"You- you're a warlock?" The merchant asked, his face paling. He dropped Cyrus's arm, and scrambled back, slipping and sliding over the spices until he gathered his footing enough to run away.
Without his support, Cyrus staggered forward, losing his strength with each passing second. As the world spun, he grabbed for the merchant's stall, but the moment his fingers touched the wood, it sprouted branches and leaves, while roots shot from its base, digging into the street.
'Gods above… What's happening to me?' Cyrus thought. He shook his head, trying to regain his composure, but his knees buckled instead, dropping him to the ground.
Slumped against the stall, he watched as the roots rose from the stone, and spread across the street, twisting around the lantern posts, and climbing the store fronts. Patches of moss grew amidst the cracks, and carpeted the street, while budding pines and sapling oaks sprouted from the roots.
Nearby, a father grabbed his son, and yanked him into a building, while a mother dragged her two daughters down an alley, away from the rampaging plants. A small boy ran past, frantically shifting his eyes in a search for an escape. He tripped over a root, and fell face first to the ground, unable to even utter a cry before a wave of foliage encased him.
Cyrus fought to get back to his feet, but the magic spilled uncontrollably from his body, draining him of his strength. Groaning, he collapsed into the writhing roots as his hearing faded, and the world darkened. The last thing he saw through the spreading grass and moss was the gleaming eyes of a stranger, concealed by a dark cloak, and the shadows of a distant alley.
Then, as the last bits of light faded, a soft voice whispered in his ear, like a summer breeze.
'Come to… Amuriel…'
…
A low thump jogged Cyrus awake, though his aching body made movement difficult. He groaned, and pushed himself upright, then rubbed his pounding head. A soft bed cushioned his body, while a wool blanket scratched at his legs.
As he adjusted to the light, he found himself for the second time in an unfamiliar place, this time built from smoothed wood and chiseled stone. His cloak hung from a hook on the wall, and his boots were set beneath. An arched window with clear glass overlooked a small forest, in the middle of which towered a large pine.
Cyrus climbed from the bed, and crept to the window, biting his lip every time the floorboards creaked. To his surprise, the forest spread out into a kingdom, with trees growing through houses, while vines and ivy clung to the walls. Cyrus studied the strange view with a furrowed brow. It took him a moment to realize it was still Galeden, when the memories of what happened flooded his mind.
Gasping, Cyrus grabbed onto the window sill, his legs shaking from his weight. The room spun around him, its walls and windows blurring together as the screams echoed in his ear. Horrid and piercing, sending him spiraling into a panic.
"It seems you've woken." A gravelly voice rumbled through the room, and Cyrus whirled around. An old man stood in the doorway, towering above him, and dressed in a dark blue tunic, and black trousers. He observed Cyrus, though his misty grey eyes swirled with a dark cloud, similar to a blind man. Curiously, he tugged at the thick white beard growing along his chin.
"Who- who are you?" Cyrus asked. His eyes flickered to the open hall behind the man, decorated with cluttered desks, and sleek bookcases tall enough to reach the ceiling. "Where am I? Are you one of the Dilthane followers?"
The old man held up his hand. "One question at a time, if you don't mind. I'm a bit old, you see, and it takes me a moment to think. Now, to answer your questions. My name is Myrel, and this is my home. I wasn't the one who brought you here, but my assistant. As to if I follow Dilthane, the answer is no, though I doubt you'll trust me right away. Now then, a question for you… Would you mind telling me what happened?"
Cyrus tensed as he glanced over his shoulder. "I'm not quite certain what you mean."
A bemused look spread across Myrel's face, and he crossed his hands behind his back. "Is that so? I thought it was obvious. Though, I suppose these are dangerous times, so it's best to be on guard."
The old man stepped to the side, and motioned towards the hall. "If you wouldn't mind following me, I'd like to speak in a more comfortable setting."
Cyrus slowly nodded, and Myrel led the way to a pair of cushioned seats, situated near a smoldering fireplace. A better look around the room revealed six wooden pillars, three on either side, and layered with bookshelves between. A grand window overlooked the kingdom below, while an archway stood against the far wall, and led into a room too dark to see into.
Cyrus peered into the shadows for a moment, half expecting guards to come rushing out, before glancing around. To his left, a set of stairs curved down into a dining room and kitchen, neatly adorned by a small table, and a pantry filled with food.
A second fireplace nestled into the wall there, beside which Cyrus spotted a thick wooden door. He eye'd it, wondering if it led outside. Myrel cleared his throat, and settled into one of the seats.
"You may leave, if you wish. Though if your plan is to turn yourself over to the kingdom, I advise you to wait until you hear what I have to say," Myrel said. He gestured towards the other seat. "It may very well save your life."
Cyrus stared at the door for a moment longer, then took a deep breath and sat down. Myrel smiled, and leaned back against the cushions, taking his time to watch Cyrus. A minute passed, before Cyrus couldn't take it any longer, and spoke.
"Why did you save me? If you had left me out there, then the knights would have captured me. Now you'll be thrown into the dungeon if they catch me."
"A good point," Myrel said. He narrowed his eyes. "One I fully intend to explain, but first, I'd like to figure out a thing or two, to help better our discussion. To begin with, what is your name, and who taught you how to use magic?"
"It's Cyrus, and… and I was never taught how to use magic," Cyrus said. He glanced back down the stairs, towards the door.
"You don't need to be so wary. You're not the only one who can use it," Myrel said. He waved his hand towards the fireplace. "Serifel, denete.'
Cyrus jumped as the smoldering coals burst into flames, which whirled around the fireplace before fading away.
Cyrus stared at the fireplace, then glanced back at Myrel. "You're a warlock?"
Myrel chuckled. "I prefer to consider myself a wizard these days. I like to focus on the study of magic, rather than use it for war, but yes, I have held that title before."
'A wizard…?' Cyrus furrowed his brow, then jolted upright in his seat. "Are you perhaps a scholar? Do you know anything about runes?"
"I know a little," Myrel said, frowning. "Why do you ask?"
Cyrus hurriedly retrieved the amulet from around his neck, and held it out. The sunlight bounced off emerald, and the amber glistened beside the gold. Myrel leaned forward, the grey mist in his eyes swirling wildly.
"What do you have there?"
"I- I don't know. Two weeks ago, I woke up on the Arcoldian shores just east of here, without any of my memories," Cyrus said. He lowered the amulet. "Everything besides my name is gone. This amulet is the only thing I still have from before then."
"Is it? How odd. For a gem so small, it possesses quite the amount of aether." Myrel reached out his hand, then hesitated. "May I see it?"
Cyrus handed him the amulet. Myrel held it close to his face, running his fingers along the tree before flipping it over. His eyes widened as he fixated on the root-like words, and he brushed his thumb over the rough edges.
"Is this why you asked me about runes? To be honest, I've never seen anything like these before," Myrel said, tilting the gem back and forth. "Do you know what they say?"
"It says, 'May the arbor sanctum never fall," Cyrus said. He scooted forward. "Have you ever heard of such a place? Do you know where it might be?"
Myrel shook his head. "I'm afraid not. This arbor sanctum, whatever it is, has never been mentioned in any of my books."
"I see," Cyrus said. Myrel handed back the amulet, and Cyrus slipped it beneath his tunic. "So you can't help me, then?"
"I didn't say that, now did I?" Myrel asked. "Was there anything else? Anything that may help me know more?"
Cyrus thought back, and recalled the words he heard while falling unconscious. "There is something. Earlier, before I passed out, I heard a whisper. It spoke of a place called Amuriel."
"Amuriel, you say? The name sounds familiar, though I'll need to go through my books to find out why," Myrel said. He rose from his seat. "While I'm doing that, you're welcome to rest in your room, or go downstairs and find something to eat. Sylven, my apprentice, should be back soon, with news of the kingdom. We can talk more then."
Myrel paused, and studied Cyrus. "Of course. You're also free to leave if you wish, though I warn you to be careful. The whole kingdom of Galeden is looking for you right now, and I doubt they'll be as inclined to help you."
"I'll- I'll stay, for now. I doubt the tavern would allow me to sleep there anymore anyway," Cyrus said. He hesitated, then motioned towards the books. "Do you mind if I take one? To read while I rest."
"You may, though I ask you to be careful. They are quite old, and prone to damage." Myrel turned and scanned the books. He grabbed a few off of a shelf, then went and sat down at one of the desks.
As the old man flipped through the first book, Cyrus hesitantly approached the shelves, and ran his fingers over the time-worn bindings. A thick black book caught his eye, as its name mentioned beasts. The edges were frayed, and cracked, but held firm as he flipped it over.
'The Alchemical Properties of Aetheric Creatures; By Icarel Ashlocke'
Cyrus flipped open the cover, and skimmed through the words. The book spoke of a variety of beasts which roamed the lands, their habitats, and their behaviors. Included with each one, there was a list of ingredients one could harvest from the creature, and the potions they could be used to create.