Cyrus sagged against the bed frame. A part of him had been worrying about the citizens, and what might have happened to them. As he listened, the young man spoke again.
"You know, they're searching for our guest. Fortunately, I don't think anyone got a good look at him. How is he, anyway?"
"You can ask him yourself," Myrel said. He glanced at Cyrus. "He awoke a few hours ago."
Cyrus dropped from the cot, and stepped out of the room. A young man stood at the bottom of the stairs, with locks of blond hair, and sharp blue eyes. He wore a black cloak, and carried a pack hoisted over his shoulder.
"You're the young man I saw earlier," Cyrus said, frowning. "In the market. You were haggling with the ink seller."
"Yes, he was quite the difficult negotiator," the man said with a grin. He climbed the stairs, and stretched out his hand. "My name is Sylven, son of Loften."
Cyrus shook his hand. "Cyrus. It's good to meet you."
"Likewise," Sylven said. "I'm glad you're doing better. I overheard you searching for a scholar, and I saw what happened in the market. I thought it'd be best to bring you here, at least until things died down in the kingdom."
"You said there were no deaths, as of yet?" Cyrus asked, wringing his hands.
Sylven nodded. "That's right. A number of injuries, but nothing life threatening. You were quite fortunate. Any number of things could have gone wrong, but it seems your magic protected the people just as much as it put them in danger."
Cyrus sighed in relief, and smiled. "I'm glad to hear it. I never meant any harm. I just lost control of my magic. It hasn't been long since I even realized I could use it."
Sylven frowned, and glanced at Myrel. The old man rubbed his beard.
"It's a long story. Best told over dinner. Say, did you get the clothes I mentioned?"
"Ah, yes. They're right here," Sylven said. He slipped off his pack, and retrieved a new wool tunic, and a pair of breeches, which he handed to Cyrus. "Here, these should fit you. We noticed yours were torn and dirty."
"I- I see… Thank you," Cyrus said.
"After you change, why don't you meet us downstairs," Myrel said. "We can discuss what to do going forward, and how to best help you."
Cyrus nodded, and returned to his room. The new clothes were a snug fit, and a vast improvement over the dirt stained and tattered clothes he took off. The sheer difference in his appearance afterwards explained why none of the merchants were willing to speak to him. From there, he quickly wiped his arms and neck with a wet cloth, then made his way downstairs.
Berrodin sat at the table, while Sylven stood beside the fireplace, scraping a variety of diced vegetables into a pot. He glanced up as Cyrus approached, and eyed him over.
"Much better. Why don't you take a seat while I finish supper."
Cyrus sat beside Myrel, who flipped through a pristine book, with a black cover, and strange letters. They appeared misshapen, and twisted, containing some deeper meaning.
"What are those?" Cyrus asked.
Myrel looked up from the book. "These would be runes, an ancient written language, forbidden and forgotten by most. The book itself contains information on all the races, and their kingdoms throughout Delahost. I thought it might contain some hint on the place you mentioned earlier, but I haven't had much luck so far."
"What about the Arbor Sanctum?" Cyrus asked. "Any reference to that?"
Myrel shook his head. "I'm afraid not. It's the oddest thing. I have a vast collection of forbidden tomes, and scrolls upstairs, and yet none have opened any leads. It looks as though I'll have to dig deeper to figure it out."
"Is there anything I can do to help?" Cyrus asked.
"Possibly," Myrel said, snapping the book shut. "Your magic… It intrigues me, and might hold the key to figuring this out. If I can, I'd like to study it, and, perhaps at the same time, help you learn how to control it. What do you think?"
Cyrus stared at his hands, pondering his options. If he learned from Myrel, then he wouldn't have to worry about losing control again, as he did only hours ago. The thought appealed to him, and he slowly nodded.
"If you're offering, then I would be a fool to refuse," Cyrus said. He shifted his gaze to Myrel. "It's unlikely I'll be better off elsewhere."
"Yes, I see what you mean," Myrel said. He raised his brow. "Very well then. As of now, you are welcome to stay here, and learn from me. At the same time, I will continue looking into your past, and this place known as Amuriel."
"When do we start?" Cyrus asked.
Myrel grinned. "Tomorrow, first thing in the morning. For now, why don't we enjoy supper, and get to know one another better. There is much to be learned, after all."
…
Hours later, darkness crept through the streets of Galeden, as the ivory moon rose over the kingdom. The pale flicker of lanterns shone through the windows, while a dog barked in the distance. Alone, Cyrus sat in his room, at the desk beneath the window. The light of a wax candle illuminated the pages of the alchemy journal, sharpening the outlines of the charcoal letters.
So far, not a single mention of the ogre's rampaging, nor was their blood black in the records. This only confirmed his theory that both the ogre and the boar were cursed by dark magic. As the hours passed, and the wax dripped down the candlestick, Cyrus's eyes grew heavy. Blinking, he slipped a blank sheet of parchment into the book, and set it to the side.
Stretching his back with a yawn, he glanced out the window. Silver clouds drifted through the night sky as though they were ships adrift in a wide sparkling sea. A duskpine owl soared through the air, a small mouse caught between its beak.
Then, a flicker of movement drew his gaze to the end of the street below. Cyrus frowned, and blew out his lantern, 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.
The following morning, Cyrus rubbed his weary eyes, and made his way down to the dining room. The aroma of fresh loaves, glazed in honey, rose from the three plates set out on the table. A golden bun adorned each, along with cuts of roast beef, and a side of porridge. Myrel sat at the head of the table, sipping from a steaming mug.
"Morning. I was just about to call for you," Sylven said, placing a bowl of shredded eggs in the center. He glanced at Cyrus, and frowned. "Are you alright? You look as though you slept on a stone."
"It was a rough night," Cyrus said, taking his spot at the table. "Right before I went to bed, I saw a man at the end of the road, watching this building. He wore a dark cloak, and carried a strange pendant, similar to the one I saw the priest of Dilthane carrying."
"Are you certain?" Myrel asked. He furrowed his brow. "I'll need to check the protective wards then. There shouldn't be anything wrong, but I'd rather not have to worry."
"What are those?" Cyrus asked.
"They're magic barriers, placed around the building to hide our presence," Sylven said. He poured a mug of tea for Cyrus, then one for himself. "The ones we've set up change the appearance of this building to make it appear run down, and abandoned."
"With a few broken windows here and there, and a number of cracked stones thrown around, people tend to steer clear," Myrel said. He scooped a spoon of eggs onto his plate. "I'm confident enough to say they're good enough to fool an aged warlock, let alone an old priest, with little to no experience when it comes to dealing with magic."
"I still don't quite understand," Cyrus said. "How do they work?"
Myrel sat back. "Well, I suppose now is as good a time as any to teach you your first lesson about magic. To begin with, what do you think aether is?"
Cyrus furrowed his brow. "From what I can tell, it's the source of magic, isn't it?"
"You're partially right," Myrel said. "Aether isn't just the source of magic, but everything. Every single thing in this world is made from aether. Magic, as you know it, is just the process of changing it to fit your desires."
Myrel picked up a cut of roast beef with his fork. "Take this, for example. A normal slab of roast beef. Nothing more than that, right? But with a few choice words from the Aetherien language, it becomes something completely different. Invali Ceribel Acronim."
Cyrus leaned forward as the cut of roast beef glazed over, hardening on Myrel's fork. When it finished, he slid it off, and handed it to Cyrus. It gleamed like glass, and clinked when he tapped it with his nail.
"The Aetherien language was the first language ever recorded to have existed, but it was lost long ago, with only fragments of it remaining" Myrel said. He waved towards his bookshelves. "It's what I, and every other wizard, spend our lives trying to research."
Cyrus set the glass roast beef on the table. "But doesn't that mean anyone could be a wizard or warlock? If all they have to do is learn the words, then shouldn't magic be everywhere?"
"That moves us onto the next part of the lesson," Myrel said, his grey eyes flickering. "To use magic, you must be chosen by the aether. It usually happens when your emotions are highly fluctuated. Such as you awakening in a strange environment, or when the merchant grabbed your arm. It's at those times when the aether will speak to you."
"You make it sound as though it's alive," Cyrus said.
Myrel grinned. "I happen to believe it is. Perhaps not as you and I are, but certainly a living entity. From what I've learned, aether can not be created or destroyed, only transferred, and transformed."
"What makes you so certain?" Cyrus asked.
Myrel sat back, and folded his arms. "Fifty-seven years ago, my homeland was attacked by a neighboring kingdom. It was then that I formed a connection with aether, though when it happened, it was much worse then what you've done outside."
"What happened?"
Myrel's eyes took on a faraway expression. "I called upon a wave of aether, which washed through the kingdom, turning every living organism to dust. It was the largest case of magic being used in history, and the guilt nearly drove me mad, and I ended up losing my vision."
Myrel sighed, and squeezed his hands. "Broken, I ran deep into the mountains, to escape everyone and everything I could. It was there that I met the one who taught me magic. I spent a number of years there, studying under his tutelage, and learning the softer ways of magic. It was he who helped me regain my sight, though in a different way from before."
Myrel leaned forward, and stared deep into Cyrus's eyes. The grey mist swirled around his irises, and in their depths, Cyrus caught flickers of blue, lighter than the sky. "The reason I believe aether is alive is because I can see its true form, living within everything around us."
Somewhere in the distance, a bell tolled, signaling the change of the hour. Myrel smiled, and climbed to his feet, collecting his empty plate, and mug in the process.
"I'll leave you to digest what I just said while you finish your breakfast. Once you're done, Sylven will bring you to my observatory, where we can begin your training. We'll start easy this morning, so you don't need to rush."
With that, Myrel headed upstairs, and Cyrus realized he hadn't touched a single bit of his food. Sylven sat across from him, finishing the last of his eggs.
"He may not make sense all the time, but you won't be able to find a better teacher than him," Sylven said. He spoke between bites. "I've been his apprentice for the last thirteen years, and while my knowledge of magic may not be as expansive as his, I like to think I know what I'm doing. That's why, if you have any questions, you can feel free to come to me."