After he finished breakfast, Cyrus followed Sylven upstairs, and through the dark archway across from his room. A long corridor sat beyond the stone, with a dim light illuminating the end. As they grew closer, Cyrus's eyes widened in disbelief.
The corridor opened into a large stone hall, with a steepled roof, adorned by a circular glass window, overlooking the city of Galeden, and the clear blue sky. Rays of light revealed a series of strange scorch marks, piles of ash, and warped statues that resembled molten waterfalls, frozen in time. A pile of broken crates and empty barrels sat beside the door, the wood charred and twisted.
'What happened in here?' Cyrus wondered. The room resembled a battlefield, brimming with danger. A shiver ran down his spine.
As he scanned the room, a cluster of frost caught his attention, encasing the sleek form of a feminine statue. Despite the warm temperature, the shards of crystalized ice sparkled in the sunlight, adorned by rising tendrils of mist.
'That's odd… I wonder what type of spell could cause this?' Cyrus wondered. He hesitantly approached the statue, and drew his hand through the mist. Particles of ice clung to his skin, and goosebumps ran up his arm.
"You'd be wise to leave that alone, lest you wish to lose your fingers to frostbite," Myrel warned. He stood at a desk set within an alcove, lined with vials and jars. "It's a spell I cast three months ago, and I still have yet to figure out a way to disperse it."
Cyrus moved a few steps back, and wiped his fingers off on his trousers. "Is it really that dangerous?"
"More than you might think," Myrel said, rummaging through his wares. He twisted open a jar, and eyed its contents with a frown. "Most magic is. That particular spell I discovered while translating a scroll from the kingdom of Ildrain, and it nearly killed me to cast it. Fortunately, I had Sylven here, and he pulled me back in time."
"Though I nearly lost my arm in the process," Sylven said, strolling silently across the room. Cyrus frowned. The young man walked with unnatural grace.
"Say, do you know what I did with the vial of ildrium seeds?" Myrel asked. "I can't find them."
"They're to your left," Sylven said. He reached over Myrel's shoulder, and picked up a small glass bottle filled with red bead-like seeds. "Apologies. I reorganized your shelves after you summoned a whirlwind in here."
"Did you? Well, I suppose it does look better," Myrel said. He made his way to the center of the room, and waved his hand. "Wriese steone."
Cyrus grabbed hold of the wall as the floor shook with a rumble. Dust fell loose from the rafters, while the glass jars rattled against one another. His eyes widened as the stone bricks shifted, scraping against each other as they rose and created a circular table, upon which Myrel set the vial, and his books.
As the room stopped shaking, Cyrus studied the floor, now noticing a spider web of lines, evenly spaced. "Does the entire floor move?"
"If we need it to," Sylven said. He sat against the table. "The walls move too, allowing us to experiment with different spells. It's come in handy a number of times."
"Does anything ever go wrong?"
Sylven chucked. "Of course. We're dealing with lost and roughly translated incantations here. Every spell we cast has the possibility of going wrong."
"That's where my observatory comes in," Myrel said. He unhooked his robe, and draped it over the table, then motioned towards the walls. "Each stone you see is layered with arrays to keep our magic from leaking out, and affecting the kingdom. It's a spell I created when I was younger, after I nearly burned down a village stable."
"I see," Cyrus said. He made his way over. "It's nice to know I'm not the only one who's lost control of their magic. How did you learn to master it?"
"With years of trial and error, and, of course, a good teacher," Myrel said, popping the cork on the vial, and dropping two seeds onto the table. They were covered in coarse fur, and emitted a pungent aroma. "He helped me train, and taught me the basics of most of the incantations I know now. Sadly, I was young, and impatient, and thought myself better than him, so I left."
Myrel sat beside the table, and stretched out his hands over one of the seeds. "But enough about that. For now, I wish to test your connection with aether. To do that, you'll need to learn how to awaken your magic, then cut it off. Incantations help with that, like this. Eisren ilvine."
The air beneath Myrel's hand rippled as the seed trembled, then sprouted roots, and a thin green stalk, which grew a few centimeters before slowing to a stop. Cyrus leaned against the stone, narrowing his eyes. While the plant had grown, its seed had faded from its crimson color into a duller grey.
Beside him, Myrel pulled back his hand. "There. As you can see, the plant grew, but withered as it did. This is because you can never use more aether than what's provided in your surroundings."
"You said everything had its own aether, but I didn't see the stones fading in color when you moved them. Why is that?" Cyrus asked.
Myrel's eyes twinkled. "A good question. What I did there was simply raise the stones, nothing more. However, when I caused the seed to sprout, I spread the aether out, dispersing it. If you can, imagine each object in the world to be a cup of water. You can move the cup, and the water moves with it, but if you were to stretch out the cup, the water would thin as well. Overtime, more water would fill the cup, but it would take it from its surroundings. Does that make sense?"
"A bit," Cyrus said. He glanced between the seeds. "Do you mind if I try it?"
"Go right ahead," Myrel said. "I've chosen an incantation which deals with plants, since that seems to be what you're most comfortable with. Just repeat the words as I did, and try to establish a connection. It doesn't matter if it works the first time or not."
"I'll see what I can do," Cyrus said. He tentatively held his hand over the moss. His heart hammered in his chest, loud enough for him to hear as he took a deep breath.
"Eisren ilvine."