Gryphon shook his head glumly, "It's disappointing, Azel, But despite how incredible of a discovery this is there isn't much you can do."
While it was true that Azel had a weak affinity for all the natural elements, Gryphon had expected that it would be impossible for him to develop an affinity for the lost magics. The zombie had stumbled into it anyway, and judging from how he had an easier time using this "glimpse" spell his affinity for it would be higher than flames.
Unfortunately, the two of them had no idea what the magic was from this basic spell Azel developed. As a result, reverse engineering the magic to discover it's key words was impossible, and therefore its current future was limited right now.
The chant Azel had meant to say was, in English: Cinder, erupt from my fingers. "Cinder" obviously refers to flame magic, so even a rookie mage would link it to fire magic. But the word Azel said by accident wasn't know in humanity's current understanding of serpent speak. So revealing the lost magics nature was impossible.
The only chance was for Azel to stumble into another spell that is more revealing into the lost magics true form. And while he got remarkably lucky once, it may not happen again.
Gryphon tilted his head in thought, he wondered what the lost magic came from. The most common explanation was that Azel is the direct descendent of someone who once used a lost magic and has inherited its traits.
That was the only logical explanation of course, the only other option would be that the entire zombie race has access to this strange lost magic, but were either killed to quickly or lost their minds before they could realise.
Gryphon hoped to god that it was the first option, because other wise he would undoubtedly go to hell for revealing this to the world by training Azel.
Azel frowned at Gryphon's sombre tone. "So you're telling me that even though I've stumbled onto something incredible, it's basically useless unless I get lucky again?"
Gryphon sighed, leaning heavily on his staff. "That's exactly what I'm saying. And it frustrates me more than you know. If we had access to the complete serpent speak lexicon, we might be able to figure out what word you mispronounced and trace it back to its origin. But unfortunately, that knowledge has been lost for centuries."
The room fell into silence, save for the faint crackling of a lantern hanging above them. Gryphon watched Azel with an unreadable expression, his earlier glumness giving way to a more contemplative air.
"You know," Gryphon said after a while, "this isn't a dead end. It's just... a very long detour."
Azel looked up, skeptical. "What do you mean?"
"I mean that you've already done something most mages can only dream of: you've accessed magic outside the known frameworks. That's no small feat, Azel. And while we don't have a clear path forward, we do know that this magic is tied to you. It's in your blood, or your spirit, or whatever animates that half-rotted body of yours."
"Thanks for the reminder," Azel muttered.
Gryphon ignored him, continuing. "If this magic is truly yours, then it'll show itself again eventually. Maybe not today or tomorrow, but when the right moment comes, it'll emerge. Until then, all we can do is refine your skills with the magics we do understand and keep our eyes open for more clues."
Azel nodded slowly, though the knot in his chest didn't loosen. He stood, glancing back at Gryphon. "I'll keep practicing. If anything happens, you'll be the first to know."
"Good," Gryphon said with a small smile. "And Azel?"
"Yeah?"
"Don't let this magic define you. It's a tool, not your identity. Remember that."
Azel didn't respond, but Gryphon's words lingered as he stepped out into the damp night. The old man enjoyed being cryptic, but as odd as that advice was, Azel knew it had come from a man who had plenty of experience with the arcane and was therefore worth being taken seriously.
<---o--->
Colwyn approached the giant crater cautiously. It hadn't taken long for the drake knight to discover traces of the behemoth, after all the nebulous vulture was colossal in size and that meant that the creature would struggle to demonstrate even a modicum of stealth.
The vulture had chosen an odd spot to build its nest. Sat in the centre of the mountains, Colwyn stumbled upon a beautiful, almost ethereal grove. The vulture was sat very still in the centre of this grove, half of its body oozing a dark purple liquid that ran down its pitch black feathers.
Not too far from the vulture were the remains of a few unfortunate beasts that it had caught on its way here. Colwyn shook his head in pity for the myriad of bones and rotting carcasses that dotted the area, the strongest mana beasts on the island were supposed to be fiend rank so they must of had quite the shock seeing this foreign behemoth.
Colwyn dryly shifted his gaze back to the monster in question, its ethereal pale eyes were glazed over in weakness, giving the drake knight enough information to put together a reasonable theory. The nebulous vulture was dying.
The behemoth was chased out of its territory by some other supernatural horror, and it fled across the void sea. The ancient spell supposedly shielding the island from such beasts was rendered useless against the vultures profane eyes, and so it settled here.
However its soul had been poisoned during the scuffle, and in its desperation the vulture was snatching any living creature it could, before consuming their spirits in an effort to fight back against the toxin. Ultimately, it had failed and was now on its last legs.
"Well," Started Colwyn, "That certainly wraps up one problem,"
His words hung in the air, unanswered. The vulture didn't react, its pale eyes remaining fixed on some unseen point in the distance. Colwyn wasn't sure if it even noticed his presence—or if it cared.
Colwyn took a step forward, his armored boots crunching softly against the ground. "You're not going to last much longer, are you?" he said, his voice low. "Even if I left you here, you'd be dead in a matter of days."
The vulture didn't respond, of course. It was beyond words, beyond reason. The drake knight's eyes swept over the grove one last time, noting the eerie stillness that hung in the air. The dark purple liquid seeping from the vulture's body had tainted the surrounding ground, leaving the grass and trees wilted and blackened. It was clear the beast's very presence was toxic, a corruption that spread with every laboured breath it took.
He stepped forward, but the moment he did, the vulture's head jerked slightly, its glazed-over eyes shifting toward him. A faint, guttural sound rumbled from its throat, almost like a growl—or perhaps a plea. The knight paused, instincts honed over years of combat telling him to be cautious.
"What's this?" Colwyn asked, raising an eyebrow. "Still some fight left in you?"
The vulture's pale eyes flickered, the faintest spark of life igniting within them. For a moment, Colwyn felt an odd sensation—like the air itself had thickened, pressing against his chest. The creature's immense, otherworldly aura, though diminished, still held enough weight to make even a seasoned knight pause.
Before he could react, the vulture's beak opened slightly, and a low, guttural croak echoed through the grove. It wasn't a cry of pain or rage but something else entirely. A strange cadence, rhythmic and deliberate. Colwyn froze, his heart pounding as he realized what was happening.
"It's… casting?" he murmured, disbelief evident in his tone.