"I appreciate the offer," Cyrus said. He took a sip of his tea, which washed down his throat with a sharp spice, followed by the taste of sweet nectar. Cyrus frowned, and glanced at Sylven. "This… Is this truly tea?"
Sylven grinned. "It is. My own blend of lavender and wither root herbs. It helps wake you up, doesn't it? I spent three years attempting different mixtures before I stumbled across this. What do you think?"
"I can honestly say I can't remember tasting anything like this before," Cyrus said. He and Sylven stared at each for a moment before breaking into laughter.
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 high domed roof, and a circular glass window at the top, which allowed sunlight to stream in to the room. Its 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 Cyrus looked around, a patch of frost caught his attention. Despite the warmth of the room, 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 knelt beside the cluster, 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 stepped back. "Is it really that dangerous?"
"More than you might think," Myrel said, rummaging through his wares. He twisted 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 the village stables."
"I see," Cyrus said. He approached the table. "So you've lost control of your magic as well then. How did you learn to control it?"
"With years of trial and error," 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. "After I ran away, I spent months lost in the jungle, trying to survive. Much like you, I relied on my magic. Of course, I was young, and inexperienced, so most of my spells were wild, and destructive. Until, I met my teacher, who helped me control it."
Myrel sat beside the table, and stretched out his hands over one of the seeds. "Now, more than half a century later, I've refined what he's taught me into the process I'm about to show you. To begin with, 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 stopping. Cyrus leaned forward, narrowing his eyes. While the plant had grown, its red color had faded into a duller grey.
Beside him, Myrel pulled back his hand. "As you can see, the ildrium seed lost its color as it sprouted a stalk. This is due to the distribution of aether, but it will be back to normal as soon as it gathers more from its 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, and took a deep breath. "Eisren ilvine."
A hush fell over the room as both Myrel and Sylven held their breath, watching closely. Cyrus bit his cheek, waiting for something to happen. A second passed, then another, and yet still no movement. On the third second, Cyrus frowned, and glanced at Myrel.
"Did I say the words wrong?"
Myrel shook his head. "No… you got them right. Try again, and try to imagine the seed moving. Your desires will affect how the aether reacts."
"Alright. I'll do that," Cyrus said. He focused his gaze on the seed, and pictured it growing into a small flower. "Eisren ilvine."
Once again, they waited in silence, and once again, the seed remained motionless. After a full minute, Cyrus sighed, and lowered his hand.
"I don't think this is going to work. I haven't felt a single thing," Cyrus said. He tapped the seed. "Is there another way? Something else I could try?"
Sylven cleared his throat. "Perhaps if you were to recall the feelings you had when you were surviving in the wild, or in the market. That might help you."
Cyrus furrowed his brow. "I suppose it's worth a shot."
Closing his eyes, he thought back to the moment in the market, when the stall owner gripped his arm, and the guards closed in. The shouts of Galeden's citizens echoed in his ear, then changed into the roar of the ogre. From his memories, the ogre's face appeared, snapping its jaws.
Cyrus jumped when Sylven gasped, and parted his eyes. A sense of excitement flooded through him when he saw the seed rocking beneath his hand. Taking a deep breath, he focused on the seed, and pictured small tendrils growing from its sides.
Following his thoughts, the seed opened, and a spider web of golden roots spread out, digging into the stone. Myrel leaned forward, his keen gaze fixated on the seed. Beside him, Sylven glanced at Cyrus and arched his brow.
Cyrus grinned as the warmth of aether swirled through his chest, and into his fingers. Pushing onwards, he imagined a stalk growing from the seed, and blossoming into a flower. Before him, the seed followed suit, and a lush green stalk sprouted, growing higher and higher, until a small bud appeared, and blossomed into a brilliant crimson flower.
Berrodin's eyes widened. "This is… incredible. The seed is still brimming with aether. In fact, it's almost overflowing with it. How? How are you doing this?"
"I- I don't know," Cyrus said. He half laughed. "This- This is amazing. I can feel the aether flowing through me."
Myrel frowned, and straightened his back. "You feel it flowing through you? What do you mean?"
Cyrus glanced at him out of the corner of his eye. "You know. A warmth spreads through my body, and into the seed. Isn't this how you do it?"
"No. Normally, you would only be able to feel a connection to the aether. I've never heard of anyone actually feeling it," Myrel said. His frown deepened.
Cyrus furrowed his brow as the warmth inside him changed from a soft warmth, to a slight burning in his veins. On the table, the flower shook, and the roots thickened, sending a crack through the stone.
Sylven stepped back, as Myrel reached out a steadying hand.
"Cyrus. You need to calm down. You're losing control again."
"I know that," Cyrus said, gritting his teeth. He tried pulling back on the aether, but it felt like a dam had broken, and all the aether was flooding through it. "H-help. I can't stop it. Someone do something!"
By now, the flower had grown a meter tall, and its stalk thickened to the size of his forearm. As the roots spread out, they knocked the vial of seeds off the table. It shattered as it hit the floor, and the seeds within sprouted roots of their own.
There was a loud crack as a section of the table broke, and clattered to the floor. Cyrus flinched, and stumbled back, feeling his body weakening with each second. He gasped for breath, and his heart pounded in his chest as his sight grew blurry.
'No, no, no. Not again!' Cyrus thought. He squeezed his eyes shut, trying to fight against the flow of aether. Someone grabbed his shoulder, holding him steady, and Myrel's voice slipped through his ears, soft and calm.
"Cyrus. You need to listen to me. Calm your breathing, and relax. You can do this. I know you can. Don't fight the aether, work with it. Trust it and it will obey."
Cyrus gritted his teeth, and took a deep breath. Ignoring the pain, he closed his eyes, and relaxed his muscles. His body sagged, but he felt Myrel's firm grasp hold him, allowing him to focus on the flow of aether.
'This is it. Nice and easy. Bring the aether to a stop.' Cyrus thought. He took another deep breath, drawing back the aether until it slowed its flow.
As the heat radiating through his veins ebbed away, Myrel helped him sit, and control his breathing. By then, the seeds had stopped growing, but the table was already covered in roots, which spilled down to the floor below.
Sylven sat beside Cyrus, and studied him with a furrowed brow. "Are you alright?"
"I- I think so," Cyrus said. "What happened? Why couldn't I stop my magic?"
"It appears your emotions affected the flow of aether, and when you got scared, you lost control," Myrel said. "When Sylven told me what happened in the market, I was surprised, but I simply assumed your connection to the force was better than most, allowing you to call upon it more. I never imagined you would provide the aether yourself."
"Is that odd?" Cyrus asked.
"Well, I've heard rumors of it being possible, but never by a human. Your ability would also explain why you keep blacking out. Unlike those of us who use the aether around us, yours comes directly from your core."