The next few hours flew by while Cyrus rested on his straw cot, turning through the faded pages of the alchemy journal. The list of creatures, ingredients, and potions distracted him from his thoughts, though he found it difficult to keep from glancing out the window.
The forest of pines swayed as a gust swept through the city, stirring dust from the cracked street and collapsed buildings. Light from the setting sun streamed through the needles, glinting off the armor of a group of knights, picking their way through the trees and rubble.
Cyrus snapped the book shut as the door downstairs opened, and clicked shut, followed by a beam thumping into place. Muffled footsteps pattered across the floor as Myrel rose and approached the railing.
"Sylven. You took a bit longer than I expected. How was it out there?"
A younger voice echoed up the stairs, male, with a somber tone. "Better than I feared, but it'll still take some time to rebuild. So far, only three have been reported dead, but the number of injured keeps rising. I helped where I could, but the guards barred me from going too deep."
Bile rose in Cyrus's throat as he gripped the book so hard his knuckles turned white. Three dead, more injured. His body went rigid as the young man spoke again.
.
"Everyone in the city is looking for our guest. So far, it doesn't seem like anyone got a good look at him, but there's a poster with his general description. How is he, anyway?"
"I think he's reeling from the shock of the news," Myrel said, glancing at Cyrus. "He awoke a few hours ago."
Cyrus's head swam as he dropped from the cot, and stepped out of the room. The young man stood at the bottom of the stairs, his sharp features lined by locks of blond hair, while a pair of deep blue eyes watched Cyrus closely. Grass stains marked the hem of his black cloak, while a bit of ivy clung to the strap of his pack.
"You- you said there were three dead," Cyrus said, wringing his hands. He took a deep breath, fighting to remain composed. "Do you know what happened? Was it my… magic that killed them?"
"Only one, as far as I know. Of the other two, one was killed by a falling building, and the other was trampled." The man climbed the stairs, and stopped in front of Cyrus. "It's a terrible thing, what happened, but you need to understand it wasn't your fault. Magic, in its very nature, is dangerous. This isn't the first time such a situation has occurred, and trust me when I say it won't be the last."
"Sylven's right," Myrel said, guiding Cyrus to one of the padded seats. "A similar thing happened when I first came into contact with my magic, though that's not a story I wish to relive."
Cyrus stared at his shaking hands, his head weighing down his shoulders. "What should I do? Should I turn myself over to the city? Will they believe me if I tell them it was an accident?"
"Even if they did, the best you could hope for would be a quick death," Myrel said, taking the other seat. "More than likely, they'd turn you over to the Followers of Dilthane, where the rest of your life would be spent as one of their experiments."
"The Dilthane have no mercy when it comes to those who can use magic. You'd be better off taking your own life than allowing yourself to fall into their hands," Sylven said. He set his pack to the side, then leaned against the desk. "However, if you wish to live, and not hurt anyone else, then your best choice is to train your magic. Learn how to control it, and it won't be able to control you."
Cyrus gritted his teeth. "Learn to control it? Are you mad? How would I do that? And what would happen if I end up hurting someone else in the process?"
"That's why we would help you," Myrel said. He gestured towards the sleek bookshelves. "Most of what you see are ancient texts and scrolls regarding magic, and how to properly wield it. After years of study and practice, I've happened to learn a thing or two. I may not be the most knowledgeable wizard, but I'm confident in what I know."
"It's not something you need to answer right now, but why don't you think about it?" Sylven said. He pulled out a new set of trousers, and a clean tunic from the pack, and handed them to Cyrus. "Here. I noticed your clothes were a bit dirty, so I found some I think would fit. If you want, you can get changed, and meet us downstairs for dinner. You probably don't have much of an appetite, but it'd be good to eat something."
"Thank you," Cyrus said, standing. "I-I'll think about it."
Sylven nodded, and Cyrus made his way back to the room, shutting the door behind him. As soon as it clicked, his strength vanished, and he slumped to the floor. His eyes burned as he stared out the window, glaring at the towering pine in the distance.
...
Hours passed, and darkness crept through the streets of Galeden as silver clouds passed before the ivory moon. Across the city, windows of gold wavered to life, while a dog barked in the distance. Alone, Cyrus sat at the desk beneath the window, flipping through the pages of the old alchemy journal. The light of a wax candle illuminated the sharp charcoal letters, as well as a half drunk mug of mead, and a plate of bread crumbs.
Cyrus took a small sip, allowing the sweet drink to chase away his thoughts, and ran his fingers down the creased paper. The records spoke of the Belrune bushboars as being relatively docile creatures, whose habitats were the grassy flatlands, far south, where the temperature remained warm year round.
Sighing, Cyrus set the book aside, and picked up another one, which summarized a variety of different plagues and illnesses, and how to identify them. Wax dripped from the candle as he opened the cover, and skimmed through the pages, one by one.
By the time he neared the end, the candle had melted to a snub, and a pool of hardened wax encased the cast iron stick. So far, not a single bit of information mentioned the black tar, or wild behavior of the boars, nor the bloodshot eyes and hardening skin Berrodin possessed when they last parted.
Stifling a yawn, Cyrus shut the book with a thump, and glanced out the window. Stars sparkled in the night sky, gleaming amidst an endless sea. A rust colored owl soared over the city, its outstretched wings clipping the clouds before it dove into the needles of the towering pine, and settled on one of its branches, which was large enough for a man to walk comfortably across.
Cyrus studied it for a moment, before flicker drew his gaze to the end of the street below. With a frown, he blew out the candle, allowing his eyes to adjust to the darkness. Slowly, as the shadows began to filter, a man appeared, his black cloak rippling in the wind as he stared at the building.
He only stood there a moment, before turning to leave. As he walked away, the wind caught on his robes, pulling them back.. Cyrus squinted his eyes, noticing a silver amulet dangling from the person's hip. As it bounced, the moonlight caught on an amethyst, nestled at its top.
A cold wave washed over Cyrus, and he stumbled back, his head suddenly growing fuzzy. The sensation passed soon after, though sweat drenched his palms and back.
'What was that?' Cyrus wondered. He shivered, and made sure the window was latched, before climbing into his bed. Only now, he was wide awake, without a drop of sleepiness in him.