The last lesson is the most enduring.
I approached the massive octagon, formed by the intersection of two regular squares, its geometric complexity revealing layers upon layers of polygons within. At the vertices of the innermost pentagon, the regalia sat—gleaming artifacts of immense power. Their brilliance seemed alive, saturating the air with oppressive magic. The chamber crackled with arcane energy, every pulse casting eerie, shifting shadows across my face. Each piece hummed with ancient might, resonating in my very bones.
Without hesitation, I stepped over one of the intricate lines of the magic circle. Some instinct assured me I wouldn't be harmed. My gaze locked onto the artifacts, and I reached out. The moment my fingers closed around the earring, its glow dimmed, like a fading star. One by one, I collected the button and the weighty metal bangle, slipping them into my pocket as the energy around me seemed to shift.
I was reaching for the final piece—a long-stemmed pipe—when it vanished before my eyes. A fraction of a second later, my hand shot out, catching her wrist before she could retreat with the artifact. Her movements had been fast—too fast—but not faster than me.
"One move and I'll smash your wrist to splinters," I said.
"One move, and I'll shatter your wrist," I said, my voice cold and unyielding.
Her eyes widened in shock, surprise flashing across her face before she masked it with calm defiance. She looked to be in her early thirties, though appearances could be deceiving. Chestnut-brown hair framed a face marked by a scar that stretched from her left cheek, down her jawline, and along her neck. Her greyish eyes flickered strangely, and as I held her gaze, they began to shift—taking on a shade of blue. What the hell?
"You can track my movements," she stated, her tone oddly matter-of-fact. "Are you... fae?"
Her eyes narrowed, a mix of surprise and defiance burning within them. She wasn't just an ordinary mage—she was something far more dangerous.
"Now's your only chance to hand over that damn pipe," I said, my voice sharp and cold. "Trust me—you won't get another."
She tilted her head and let out a low, grating chuckle that set my nerves on edge. "Don't even dream of it," she replied, her words dripping with mockery.
My patience was wearing thin, and I tightened my grip, feeling the beast within me stir. It was an ancient, primal force—savage and untamed—itching for battle. Yet, it didn't lunge or attack. Instead, it savored the tension, almost purring with delight at the challenge this mage posed. What the hell was going on?
"Give it back while I still have patience," I growled, my voice low and threatening.
The beast inside me growled too, but not with the usual thirst for destruction. It craved something different this time: a clash of wills, the thrill of dominance and subjugation—not death. Not this time. That was new.
"I'm afraid I'll have to disappoint you," she said coolly. "I need it."
"Kill her!" came Livius's sharp, familiar voice.
I glanced over my shoulder. The tiny mage stood trembling, his body taut with anger and emotion, his gaze locked on her like a flame threatening to consume. His smoldering intensity would have sent most people running.
She, however, merely smiled sweetly, as if mocking his rage. "Livius. How are you these days?"
Livius didn't respond to her taunt. His piercing glare shifted to me instead. "What are you waiting for? Kill her!"
The beast within me growled again—but this time, it wasn't at her. It wanted to kill him.
I turned back to her, meeting her eyes. They weren't the shifting grey-blue they had been moments ago. Now they were warm, golden-brown. The beast inside me quieted, eerily calm. What the hell?
"You're not a bad guy, are you?" she asked softly, a gentle smile lighting her scarred face.
Her warmth stirred something in me, something I hadn't felt since meeting Hajnal. Despite Livius's barking orders, my grip loosened. She noticed—of course, she did. Her smile deepened, and with a deft motion, she slipped her hand free. Before I could react, she was gone.
"Why?!" Livius snapped, his voice a sharp whip in the air. "Why didn't you listen to me? Why didn't you kill her?!"
"I didn't want to," I said quietly, my voice steady despite the storm in my chest.
His sharp laughter cut through the tension like a blade. "No kidding!" he spat. "You had her! No one's even managed to touch her for decades! And you just let her go—with one of the regalia, no less!" His frustration exploded into a shout.
"You don't understand, Livius," I said, my tone icy and unyielding. "I never kill without reason. She did nothing to me. How could you expect me to murder her in cold blood?"
The coldness in my words seemed to bring him back to his senses. His shoulders dropped, and his gaze lost its edge. For a moment, he looked almost defeated.
"All right," he said at last, his voice softer now. "I understand. But Shaytan..." His tone hardened, cutting through the quiet like a knife. "If you lose sight of the consequences of war for the sake of one battle, you'll eventually become the murderer of many. That's the weight of a ruler's responsibility."
(...)
I stared into the flames, lost in thought. The flickering light danced on the edges of my vision as Aleshio sat silently beside me, his presence almost weightless.
"What's on your mind?" he asked, his voice laced with genuine curiosity.
"It was too easy," I muttered. "Killing the necromancer, I mean. I thought it'd be harder."
He raised an eyebrow. "You almost died. Twice, if we're counting."
I shrugged, and he sighed, a mix of exasperation and amusement.
"At his full strength, you wouldn't have stood a chance," Aleshio said bluntly. "Don't fool yourself. You didn't win because you were strong—you won because your opponent was weak. You still have a long way to go."
He paused, watching the fire with a contemplative expression before continuing. "There's only one true way to kill a necromancer."
I glanced at him, intrigued. "And that is?"
"Keep him away from his cave for more than a day."
"What?"
Aleshio's tone grew more thoughtful, almost somber. "No one knows why, but a necromancer cannot survive long outside the place where they were reborn. If they stay away for more than a day, their soul is forcibly ripped from their body, and they vanish. Not a trace remains—not even bones. Within their realm, they're nearly omnipotent, but that power comes at a price: they're bound to it."
"Then how did he—?"
"He found a loophole," Aleshio interrupted. "He sealed his soul into that pendant. It gave him freedom but drained his strength. Add to that the energy he used powering up the amulets, and you were facing a weakened necromancer. That's the only reason you had a chance."
"I see…" I said, though the words felt hollow.
Aleshio studied me carefully, his sharp eyes missing nothing. "There's something else troubling you."
I hesitated before admitting, "His true form—it was… familiar. Too familiar."
"To one of your friends," Aleshio said, finishing my thought. I nodded.
"You've guessed correctly," he said with a bitter smile. "The necromancer was one of his ancestors. A powerful bloodline, now nearly devoid of magic. That's how the world is changing. Within nine centuries, even the greatest mages' descendants lose their spark."
I frowned. "Moses told me he has the necromancer's diary. Should I be worried? He won't suddenly try to conquer the world, will he?"
Aleshio chuckled. "No, it's an early diary. Back then, he was just a curious kid documenting his experiments. Nothing sinister. Yet."
We fell into a companionable silence, the fire crackling softly between us. After a while, I broke it.
"One last question."
Aleshio arched an eyebrow. "Just one?"
"Who was that woman? And why did Livius want me to kill her so badly?"
He sighed, leaning back as if bracing himself. "That's two questions, Shay. But I'll indulge you."
I shrugged, waiting.
"Her name is Myriad. The Mage of a Thousand Colours. People call her that because her eyes reflect her emotions—their hues shifting like a living canvas, as you saw."
He gazed into the distance, his voice taking on a softer, more introspective tone. "Who she really is, no one knows. She's one of the oldest mages still alive. Volatile and unpredictable. I've crossed paths with her a few times. Her fury has wiped villages off the map, but despite being on opposing sides, I wouldn't say I dislike her."
His expression darkened. "Many want her dead—and not without reason. Her plans have caused countless deaths. No one ever knows what she's plotting, and that makes her dangerous."
He turned his piercing gaze to me. "She owes you her life now. That's no small thing, Shaytan. Even for someone like her, a debt like that isn't easily forgotten. It's a dangerous game, but having her as a debtor may work in your favor."
Aleshio stood, stretching as if shedding the weight of his memories. "But be warned—your actions have consequences. The Circle knows your name now. They'll be watching, and some won't stop at that."
I nodded, watching as he glanced at his body, a shadow of sadness flickering across his face.
"I should go. The owner of this body will notice eventually."
I tilted my head. Borrowed, huh?
He gave a wry smile. "I don't belong here anymore."
"Indeed," I said, though the word felt inadequate.
For a moment, he stared at the flames, his voice quiet and distant. "Sometimes, I miss this world."
I kept my eyes on the fire, unwilling to meet his gaze. I didn't want to see the longing there, or the weight of what couldn't be undone. The veil between our worlds was too thin, too fragile. Aleshio could never return here—just as I could never cross into the Mirrorworld. To try would risk breaking the balance.
"Tell me," he murmured, his voice barely above a whisper. "Will you remember me?"
I shot him a glare. "How could I forget? I couldn't forget an annoying person like you even if I wanted to."
Aleshio chuckled softly, his smile more genuine than I'd ever seen. I stood, brushing dirt off my pants before letting out a resigned sigh. Holding out my hand to him, I noticed his momentary hesitation before he clasped it. His fingers lingered longer than necessary, as if he were savoring the connection, and then, almost reluctantly, he let go. His eyes shimmered with a peculiar light, a color that seemed otherworldly.
"Because we are similar," he said with quiet certainty.
The color drained from my face.
He smirked, a glint of mischief dancing in his expression. "Oh, don't look so shocked. I lied when I said I couldn't read minds. Of course I can. I am the greatest mage, after all."
I rolled my eyes, but he continued unabated. "You've forgotten that there are people who can completely control the rhythm of their hearts, hiding their truths even in plain sight. So, to answer your question—why I chose you—it's because we are alike. I saw it in you, even through the ice of that frozen puddle during your fight with Dorian Vincze. Only for a moment, but it was enough."
"What do you mean, 'we are similar'?" I asked, wary of the answer.
"You have the same glow," he explained, his voice softening. "It's something only necromancers and those connected to the Mirrorworld can perceive. I can't describe it properly, but it's there. And, more importantly..." He paused, a faint smile curving his lips. "You don't crave power. That's why I can trust you with the future."
"Please don't," I groaned, grimacing. "It sounds like too much work."
Aleshio chuckled, a deep, knowing laugh. "Nothing is too much work when it's for the ones we love and wish to protect."
I didn't respond. I didn't have to. He already knew what I was thinking.
"The last thing I'll say about necromancers—about Giro," he said, his tone growing serious. "Why do you think he told you his real name?"
I stared at him, blank.
He raised an eyebrow and eventually sighed. "All mages hide their real names because names hold immense power. For necromancers, though, it's even more significant. If you know a necromancer's true name, you can call on them."
"Call on them?" I repeated, the words catching in my throat.
"Yes," he confirmed with a solemn nod. "No matter where you are in the world, even if you're separated by oceans, if you call their name, they will hear it."
My mind spun as I tried to process the revelation. I couldn't hide the shock on my face. "Why?" I finally managed to ask.
Aleshio's eyes bore into mine. "Because I chose you. You are my successor."
His declaration hit me like a tidal wave, leaving me breathless. I could feel the weight of his choice settling over me, heavy and unyielding. My heart thudded in my chest, the enormity of his words reverberating through me.
I had never asked for power. Never wanted the responsibility that came with it. Yet here I was, chosen by one of the greatest mages to carry, entrusted with a legacy I didn't fully understand.
"You can't do this to me," I whispered, my voice trembling under the weight of my emotions. "I never asked for this."
Aleshio's gaze softened as he stepped closer, placing a firm but gentle hand on my shoulder. "I know, Shay," he said quietly.
And that was all. No excuses, no hollow reassurances. He didn't try to soothe my anger or unravel the knot of frustration tightening in my chest.
I turned away from him, fixing my eyes on the hearth. The flames flickered and danced, their shadows twisting and curling against the walls. They seemed to whisper of the weight now thrust upon me, a burden I neither wanted nor knew how to carry.
Deep within, the beast stirred—restless, uneasy. He growled faintly, but even in his agitation, he understood one thing: Aleshio was untouchable. No matter how much I wanted to punch him, the beast would never dare act against him. He was the only one who could make me halt.
"Remember this," Aleshio said, breaking the heavy silence. "You can call on Giro. He will come to your aid. And so will I, in whatever way I can."
His words were meant to reassure, but they only fueled my irritation. "Why must it be me?" I spat bitterly. "Why can't you choose Livius?"
"I'm going to erase some of Livius' memories," he said, dodging my question entirely.
"What?" I turned to him.
"The memories of the true purpose of the regalia, the magic circle, and the method the necromancer used to seal his soul into the pendant," he explained calmly. "With just a glance, Livius could unravel the spells, understand the intricacies. I trust him—but that kind of knowledge is too dangerous to leave with anyone. Every mage craves power, no matter how noble their heart. I simply won't take the risk of tempting him."
His voice carried a sadness that made me falter.
"And you," Aleshio continued, his tone shifting to something sterner, "you must understand this: most beings desire power. Many would covet the throne you were born to claim. Even if you don't want it, even if you'd rather throw it away, you will have to fight for it. And if you don't..."
He waved off my attempt to interrupt, his voice gaining an edge of warning. "If you don't, they will destroy you. They will destroy your famiglia. You won't even have a chance to surrender peacefully. Become a king, Shay. Not for power. Not for glory. But to protect the things—and the people—you adore."
"Becoming a king would mean losing them," I shot back, my voice rising. "It would mean giving up the quiet life I've fought so hard to hold on to! Everyone would find out who I was, what I was, and hunt me down!"
Aleshio's lips curved into a sly smile. "What are you talking about, Shaytan? No one would believe you're the Hueless King. He has silver hair and claws."
I let out a long, exasperated sigh. Of course, he found this amusing.
"The next thing concerns your royal title," Aleshio began, his tone serious. "I suppose you've noticed that people tend to... grant your wishes."
"Mm-hmm," I waved dismissively, "Fae mumbo jumbo."
Aleshio raised an eyebrow, clearly unimpressed with my explanation. "Endearing as the fae may be, Shay, they can't do that," he said, catching me off guard.
I blinked. "What are you getting at?"
"It's a rare ability that rulers possess," he explained, his voice calm but deliberate. "It's called the King's Command. In your case, it hasn't fully manifested yet. I had hoped to teach you how to wield it, but it seems I won't have the chance. Still..." He paused, his expression softening. "I have no doubt you'll master it on your own."
I stared at him, utterly incredulous, but Aleshio simply smiled, as if my disbelief amused him.
"Time to go," he remarked, though he made no move to leave just yet.
Finally, he placed a hand on my shoulder, his eyes searching mine. "Take care, Shay. I'm sure you'll make a fine king."
I grimaced instinctively, and he chuckled—a warm, fleeting sound. With a nod toward the living room, where my friends lingered, he turned and disappeared through the door. Aldo Aleshio Baldassarre, the world's most stubborn and sentimental black mage, had officially exited my life, leaving me to deal with the mess he'd dropped in my lap.
"What were you two talking about?" Alex asked, stepping forward as soon as the door closed.
I drew in a huge, steadying breath, ready to vehemently deny everything, but Rolo cut me off before I could utter a word.
"We didn't hear anything," Rolo said nervously, rubbing the back of his neck. He'd been on edge ever since black mages decided to insert themselves into our lives. "He must've used some kind of spell."
"Oh."
"So?" the wolf chimed in, clearly unimpressed by the lack of answers. Rolo's eyes sparkled with curiosity, betraying his own interest.
"He didn't say anything special," I replied smoothly, shrugging. "Just some cryptic warning about my future."
Livius waited by the door, leaning against the wall with his arms crossed and his eyes shut. He only opened them when his master appeared beside him, his expression calm yet heavy with unspoken words.
"There are a few things that need an explanation," Livius began, his voice measured but laced with tension.
Aleshio said nothing, his silence inviting the tiny mage to press on.
"Was he the only one who could have found the regalia, and that's why you chose him?" Livius asked, his eyes narrowing. "Or could he find them because you chose him?"
Aleshio gave a small nod, his lack of verbal response leaving Livius to interpret the answer as he saw fit.
"And how was he able to enter the circle?" Livius demanded, his voice rising slightly as he pulled a treasured locket from beneath his robes. "It was too close to the other regalia. The gates opened for only a moment—it should've been impossible."
Aleshio's gaze pierced his apprentice's, calm but unreadable.
"How do you think he managed it?" Aleshio countered, deflecting the question back to Livius.
Livius ran a hand through his hair, frustration flickering across his face. The movement seemed so oddly human on his youthful, almost childlike features.
"That's just it," he admitted, exasperated. "I can't figure it out!"
"That's not true," Aleshio said gently. "You've already found the answer. You just can't bring yourself to accept it."
Livius's lips trembled as his gaze dropped to the grass beneath his feet. His fingers tightened around the locket, as if it could anchor him. Aleshio glanced up at the sky, his expression wistful, as though savoring a fleeting moment.
"You may feel it no longer belongs to you," Aleshio began softly, "but I still believe its rightful place is in your hands. The regalia yielding to his will doesn't diminish you, Liv. It only proves he is worthy of being my disciple."
"If I had gone..." Livius's voice faltered, and he had to pause to steady himself. "Could I have stopped the spell?"
Aleshio sighed deeply, his gaze still fixed on the heavens. "Who knows?"
They both knew the answer would remain unspoken. Silence stretched between them, the weight of their conversation settling in the air. Aleshio studied the sky, while Livius stared at the grass as though seeking answers there.
"One thing you should know," Aleshio said at last, his voice firm but kind. "That day, I chose this fate for myself. I forbid you from carrying guilt for it any longer."
Livius looked up, startled. His wide eyes reflected disbelief, his lips parting as if to protest. But Aleshio's warm smile—filled with a rare, sincere affection—silenced him. Gently, the older mage ruffled his apprentice's hair, an act so simple yet so profound.
"This is our farewell, Liv," Aleshio said softly, though there was no bitterness in his tone. "And likely our final one."
Tears welled up in Livius's eyes as he nodded, his head still bowed under Aleshio's large, comforting hand. For a fleeting moment, it seemed as though time itself might freeze, granting them an eternal goodbye. But Aleshio's hand slipped away, and the moment passed.
"I am proud of you," Aleshio declared, his voice steady and full of conviction. "You have become a noble and powerful mage. A true sorcerer."
Livius could bear no more. He bowed deeply, his trembling form betraying the tears he tried to conceal.
"It has been the greatest honor to know you and learn from you," he said, his voice breaking. "Thank you for everything, Master."
The tears fell freely now, shimmering on the grass like drops of silver. When Livius finally lifted his head, Aleshio was gone, leaving no trace behind—only the memory of his presence and the weight of his parting words.
Livius stood frozen, silent tears streaming down his cheeks, only to fall like silvery pearls into the abyss. I drew back the blackout curtain.