The streets grew more crowded as Maros led them to the town square. Stalls littered both sides, their owners advertising their wares with a friendly smile.
Aryn wasn't certain, but he didn't think it was usually so active in the morning. Maybe this sculptor was a bigger deal than he had presumed?
"So what's so special about this guy?" He didn't direct the question at Erica specifically, but he expected her to be the one to answer considering her interest in the topic.
Erica quickened her step to walk side by side with Aryn as she answered enthusiastically. "There is a lot! For starters, he is the one that sculpted the memorial for the Survival War! He als-" Aryn cut her off, "Survival War?"
The poor Erica was destined to fangirl alone it seemed.
Maros stopped in the front and turned around to look at him, a strange look coming across his face. If Aryn needed to describe it, he would say it was a mix between remembering you forgot to do something important, and disbelief.
"We really need to start focusing our lessons on more than magic... The Survival War was exactly as it sounds; a war for survival. It started when a mad Archmage decided to attempt to create life naturally attuned to mana similar to dragons."
Maros paused his speech for a moment, turning around and resuming leading the two to the town square before continuing where he left off.
"He succeeded in both creating life and attuning them to mana. But they were nothing like dragons. They were chaotic, uncontrollable, and for the most part, unintelligent. They were powerful too. So much so that they killed their creator before escaping their prison and wreaking havoc all across the world — Sorven had it the worst though; they seemed to converge there."
It seemed he was about to continue the history lesson, but he stopped himself when they came upon a crowd of people patiently watching an old man work away at a small slab of what Aryn assumed to be marble.
"We can continue later. For now, let's enjoy the show." So the three joined the crowd and watched the man work.
He was an old, muscular man that seemed simultaneously at the end of his rope and full of youth. He had long, white, wiry hair topped by a large bald-spot and a long, flowing beard reaching his chest.
Wearing a grey leather vest that barely covered anything of his torso and a loose pair of brown pants, he went to work on the slab with a simple-looking chisel and hammer that radiated a faint amount of a strange mana.
Intrigued, Aryn focused his senses on the pair of tools rather than the old man himself or his work. What he found was that he was mistaken; the tools weren't radiating mana. It was just that the man was pouring mana into the tools as he worked the stone.
The strangeness of the mana was most likely due to it coming from a Mage Heart. This would also explain the old sculptor's impressive physique.
Turning his focus away from the tools and back to the man and his work, Aryn watched closely.
From what he could see, there was no special technique or purpose to his movements. He lined up the chisel, pounded the back at the desired strength, readjusted, and repeated.
With such simple and repetitive movements, Aryn was astonished to behold the scene of a true work of art take form. The marble seemed to fall apart around an already completed masterpiece, every strike to the back of the lazily-held chisel flaking off bits in impossible ways.
Aryn watched in awed silence for an unknown amount of time, too focused on the sight before him. He analyzed every movement of the man; every strike, every adjustment of the chisel, every twitch of muscle in his arms.
For the life of him, he couldn't piece together how such precision was possible. The once simple two-foot cube of marble slowly morphed itself into the visage of a stark-white tree so detailed that one could count each individual leaf.
The sculptor chiseled in such a way that the veins of the marble were being erased, leaving only pristine white.
'No way...' Aryn looked even closer, unaware that he had walked past the rest of the crowd. Maros made no effort to stop him; perhaps too mesmerized at the beauty of the scene unfolding before him to notice.
It was then he made an even crazier discovery.
'He must've used magic somehow, beyond just enhancing his tools. This simply isn't possible otherwise.' His pupils dilated in wonder as they caught the sight of the veins of each and every leaf on the marble tree. There must've been thousands, but they all held a unique vein pattern like a real leaf.
With a final fall of the old sculptor's hammer, the finished product was revealed to the silent crowd.
A tree of pale stone graced their eyes, its branches twisting on themselves in a dance, its thousands of leaves all life-like and pristine; so thin they were almost transparent. One could even see the rough texture of bark at its base; it was utterly unique.
A proud smile crossed the old sculptor's face as he looked upon his casual creation before he gave a nod and looked up at the crowd around him. In particular, a boy standing a little too close caught his attention.
Aryn was lost in an ocean of marvel and curiosity. He was wondering if this was a feat of borderline godly mana manipulation, or a use of magic he didn't yet know of.
His best guess was that the old sculptor somehow used an application of telekinesis to help distinguish between what he wanted to break off and what he wanted to keep as part of the whole.
He was brought out of his thoughts when he was addressed by the very man who's sculpture he was standing slack-jawed before. "What do you think, kid? What could I do better?"
Shaken from his awe, Aryn mindfully kept himself from shouting, "How did you do that? Did you use telekinesis?"
Looking back at the starry-eyed boy that looked like he was willing to pry his head open and take a look inside to get his answer, the sculptor replied with a smirk, "I'll answer your questions if you answer mine."
Aryn was surprised he could actually get an answer. He figured he would be told something along the lines of, 'It's a trade secret.' Or something similar. Regardless, after taking a moment to take another look at the sculpture and gather his thoughts, he turned back to its creator.
"I think it's incredible. I hadn't even imagined something this precise could be made by human hands." He took one last quick look at the marble tree. "As for what you could do better?... I guess you could try to incorporate the natural veins of the marble into the sculpture rather than get rid of them completely."
Tilting his head a bit and stroking his beard, the sculptor looked back at his work. "You don't like the pure-white look?"
"It's not tha- wait! You said you'd answer my questions if I answered yours!"
"Haha! Fine, fine... I did use telekinesis, but I can only use it like that because of the trait I chose." The old man chose his words carefully to set a little good-natured trap for Aryn.
He noticed the trap, but he jumped right in without a care, "What trait?"
"A question for a question." The old fart looked positively pleased with himself.
"Fine... It isn't that I don't like the pure-white look, I just think it would look better with a bit of contrast. Now answer mine." Aryn stayed patient.
The old sculptor nodded in understanding before saying straightforwardly, "It's fairly obvious actually. I chose the trait of sculpting, of course!"
Aryn took a moment to let himself think over the implications of the old man's choice of trait. It was clear he chose it because of his passion for the subject and nothing else. He couldn't imagine it was a trait very well suited for combat.
That combined with his age made Aryn sure the man must have certainly attuned his Mage Heart's mana at least. Maybe even his soul too.
"Are you a High Mage Sir?" Aryn wondered.
"I can't really be called a mage to be truthful; I may have a Mage Heart, but I can only sculpt things and use telekinesis. I'm more an artist and warrior than a mage." He patted his chest and returned with a question of his own once more, "What's your name kid?"
Aryn looked over his shoulder to his dad at the edge of the crowd; who gave a nod.
"Aryn Mayer." Aryn thought he saw the man's eye twitch at the name, but he might've been mistaken. "What about you, sir?"
The old man leaned down to pat Aryn's head — something that still felt a bit weird considering his mental age — and chuckled. "I'll answer this one for free, Aryn. My name's Garm. No last name, so people call me Grandmaster Garm."
Aryn had figured that someone capable of creating something like the marble tree had to be considered a grandmaster, so the revelation wasn't too shocking.
Maros walked out of the crowd and stopped just behind Aryn, putting a hand on his shoulder and regarding Garm. "Thank you for answering my son's questions, Grandmaster Garm. I'm sure you'll be heading for Dawn-Ilyn soon, so we'll be out of your hair." He gently nudged Aryn, who got the message and prepared to head back to the manor.
"It was no bother, Mister Mayer." Garm started packing up his tools before giving a wave and heading for his cozy little carriage with some parting words. "You two have a good day! You can have the tree, as long as you say hello to the older of the Aryns for me!" Erica could be heard squealing in excitement among the crowd at the words.
Her outburst was promptly ignored.
"Of course! Have a safe trip!" Maros turned around and led the amused Aryn and the fangirling Erica back toward the manor alongside the now floating sculpture.
"He knows great-grandfather?" Aryn side-eyed his dad.
Maros shrugged, "I guess."
Shifting his eyes over to the two-foot tall masterpiece, Aryn spoke again, "Can I carry it back?"
***
Walking through the front door, Aryn kept walking forward to the meeting room on the first floor. This is where his dad wanted him to put the sculpture.
Placing it down right in the middle of the long table, Aryn breathed a sigh of relief. The sculpture was approaching the weight-limit of his current telekinetic abilities.
That was why he wanted to carry it in the first place. Using magic whenever he could was a great way to improve. He had been practicing his telekinesis whenever the opportunity presented itself. He hadn't even been opening doors normally in the past few weeks.
Walking out of the meeting room, he took a right and started up the staircase. Not stopping at the second floor, he went straight to his father's office and gave a knock on the door.
*knock* *knock*
"Come in." Aryn, forgoing the handle, directly used telekinesis on the latch of the doorknob and swung it open before walking through and closing it behind him.
Taking a seat on one of the chairs in front of Maros' desk, he waited patiently until he was done with whatever it was he was doing with all that paperwork.
Setting down a few papers, Maros turned his attention to his son. "Yes, Aryn?"
"Can you finish telling me about the Survival War?"
"Ah, right... I suppose I should start teaching you more than just magic, you are behind your peers in that regard." Maros looked troubled at the mention of it. He still felt partly responsible for the incident.
Aryn watched as the gears turned in his dad's head before the thin man nodded to himself.
"Okay. Rather than pick up where we left off, I'll start from the beginning and work my way back to it. Is that all right with you?" Aryn quickly nodded. He needed to catch up on his basic history if he didn't want to be left ignorant of the world around him.
And now was as good a time to start as any other.