment. Slowly, Tom's answer sunk through Terem's thick skull.
"Wait, you actually agreed? And so fast?"
"Yep, why shouldn't I?" Tom's eyes remained glued to the scrawled papers below him; his pen flit across the page without pause.
"I thought that magic was similar to someone's legacy and shouldn't be handed to just anyone!" Finally, the scritching pen halted and was deposited back into the inkwell. Tom looked up to meet Terem's confused gaze.
"Didn't I tell you earlier? Magic is pretty commonplace nowadays. You can cast away the old ideas you might have gotten from whatever stone-age village you grew up in and just accept that we are both living and breathing within the magical era. Even if magic teachings were a legacy, though, my answer wouldn't change."
"And why is that?"
"You're a white hair. Although you have a black core, you are someone rare enough to be considered one in a million, even though the odds are probably closer to one in a hundred thousand since you aren't persecuted as a demon spawn anymore." Tom mumbled the last phrase in a nearly inaudible tone so Terem couldn't quite catch it, but he still had heard enough to understand the significance of being one of the few white hairs once again.
"So, boy, when do you want to start?"
"As soon as possible, sir." Terem radiated excitement; he reminded Tom of a child until he remembered that Terem was, in fact, barely an adult at the ripe age of 16. By his estimate, Terem, most likely, departed from his village at the age of 15, when his coming-of-age ceremony had ended instead of picking up an apprenticeship somewhere within the village bounds. And a good thing too, or else he would have been stuck in the pre-magical era with the rest of his village.
Tom folded his hands in thought before asking, "What do you know about magic?"
Terem paused deep in contemplation before replying. "I don't know much, but what I do know is magic resides within all things. It is a mystical energy that inhabits the air and moves around like water or wind currents. I can also manipulate it to strengthen my muscles or change my body. That's about all I found out on my own."
Tom nodded. "That's pretty good for a self-taught 16-year-old. Color me impressed." He paused before drawing out a blank piece of parchment. "Now, let's get on with your first lesson in magical studies. Make sure you pay attention, kid."
Terem nodded and sat down when Tom gestured towards the fancy chair in front of his desk. And then, he began to speak.
"There are four gods that govern this here land: God of the Earth, Dvalim; God of the Sea, Nagi; God of the Sky, Varad; and Goddess of Life, Gaia. Together, they are the Old Ones or better known as the dwarven gods by us humans. Dvalim is the most important as he is the creator of Devrinthal, our homeland. Now, since his accomplishments are unimportant unless you are a devout dwarf, let's skip to the part where he created magic using the laws of the world. That's the part we need. Anyways, Dvalim created four basic branches of magic, which you will be focusing on under my tutelage. These four core branches are also known as neutral elements since they are the building blocks of all of Dvalim's creations. The first is fire, then water, earth, and wind. pretty basic, right?" Tom looked up from his paper he was busy doodling on. At least, he appeared to be doodling in Terem's eyes, but he shook his head in understanding, telling Tom to keep speaking. After all, most of the information was just world lore, and there was only one essential point of information there.
"Good. Now let's get to us humans and what role we have in magic. First, human's learned to harness magic through the Gods' blessings, and then we set about teaching other humans that didn't receive the blessing. Eventually, the ability to feel magic became innate. Later on, we abandoned the Old Ones and created the Temple of the Seven, the first church actively worshipping the Seventh Orthodox, which consisted of seven hoax gods. Each god was associated with one element, so I guess you could call them demigods since they are essentially Dvalim's creations. That is if they do exist in the first place. Don't tell the church I said that, though. They'd try to lynch me on charges of heresy and denouncing the church. You got that?" Terem nodded once again. This church frightened him all of a sudden. He remembered Tom's petrifying killing intent from the prior night and wondered just how influential the church must be to lynch such a powerful man. Tom continued his story.
"And finally, the most important part of our conversation: mana circuits and the mana core. What you are most familiar with is probably your mana circuit, am I correct?" The question was made redundant as Tom didn't allow for any answer. "The mana circuit is the pathway where mana flows. It's as simple as that, nothing more, nothing less. Now, the mana core is what you lack. The mana core is what allows you to transform mana from personal mana into spell mana. So let's work on building you one, then I can teach you about the different tiers." Tom stopped drawing and looked Terem directly in the eyes. Chills shot down Terem's spine as a foreboding feeling enveloped his soul. Sweat dripped down his chin.
"Don't worry, kid. It'll hurt just a tad. After all, the pain will disappear before you know it." Terem's fears were confirmed by Tom's tactless grin. He didn't even bother hiding the intellectual curiosity and malice that seethed underneath his crimson eyes.
'Another devil. He has to be.'