Sylven scanned the soft grass, encircled by a wall of thick maples. "We might as well. I doubt we'll find anything as decent for the next few hours, and by then, night would have set in. Would you mind gathering water?"
Cyrus nodded, and headed over to the bank. He carried the pot with him, and filled it to the brim. As he brought it back, he spotted Sylven kneeling over a pyramid of branches.
"Serifel, delferin." Sylven said. He snapped his fingers, and a flame sparked to life at the base of the sticks.
"Serifel… That's the word for fire, right?" Cyrus asked. He handed the pot to Sylven, and settled on a rotten log.
Sylven nodded. "It is. As I'm certain Master Myrel told you, you can command aether by speaking the origin name of something, therefore altering its existence. Follow it with a series of commands, and you create an incantation."
Cyrus removed his hood with a frown. "What if you pronounce the word wrong?"
"Nothing would happen," Sylven said. He shifted a few of the logs, causing a flicker of sparks to burst free. "Magic is dependent on intention. Without it, you're only muttering noises. Does that make sense?"
"But what if you're uncertain about what you want to happen?" Cyrus asked.
"That's when magic becomes dangerous," Sylven said. He rummaged through his pack, retrieving his dagger, and some vegetables. As he peeled a potato, he spoke in a somber tone. "Without a clear intention, aether becomes unpredictable. Sure, the incantation helps guide it, but that's only a small part of it."
Cyrus frown deepened, and Sylven furrowed his brow.
"Ah, I know. I'll show you an example," Sylven said. He tossed the strips of potato into a pot, and stretched out his hand to the fire. "Serifel, denete."
Cyrus leaned back as the flames swirled into an orb, which rose from the smoldering wood to hover before them. The heat radiating from the orb warmed his skin, while the surrounding shadows retreated behind the trees.
Sylven glanced at Cyrus with a grin, before repeating the incantation. Before them, the ball exploded, forming tendrils of fire which spun outward, and through the branches and leaves. Cyrus craned his neck back as the flames danced through the clearing, before fading away.
"Incredible," Cyrus said.
"Isn't it?" Sylven asked. He snapped his fingers at the embers, and muttered the name of fire, causing the campfire to burst back into existence. "That's why practice is important. If you'd like, you could give it a go."
"I'll- I'll see what I can do," Cyrus said. He glanced around and noticed a small maple stalk growing beside his foot. Calming his breathing, he focused on the plant. As the world faded, he felt the familiar tingle of aether, spreading through his body.
Bit by bit, he guided it towards his fingers, and then towards the plant. Sylven watched as the sapling wiggled, then grew an inch, and sprouted a new leaf.
"It seems you've gotten a hang of that now," Sylven said, dropping the sliced vegetables into the pot. They fell with a splash. "Should we move onto better control?"
"What do you mean?" Cyrus asked.
"Do you see that pebble there?" Sylven asked, gesturing towards a small red rock, nestled in the dirt. "Send the roots to it, and lift it out of the ground."
Cyrus tilted his head, and thought for a moment. "That shouldn't be to hard"
Taking his time, he focused on his connection to the aether. The warmth in his chest grew as he felt his conscious brush against something, like a soft feather, running across his thoughts. He closed his eyes, and breathed in, inhaling the scent of the forest.
The rich dirt, and fragrant flowers, mixed with the aroma of leaves and bark. The rustling whisper of the grove entered his mind, merging with his thoughts. When Cyrus opened his eyes, the maple sapling had grown another three inches, and its roots now pushed through the dirt.
'Now, all I have to do is pick up the rock.' Cyrus thought, shifting his gaze.
The aether rushed through his veins as the sapling's root stretched across the ground, and twirled around the rock. He felt the weight of it as if he was holding it in his own palm, and with a single thought, tightened his grip on it.
Beside him, Sylven arched his brow as the pebble split down the middle with a crack, and the two halves dropped to the dirt. "That… was new. You're gaining a hold of your magic quicker than I thought"
"Perhaps you're right," Cyrus said. The warmth faded from his body as he released his hold over the sapling, and picked up the pebble. He bounced the two halves in his hand, then tossed them into the bushes. "There's a sense of familiarity about it. As though I've possessed this magic all my life."
"It's possible you have, though you forgot when you lost your memories," Sylven said. He stirred the pot once more, then grabbed their bowls, and filled them with a splash. "If that's true, it would explain your quick learning."
Cyrus furrowed his brow, and shifted through the fragments of his memories. He winced as the familiar pressure tightened around his head. "I suppose it's possible, but whenever I try to remember, my head feels like it's being rolled over by a wagon."
"Well, I'm certain they'll return sooner or later. For now, let's eat," Sylven said.
Cyrus took a bite, then grabbed his pack, and retrieved a sliver of jerky. Tearing it into small chunks, he stirred into the soup.
"Good idea," Sylven said, following suit. "This will add a bit of flavor."
After that, the two finished their meals, and Sylven went to wash their bowls. While he was gone, Cyrus scanned the area around the fire, then chose two spots with ample grass. Stretching out his hand, he focused on the strands as the flow of aether surged through him.
The grass rose and intertwined, creating two padded nests. When Sylven returned, he glanced at the cots, and grinned.
"What did I say? You're already getting a hang of it." Sylven tossed their bowls into his pack, and rolled out his leather mat. He yawned as he sat down, and gazed into the fire. "If you'd like, I can keep watch first. We can switch at the fourth hour."
"It's fine," Cyrus said, waving his hand. "You seem more tired than I am. Go ahead, and rest. I'll wake you when it's your time."
"I hoped you'd say that," Sylven said. He grabbed a tunic from his pack, and rolled it into a ball. Minutes after he laid his head down, the rhythmic sound of him snoring rose into the night.
Cyrus frowned, but let him sleep. As the hours passed, he stoked the fire, then leaned back and watched the stars flicker in the night sky. The moon's silver hue shone through the branches, and the sound of the night's insects hummed in the background.
Bored, Cyrus picked up a knotted twig, and twirled it between his fingers. A small leaf clung to its side. Curious, he held the twig in front of his eyes, and released a small bit of aether. The stick trembled, then sprouted a new leaf, and a small bud.
'New life, huh?' Cyrus thought. He tossed the twig into the forest, and pulled his tunic tighter, hoping to shield out the cold air. When that didn't help, he grabbed a few logs from the stack of firewood, and tossed them in.
As the wood cracked and popped, a branch snapped out in the forest, deep in the undergrowth. With a jolt, Cyrus jumped to his feet, and grabbed the pot. Flipping it over, he threw it over the fire, snuffing out the light.
A blanket of clouds covered the moon, and it took him a moment to adjust to the darkness. Quick on his toes, he crept over to Sylven, and shook him awake, while holding a finger to his lips.
Sylven scowled, but climbed quietly to his feet, and crouched low beside Cyrus. "What is it? Did you see something?"
"I think I heard something, but I can't be certain," Cyrus said. As he scanned the trees, a flicker of silver flashed between the trunks a league away, but vanished just as quickly. "Did you see that?"
Sylven shook his head. "No. What?"
Cyrus turned back to the forest, his eyes darting back and forth. The only sound came from chirping crickets, and the beat of bats wings, as they flew overhead. A minute passed, then two. After the third, he relaxed his shoulders, and sat on his mat with a sigh. "Nevermind. I think I'm just on edge."
Sylven frowned, and glanced at the sky. "Well, I suppose it was time for me to wake up anyway. Why don't you rest for now. When you wake up, it'll be time to go."
"Alright, but stay on your guard," Cyrus said. He scanned the forest once more, then laid back on his cot. As he watched the clouds pull away from the moon, Sylven worked with the fireplace, stirring the embers until a small flame wavered to life.