"All."
"Huh?" The mage stopped patting his beard.
"I said all, I want to learn it all."
A fit of laughter from the old mage. He coughed, choking on his own cackles.
"Oh… Haha…" Even if the sonorous laughs had ceased, his rising chest, his shaking diaphragm, his trembling hands, still betrayed amusement.
"What?"
"Oh Gods… Ohoho…" He attempted to shake off the fit.
The now annoyed prince threw a handful of grass he had plucked at the heaving sage.
Not caring, the old mage composed himself, even when afflicted by persistent sniffles: the shadow of his laugh.
"Yes, Oh…" He sat straight. "I was simply amused. Certainly, most mages are chaff, little more than sediment, barely any better than cynn, so, they aim for a single thing, a single discipline to empty their blood into…" He coughed. "For economic means, some do… imagine, magic for profit, Oh Gods…" A laugh, light, if disapproving. "Even then, those with ambition do often attempt a sort of perennial approach, or play at being universalists… yet, prince, do you know of how vast magic is? Allow me to answer in your stead: No." He had calmed down. The scholarly tone surfaced once more. "No, no, no. Magic is all, so to know all magic is to know it all. Even if you were born —as some had, in the past, although rarely— with Geist in all of magic, in its expanse, this would still be little more than stupidity; I call it not a fool's errand, or a dream, since I am partial to such fantastical ends; So, I title it as it is: stupidity, or misguidedness. After all, the whole of knowledge would be irrelevant. To pursue all knowledge… it is accessory, incidental, to an actual worthwhile pursuit…" He poked the prince's chest with his index. "You, now, look at magic stary-eyed, yet, what you wish in the pursuit of magic, what is it? Is it to know it all? Really, such blasé aims?"
The prince, peeved, wasted no time in firing back.
"So what?"
The sage shook his head.
"No, do not lie, or rather, do not be lazy, and truly ask yourself. What is the aim of magic? What is it that mages wish for? To know it all? Bah! Some think they do, the imbeciles."
The prince held his chin.
"I do not care if you wish to know all seven Arts, I will teach you, if you please… Do not start your wandering in magic headless, however."
"I like magic."
"Hm… So?" An ashy eyebrow rose, questioning, intrigued.
"That is my answer. I like magic."
"Far more honest… Yet, it has no relation to that which I asked, does it?"
"Hmph!" The prince pouted, haughty. "I don't care what other mages want!" His misty eyes open, he looked far out, into the sky's cupula, undisturbed. "Magic, a purpose…? dumb."
"You speak truer than you know…" The sage cackled, then, to a jest only he understood. "Magic is as rain, little a purpose but what mages assign it to. It is fact and being more than tool."
"Why ask then?" Heos wondered.
"To impart this lesson…" He grinned. "What mages wish, and what magic is for are interlinked in so far as mages' desires construct the direction, the aim, of magic as a discipline. In reality, magic is as determined and aimed as the ability to flip your eyelids…"
Heos nodded, digesting the words.
"And…" A subtle smile drew itself, staining his lips. "All that I just said is a complete lie. Do not listen mindlessly. Idiot." He flicked the prince's forehead, so fast the child could not realize the movement before the light pain appeared.
"Ow…! What?!" Covering his forehead, Heos growled. "But, you're teaching me!"
"Yes, yet, does that mean you will allow me to drain your mind? replace it with whatever I say, will you?"
Heos did not speak. Still annoyed.
"Now, do pay heed to this: Magic has a purpose, but it is, undoubtedly, beyond vulgar understanding. Magic is divine after all." The sage cracked his knuckles. "As for what mages wish… Every man is as a color, so, who knows really… However, I would not wish to teach you if your aim were vain, or worse, boring."
"Huh?" The prince did not understand.
"There is the world of words, so beautiful, and beyond compare; The real world, regrettably, cares little for the world of words. Bleak, monotone, a noose." The sage spoke, and with such a glad, and joyous tone, Heos could not but be taken aback. "Yet magic, it allows for this mundane, grey boundlessness, to be devoured, and changed, chipped away wound by wound into the world of words." He took a breath, then continued. "Why do you think mages are enamored by magic? If magic were as natural to us as walking there would be no cynn, and those who are born with the faculty for magic would not think of it as wondrous… a marvel, as they do."
Even if the meaning of each word was beamed into his mind, the prince, still, did not fully comprehend what it was that the sage spoke on and on about. And this "bleakness", whatever could it mean?
"Magic is foreign to humanity. So, we always speak of it in such a manner." He anchored his eyes into the prince's irises, unflinching. "Meditate upon this fact dutifully."
The sage pulled at his beard, observing the confused prince.
"There is the world of words, so beautiful, and beyond compare; The real world, regrettably, cares little for the world of words. Bleak, monotone, a noose." The sage spoke, and with such a glad, and joyous tone, Heos could not but be taken aback. "Yet magic, it allows for this mundane, grey boundlessness, to be devoured, and changed, chipped away wound by wound into the world of words." He took a breath, then continued. "Why do you think mages are enamored by magic? If magic were as natural to us as walking there would be no cynn, and those who are born with the faculty for magic would not think of it as wondrous… a marvel, as they do."
Heos would lie if he denied that, somehow, the gesture of this bizarre stranger did not warm, in some unexplained form, his languid heart.
Yet, all he spoke was unabashed, and true, while pushing away the hand.
"Yes, yes… will you teach me now, then?"
The sage broke in laughter. Tears disappearing into his snow beard.
"Oh, gods…" He cleared away his watery eyes.
Now that he was to learn, the prince thought of all he had heard to this point, what magic there was for him to perform… He found something which interested him, hidden away in the mage's words. "If the… seven Arts? Are most of the… classical tradition of magic, what is…" Thinking, thinking… "There is more magic… no?"
"Yes." Composed, once again, the old sage answered. "There is far more magic." Smugly, he continued. "The mere classification of the seven Arts is flawed, or open ended, as some claim. The borders of these categories are undefined, porous… As with anything in magic… Even the Arts, as I had said, encroach on each other's domains; this classification, "Seven Arts", is, if anything, a title of convenience, and mostly pedagogical. It is useful, introductorily."
"I want to learn that magic too."
"You have, already."
'What…?' The only magic he had ever performed, or rather, learnt, was his veil of light… that strange phenomenon which allowed him to turn invisible. As for what else… he supposed talking to animals was magic, however, he had not really learnt that. It, seemingly, was just a natural faculty of his, as he remembered Mr. Owl had mentioned… what about suddenly transporting himself to one place or the other…? He believed this had been an effect of something beyond his own means, but, what if it was some unconscious… spell he had used…? Or did Swan count?
The sage meditated, silent, as the prince mulled over the answer.
"It is that veil you used to hide yourself."
'Really…?' He went over the seven Arts, thinking of where this spell would fall. Wouldn't it fit into something like Ars Metamorphotica? It transformed him… Or was that what it did? Even if he had performed the spell, he was not aware of how it worked… Was that crystalline something he had pulled Ousia…? As far as understanding, it was all obscured, quite poetically draped in darkness… As he pondered, something came to the forefront of his mind… how did the old mage know of this?
"The opaqueness generated by the spell is not the source of the obfuscation, but rather a visual cue of its activation, if you wish to call it that. The action of "veiling" is what causes the invisibility. And, as far as the manipulation of Ousia, it is direct and non-transformative."
Seemingly having ignored the explanation, Heos asked, curious.
"You were following me when I got lost?"
"Yes."
The exchange was left at that… The prince attempted to remember if at any point during his "outing" he had ever seen the characteristic shimmer that the sage gave off when hiding…
"What I mean by this is that you literally grabbed the Ousia, and veiled yourself in it, hiding within a pocket shaped as your own being, refracting sight off of it"
His arm rose, and, grabbing ahold of his sleeve he positioned it flat on his crossed legs. He tapped Heos, who was still lost in his memories, attempting to find evidence of his presence.
The prince's sight climbed back, to meet the sage.
"This is you." He grabbed a pebble and placed it atop his flat sleeve. "My sleeve is Ousia." Then, pinching the fabric at the sleeve's center, he covered the pebble without completely folding the material. "This is what you did, if one had to simplify it." He tugged at his beard. "As I see it, this spell has three steps." His closed fist rose, and, in similar fashion to before, when explaining the Arts, a finger outstretched with each uttering. "First, the manifestation of Ousia, or, we could call it the… "condensation"?" He seemed unsure of what to call it. "Then, the "shaping"? and then, the veiling… as in, the act of directly covering yourself." After some more thinking, he hummed, pleased, giddy even… "What do you wish to call this spell?"
Heos, who had been juggling his entrancing interest in the explanation with his memory scouring, began to ask himself…
"Hm…" A finger to his lips. "Swan's veil… Swan showed me how to do it…" He smiled.
"What did you feel? what was let loose in your imagination as you performed the spell for the first time?"
About to answer, Heos remembered the entire point of this conversation.
"Hey! Teach me!"
"I'm doing it… this is important."
"Also!" He leveled a finger at the sage. "You said shape Ousia, so isn't this that me-metamorphosis thing?" He thought the old mage to be lying, as he had before.
"We could call all magic as part of Ars Metamorphotica, after all, magic lay in essence in the shaping, manipulation, or otherwise, of Ousia… that would be, however, a rather generous interpretation; so, I do not espouse it. I prefer direct transformation of matter, and other things as Ars Metamorphotica, than anything else." His head shook. "Tell me, your feelings and so on during the spell."
Although not really convinced, the prince answered.
"Swan told me to do what my heart commanded… He showed me how he filled the air with light… like a rainbow. So, I thought about how I had tried to touch light before, but couldn't do anything, and about how I wished that life was like a dream… That is what my heart told me." He touched his chest, lightly patting his gown. "So, I touched the air and… there!" He gesticulated dramatically with his hands. "It felt like melted sugar…" He wanted something sugary now… "I felt it wrap around me… Swan said like arms, so I thought of arms I saw in a dream, flying… and my mother, and swan's wings…"
'Very interesting… to have seen it is something, yet… as I suspected.' He nodded to himself. "Now, do the spell."
Incredulously, Heos looked at the sage, a disappointed expression…
"You really like lying, don't you?"
The old mage smiled.
"More than you know… now, go." He waved his hand. "Do the spell."
Heos lifted his hand and pulled at the air. Then, holding its shimmering form, he circled it around him, until his body went opaque, ghostly and airy.
Even with the prince doing the spell as fast and roughly as he did, to spite him, the old mage's eyes widened, for shorter a time than a breath, calming their shapes shortly after.
'Interesting… very, very interesting… Hehe…' He smirked. "Very well, that was quite a display."
Heos, having stood up after shrouding himself, walked up to the sage, aiming to flick his forehead in revenge.
The sage, however, stopped the prince's hand in its track and snorted, amused.
"Hehe… My foolish disciple…"
"What?!" The prince could not believe it. "Why can you see me?!"
Smugly, he answered.
"As I said, this is important…" He sighed in jest. "If only my disciple followed his master's words…" he clicked his tongue, pretending disappointment.
Pulling his hand back, annoyed, Heos sat down, pouting.
"You see, your spell may hide you from cynn, yet, this Ousia you conjure is completely transparent for mages, it is because of how the spell was conjured, or birthed, I believe." He gestured with his hands. "Think of it as a spell that turns you frigid… yes, serpents, who can detect heat will have trouble finding you… humans, however, who cannot perceive heat visually until if flares in intensity, will have no trouble seeing you… " He tapped his cheek. "In short… you hide within a pocket of conjured… and shaped Ousia, and this turns you invisible to cynn, it also masks your voice, but not other physical interactions with space and matter… To me, a mage, you just look opaque… and orbited by shimmering flakes of something… Ousia. Very perplexing." He remarked.
"So, how do I become invisible to mages?"
"When performing the spell, you did not account for mages, as you did not know of their particularities, or the existence of Ousia. Imagination is paramount, as is desire… did you not do as you pleased, and choose for the air to cover you…? Now choose for it to hide you away from even mages, who are prodigious in seeing through shaped Ousia. You imagined a veil, and a veil hides from vulgar eyes. You are royalty… this will also influence interaction, as far as unconscious manifestations are concerned… Or perhaps it has to do with…" He began mumbling.
Uninterested, Heos shook, and dispelled the veil, then pulled again… but… how to hide from mages…? For some reason, which his master speculated upon, and did not seem to be fully able to articulate, mages saw right through him… the serpent analogy did not help, even if he mulled it over. Then…
'Wait…'
He was a mage, was he not…? And something, which he had seen, had hidden from him, in a most perplexing way.
It appeared in his mind.
"The forest…"
He imagined a transparent veil of nothingness, crystalline. A thin membrane, thinner, thinner still… so thin it hid between strands of lights…
Amidst his thinking he let go of the air… as the old mage watched him, curious.
The veil was so light it stood still amidst the pure air, and went unfelt when crossed… It separated its before, and its after… two sights held apart by a breath…
Yet… It also hid from cynn. Did the guards see the forest, or feel the sun blot out?
He held the air again, and pulled… Now, it did not feel as cobwebs of melted sugar… it felt as nothingness, yet it still rested in his hand.
Soundless, it separated from… somewhere, as if it had not existed.
He shrouded himself…
Black…
'Wha..'
'Where…'
The last thing he felt.
Blood, dripping…
Dripping down his nose.
*
He awoke with a gasp.
The meadow at his back, bright and aestival.
Chanting birds and flowing water filling back his conscious mind…
And impenetrable, untold darkness still clung to the back of his eyes.
He heaved… not daring to close them.
The sun above cleared his sight, extinguishing the dark as his breaths stilled.
Touching his nose… half dried blood.
A headache, feverish, radiating, like lukewarm water filling his skull.
Feathers… Swan fluttering about him… black bird eyes relieved.
He petted the phantasm, lightly, gently. His hands burrying in the pure-white field.
"Very interesting my disciple…" The sage still sat cross legged, now by his side, tugging at his beard.
"What…"
"I presume you took the hidden forest by this palace's swan lake as imagery for this spell you attempted. Thinking of the threshold between what is seen and unseen while you veiled yourself… Well done…" He took on that scholarly tone, synonym of an impending lecture. "A mistake, still, you thought not of… What you "veiled" was yourself, and only yourself, from the world… in short, you attempted a half-way space "veiled" from everything. This "space" contains only Heos. You didn't actually veil anything, as what you did was literally construct a space —roughly, amateurishly, haphazardly— which held only you. Others cannot look in, only, some, by crossing the threshold —although I suppose you imagined none, nor visualized this exception. And, you cannot look out, after all, once inside that forest you could not see the out until you yourself crossed the threshold. Yet, since the threshold is permanently hinged on you, and ahead of you by design —as would a veil on he who wears it— you could never leave. The subtlety and sophistication needed for such a thing to be correctly constructed is extreme. What you did is far, far less demanding, and infinitely unstable —particularly because the border was not constructed properly; it flickered dangerously, after all, you entered the forest through this veil, or threshold you perceived yet, never left it likewise… you almost killed yourself, still. I had to dissolve the veil. You could have died a million different ways."
"Hu…" Heos did not react, only stared at the sky.
The sage laughed… boisterously, proudly…
"Incredible!" He patted Heos congratulatorily. "This should help you mend your mistakes, and, of course, instill in you an epiphany, that exhilaration —a lower one, mind you— on how exactly Ousia is manipulated, and the effects of imagination."
Heos smiled, still dazed.
He closed his eyes…
That darkness had left.
His smile widened…
He wished to attempt it again. Imagine it better, choose for the world to be as he wished, spill out what he saw, brilliant, dreamlike, in his mind.
That void, profound black… even the memory did not deter him… nor death.
He giggled. Rising, cut by sharp breaths, whistling past blood-stained lips…
The sage's joy turned sharp, as they formed a chorus. Their laughter like the singing of dazed birds, with scrambled minds…
"I want to go again…"
"Rest a second, or your eyes will pop."
'Hehe… A second? Really? That is far too long.'
The mist blue of his irises widened out… looking to drown the sky.
"Hehehe…"
He liked magic quite a lot.