A genius may light the world, but even they need a match to start the fire.
Binded
Time passed faster than I expected, and the sun had begun to dip, casting long, lazy shadows across the training yard. I stood near the edge, arms crossed and a smirk playing on my lips as I watched Olie prepare for his part of Mose's training. The boy had an expression that was somewhere between "I know exactly what I'm doing" and "I am definitely winging this." It was perfect.
Mose stood a few feet away, eyes narrowed, sweat already beading at his hairline from the previous training session. He shot me a glare, silently demanding a break that I chose to ignore.
"Alright," I called out, clapping my hands to draw their attention. "Olie, you're going to bind Mose with magic. Mose, your job is to get free before Olie makes you dance like a puppet."
Mose's eyes widened. "Dance? Are you serious?"
I raised an eyebrow. "Would you like me to throw in some torture to make it more realistic?"
Mose's face contorted in horror. "No! Definitely not!"
Olie, standing nearby with a grin, couldn't resist the opportunity to tease. "Too bad, because if Mose here doesn't break free in five seconds, I'm going to make him perform the 'tangled marionette' dance until he begs for his life."
Mose's hands shot up, palms facing out like he was trying to ward off an approaching storm. "Wait, hold on! I didn't sign up for this! I'm just here to, you know, train!"
I leaned back, smirking as Olie's magic shimmered to life around him in fluid, shimmering bands. "Training means suffering, Mose. Now, Olie, get on with it."
Mose gulped and squared his shoulders, his expression a mix of determination and dread. The moment Olie released the spell, the tendrils of magic wound around him, binding him in a loose but unmistakable hold.
I watched as he fumbled, twisting and pulling in all the wrong directions, trying to break free with the desperation of someone about to face the tangled marionette fate.
Olie raised an eyebrow, making a show of looking at his watch. "Five seconds are up. Ready for the dance?"
Mose's eyes went wide, then narrowed in defiance. "Fine! Watch this!"
He dropped to the floor, rolled sideways, and, in a move that seemed part escape attempt, part flailing. Then Olie sighed and made him dance like there was no tomorrow.
Mose's determination wavered as I watched him struggle. His arms flailed like he was trying to swat a swarm of bees, and he grunted with each failed attempt. The magic coils tightened around him like a boa constrictor with a grudge. Olie's smirk grew wider as he observed the show.
"Come on, Mose," I called out, trying to keep my tone encouraging.
He sighed dramatically, looking like he was on the brink of collapse. His arms drooped, and his shoulders slumped. "I can't. This is impossible."
Olie's eyes sparkled with mischief as he leaned forward. "Impossible, huh? That's the spirit! The more you say it's impossible, the more I'm inspired to make this interesting." His hands shimmered, and the tendrils of magic around Mose began to shift, making him spin in a clumsy pirouette.
"Stop! Wait!" Mose shouted, trying to anchor himself.
Mose's eyes darted around the room as if searching for an escape route, and the playful glint in Olie's eye made him more desperate. Then he dropped into a half-hearted squat and began to sway side to side, arms flailing in a loose approximation of dancing. I couldn't help but chuckle.
Mose's legs wobbled as he tried to twist out of Olie's magical hold, but the bindings were unyielding. He dropped to the floor in a dramatic heap, panting and red-faced.
"I can't do it! This is impossible!" he yelled, flailing his arms like a windmill caught in a storm.
Olie let out an exaggerated sigh, shaking his head as if he'd seen this drama a hundred times before. "Come on, Mose, you're not even trying. This is supposed to be fun."
Mose groaned, pushing himself up only to collapse back down. "Fun? This isn't fun! This is torture!"
"I was going easy on you, pal," Olie said, with an air of smugness that only made Mose's blood pressure spike.
I watched the scene unfold with a mixture of amusement and mild impatience. I had better things to do than watch Mose's increasingly pathetic attempts at breaking free. Pulling out my phone, I leaned against the wall, scrolling through the latest updates on my fan page.
"Why don't you try something unique?" Olie called out, making a series of graceful hand movements. Mose, still bound and struggling, mimicked him, flopping around like a fish on dry land.
"I can't!" Mose whined, his voice turning up an octave as he spun around which ended with him nearly face-planting into the floor.
I let out a bored sigh, eyes not leaving the screen as I tapped out a reply to a comment about my "mysterious aura" (a comment that made me snort). Meanwhile, Mose's dancing had turned into an uncoordinated, one-legged hop, his free arm waving wildly.
"I am a mage, not a damn ragdoll!" Mose shouted. The bindings tightened around him, adding an ironic twist to his struggle.
I peeked up just long enough to see Olie suppress a laugh behind his hand, and Mose's eyes were wide, pleading.
"Shay, help!" Mose shouted, his voice muffled by the floor.
"Shay, look at this!" Olie said, unable to hold back his laughter any longer as Mose tumbled in a flurry of limbs and frustration.
I looked up. Mose's face lit up with hope, only for me to lean in and mutter, "Not a chance."
His expression fell, and I shook my head, smiling at his exasperation. "Keep going, Mose. I haven't seen someone try so hard since the last time I tried to make a cake from scratch."
Mose groaned again, slumping to the floor, hands over his face. "I hate you, Shay. And I hate magic."
"Keep going, or the fan page is going to have the most embarrassing dance video of the century," I teased, half-joking but already picturing the memes that would come from this.
Mose, defeated but determined, pushed himself up again and tried another round.
Mose's face was flushed, sweat dribbling down his temple as he strained against Olie's binding spell. His arms shook, muscles burning with the effort of trying to outmatch magic with sheer willpower.
"I'm telling you, this is impossible!" he shouted, sweat slicking his hair to his face. He collapsed to the floor, panting, eyes blazing with frustration.
I watched him for a moment, the corners of my mouth twitching in a mix of sympathy and amusement. I had taken a few snapshots already—Mose flailing mid-air, mid-fall, and mid-tantrum—and I was tempted to share them with Rolo for maximum embarrassment. But, after an afternoon of watching him suffer through bruised pride and comically awkward poses, I decided it was time to lend him a hand.
I pushed off the wall and walked over, glancing down at him. "You're making this way harder than it needs to be, you know," I said, raising an eyebrow.
Mose looked up at me, defeated and on the verge of tears. "Really? Because it feels like I'm trying to wrestle a mountain with my pinky finger."
"Brute force isn't going to work, Mose." I sighed, crossing my arms. "Why don't you try thinking instead of just... doing whatever your body naturally wants?"
He shot me a glare. "Thinking got me nowhere so far."
"Try this," I said, crouching beside him. "It's a binding spell, right? That means it's in contact with your body. What if you tried to pull the magic out of it, instead of trying to break it the old-fashioned way?"
Mose's brows furrowed, and he hesitated, staring at the tendrils of light that were binding him. A few moments passed as he processed my words. I could practically see the wheels turning in his head.
"Wait, you're serious?" he muttered, then quickly caught himself, shaking his head. "No, wait—why did I just ask that? Of course, you're serious! Why would you joke about something like this?"
I shrugged. "The answer's in front of you, Mose. You should be able to tap into it if you focus. It's like... taking a sip from a glass of water. You just have to reach for it and let your mystbane nature loose."
I watched Mose with a mixture of impatience and intrigue as he strained against the binding spell. His muscles were tense, fingers digging into his palms.
But each time, he failed, panting and glaring at the invisible threads that held him in place. I could see it—the hesitation, the way his body trembled with suppressed fear. The fear that he might drain life and magic from others, a reflex so deeply ingrained it made him hesitate at every step.
"Focus, Mose," I said, letting a note of impatience slip into my voice. "It's just magic."
I watched as the anxiety flickered in his eyes, a deep, unyielding resistance holding him back from embracing his power. It was strange, in a way—how his body wanted to do what I asked, and yet his mind was shackled by doubt and guilt.
I sighed. "It's not about draining others. It's about draining a spell. If you're so afraid of harming others, you're cutting yourself off from your own potential."
His eyes darted to me, wide and searching. I let my gaze soften, the usual sharpness replaced with something gentler. I knew what it was like to fear the depths of one's power, to hold back because of what might happen. But I also knew that true mastery came from trusting that power, not fearing it.
With a shaky breath, Mose reached out again. His fingers brushed the space near the binding spell, and I felt it—an electric pull, small but undeniable. His eyes widened, pupils dilating as the energy seeped into him. A rush of warmth spread through his limbs, and he gasped as the bindings dissolved like smoke.
I nodded, the corner of my lips twitching upward. "There you go. You did it."
I watched as the realization of success sank into Mose's expression. The bindings dissolved, and he stood there, chest heaving with exhaustion, eyes wide with disbelief. "I did it," he whispered, as if he needed to say it out loud to make it real.
"You did," I said, my voice softer than usual. "Let your body work with the magic, not against it."
He stared at me, confusion mixing with that newfound spark in his eyes. "How do you know so much about this?"
I shrugged casually, though inside I was smiling. "I just know," I said, and the truth of it settled over me.
Mose's face lit up but before he could bask in the victory, I raised an eyebrow and crossed my arms.
"Good. Now do it five more times."
Mose's mouth fell open, a mix of horror and exhaustion contorting his face. "What? Are you serious? Five more times? I'm barely standing after the first!"
I tilted my head, the corner of my lips quirking up into a wicked smirk. "You think you're going to get stronger without pushing yourself, Mose? You're only as strong as the magic you can wield, and you're still holding back. You need to break that habit. Now, do it again."
"B-but—" he began, his voice cracking as he raised a hand in protest.
"No buts," I said, cutting him off. "Olie, you're still here, right? Bind him again."
Olie, who had been silently observing with an amused smirk, shrugged and stepped forward. "Gladly," he said, raising his hands and letting the magic slither out like quicksilver.
Mose let out a pained groan as the bindings tightened around him, pressing in like chains made of invisible iron. His face contorted as he tried to break free, his body moving through the motions, but this time the triumph was replaced by exhaustion and panic.
"Come on, Mose," I prodded, watching with feigned sympathy. "It's just five more times. Think of it as cardio, but with more magic and less sweat."
He glared at me with the intensity of someone who might just throw a punch if he weren't already caught in a spell. "This is worse than the worst punishment!" he shouted.
"I wouldn't know," I said, deadpan. "Never had to do it myself."
Olie chuckled, leaning against the wall with an expression that said he was delighted by the whole ordeal. "You know, I think he's starting to think you're a bit heartless, Shay."
I shrugged, watching Mose strain against the magic again. "Oh, he'll thank me one day. After the endless glory and power, of course."
Mose's eyes rolled up as if pleading for divine intervention, but he clenched his jaw and tried again. This was the start of the real training—when the body screamed for rest, but the mind had to push through. I knew he'd come out stronger, even if he didn't appreciate it now.
"Five times, Mose. Don't make me come over there and show you how it's done," I added with a grin.
I leaned back against the wall, phone in hand as I scrolled through the updates on my fan page. There was a new meme that had been posted: me, looking brooding and impossibly powerful, captioned with "The Hueless King: Still Scaring Mages and Taking Names." It made me roll my eyes, but I couldn't help the small, amused smirk that tugged at my lips.
Mose's muffled groan caught my attention. His body twisted and contorted, his arms straining as he pulled against the binding spell. "Why is this so hard?" he whined, voice punctuated with an exasperated sigh.
"Because you're stubborn and you refuse to think outside the box," I called out without looking up from my phone.
He stopped mid-struggle, panting, eyes shooting daggers my way. "Oh, don't you start, Shay! I'm doing my best here!"
I glanced up just long enough to watch his exhausted flail. The sight was almost hypnotic: Mose, tangled in invisible chains, eyes wide with desperation. I couldn't help but feel a small pang of amusement—this was almost like one of those training montages in old movies, except without the triumphant music and with an absurd amount of whining.
"Mose, you're not even trying to drain the magic out of it," I said, my voice laced with exasperation. "Your body wants it, so use it. Or you're going to spend the next hour flailing around like a fish out of water."
"Ugh, do I have to?" he moaned, dropping his head back in defeat before pushing himself upright to try again.
I rolled my eyes and returned to my phone. "Yes, you do. And don't stop whining. It's the only thing that makes this entertaining."
The next few minutes were a chorus of groans, frustrated gasps, and the occasional sound of magic crackling in the air. I scrolled through my notifications, a small smile on my face as Mose continued to make an absolute fool of himself.
"Why can't I just catch a break?" he shouted. I could almost hear the desperation in his voice, like he was trying to summon a higher power to intervene.
"Because if you could, you wouldn't be here," I said, under my breath, the glow of the phone screen lighting up my face as I chuckled.
(...)
I stepped into the kitchen, the familiar scent of chocolate and spices welcoming me as I moved toward the cabinet. I was going to make cocoa, and I was going to make it strong. The afternoon had been long, filled with Mose's failed attempts and endless whining. I deserved this break.
Rolo was already there, lounging against the counter with an apple in hand, taking slow, deliberate bites as if he had all the time in the world. His hair was a mess, like he'd just rolled out of bed, and his eyes sparkled with that perpetual mischief. He looked up when he noticed me, his mouth twisting into a grin.
"Hey, Shay. You're back," he said, the playful lilt in his voice suggesting he knew more than he was letting on.
I raised an eyebrow. "You've been watching, haven't you?"
Rolo shrugged, taking another bite of his apple and chewing slowly. "Oh, I caught the show from my window. Quite the spectacle, I must say."
I sighed and leaned against the counter, fingers drumming the side of the cabinet as I set to work making the cocoa. The rich scent of warm milk, dark chocolate, and a touch of cinnamon filled the room. I poured it into two mugs and slid one toward Rolo.
"Here, you've earned it. Even if you didn't help with the training, you were a perfect audience."
He raised the mug in mock salute, taking a long sip and sighing contentedly. "Thanks. Watching Mose's training was better than any afternoon nap."
We sat in the kitchen, the soft glow of the evening sun spilling through the window, painting everything in hues of gold and amber. The only sound was the gentle clink of our mugs as we sipped the cocoa, the warmth spreading through me like a small, comforting fire. For a while, we didn't speak, and I was content to let the silence stretch out, the stress of the day dissolving in the rich, velvety chocolate.
Rolo broke the silence first, eyes still focused on his mug as if it held some great secret. "You know, Shay," he said, finally looking up, "I want you to train me too."
I raised an eyebrow, the mug halfway to my lips. "I didn't know you were interested in dancing, Rolo."
Rolo rolled his eyes. "Not dancing."
He was thinking for a moment. "It's only been five days, but he's already making progress that's... well, it's ridiculous. I don't know what you're doing, but it's clearly working."
I set my mug down, the warm cocoa still swirling in the bottom. My fingers tapped lightly on the edge of the counter as I considered his request. Rolo wasn't the type to ask for help, let alone admit when someone else was doing something right. There was genuine curiosity in his eyes, something deeper than just the desire to be entertained.
"I've been watching you," Rolo said, leaning forward slightly. "Mose is a wreck, but I can see it in him. He's learning, and I know he's improving faster than he would have if he were training with me. Whatever method you're using, I want it."
I looked at him for a moment, studying his expression. There was no bravado, no hint of the lazy smirk he usually wore. Just the steady, determined gaze of someone who wanted more.
I leaned against the kitchen counter, studying Rolo as he watched me, eyes filled with that unspoken determination. He was a puzzle I could never quite piece together, a stubborn flame that burned bright even when faced with a storm. The kind of mage that left an impression on the world, even if his time here was always far too short.
I'd seen it in every past life of mine. Rolo might have died before reaching his full potential, but he was always remembered. Always a lingering thought, a whisper of possibility that never quite faded.
I knew there was little I could teach him. I'd already taught him how to shield his mind, the one skill that could protect him in the volatile world of mages. I looked at him, feeling the weight of past lives and all the times I'd watched him fight, rise, and fall, only to come back again.
I paused, thinking it over. There was still one more lesson I could give him.
I reached out with my consciousness, pulling his into my own. The world around us shifted, and suddenly, we were standing in the familiar meadow of my mindscape. The grass was a soft, vibrant green that rippled in the gentle breeze, and the sky above was painted with the hues of a twilight that never truly ended. Rolo looked around, eyes wide with surprise.
"What—how?" he asked clearly stunned.
I gave him a small smile.
"This is the last lesson I can teach you, Rolo," I said, my voice soft but steady. "You focus too much on keeping everything outside your mind. You spend so much time worrying about the barriers, the defenses, that you forget there are other ways in. Breaking the barriers isn't the only path to your mind."
He stared at me, searching for the meaning behind my words. I could see the questions brewing in his eyes. And I knew why—he had been trained to protect, to push back and now it was second nature to him to create walls and reinforce them. But now, I wanted him to understand that there was more power in being aware, in understanding the ways others might intrude than in simply reinforcing his defenses.
"If they pull you in, in that moment, you'll be as defenseless as if they'd breached your barriers," I added.
His eyes widened at the implication. The tension in his body spoke of the readiness to brace against an unseen attack, but I needed him to realize that being prepared wasn't just about building a stronger wall—it was about being aware of the subtle ways someone could bypass it.
"So, what do I do?" he asked, voice low but steady.
I met his gaze and let a touch of seriousness seep into my expression. "Always be aware of the pull, the shift around your mind. You don't just fight to keep your barriers intact—you fight to recognize when someone is trying to draw you in. Trust your instincts. Be ready to pull away, to send them back before they can reach you. That is the ultimate defense of your mind."
The meadow shifted with the wind, its golden hues seeming to deepen as if echoing the weight of my words. Rolo took a deep breath, nodding slowly. "I see. I never thought of that."
I watched him closely, noting the shift in his posture, the way his shoulders squared and his eyes burned with a new understanding. There was something different in his stance now, something more self-assured. It was the spark of realization, a new strength being forged.
"How did you figure this out?" he asked, eyes wide with genuine intrigue.
The question had a weight to it, a longing for understanding. I tilted my head slightly and nodded toward the willow tree that stood at the center of the meadow, its branches swaying as if whispering in response to our conversation.
Rolo's eyes followed my gesture, and his eyes widened when he noticed that the once bare branches of the willow were now full of leaves, their deep green vibrant and full of life. His eyes seemed to gleam with understanding.
"And here I thought this was just going to be about dancing like an idiot," he said, his tone light but laced with gratitude.
I chuckled, the sound echoing through the meadow, rich and warm.