Cyrus stumbled back as the floor shook beneath him. From the center of the room, a circular slab rose, grating to a stop at Myrel's hip. The old man grinned as he set down the vial and his books.
"A bit surprising to see, isn't it?" Myrel asked.
"That's a bit of an understatement," Cyrus said. As the room stopped shaking, he studied the floor, now noticing a spider web of lines, evenly spaced. "Do all of the tiles move?"
"If we need them 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. I once fell into a pit six meters deep, because we forgot to put the floor back. Nearly broke my arm trying to brace my fall."
"Yes, it was quite the lesson for both of us," Myrel said. He unhooked his cloak, and draped it over the table, then gestured towards Cyrus. "Come here. I want to show you something."
As Cyrus approached the table, Myrel popped the cork off the vial, and dropped two seeds onto the table. They were covered in coarse brown fur, and emitted a pungent aroma. After separating the seeds from one another, he glanced at Cyrus.
"The first thing you need to learn about magic is how to control it. That begins with calling forth the aether, and more importantly, cutting it off. Spells help with that, which is what I wanted to show you. 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 slowing to a stop. Cyrus leaned against the stone, the rough grains digging into his palms.
Beside him, Myrel pulled back his hand, the wrinkles under his eyes deeping. "There. It's a simple spell, which calls the seeds aether forth to help it grow. Would you like to try it for yourself?"
Cyrus glanced at the second seed, and took a deep breath. "I suppose just trying it wouldn't hurt anything. What do I need to do?"
Myrel's grey eyes swirled. "Calm your breathing, and search your mind. You should feel something similar to a candle's flame, flickering within the depths of your thoughts. It'll be faint at first, so you might need to search for it."
"It helps if you close your eyes," Sylven said. He sat against the table. "Allows you to focus more."
"Heh. Right, focus…" Cyrus tentatively held his hand over the second seed. His heart hammered in his chest, loud enough for him to hear as he closed his eyes, searching his mind for the spark of aether.
"Eisren Ilvine."
A hush fell over the room as both Myrel and Sylven held their breath, watching closely. Cyrus peeked open an eye, waiting for something to happen. A second passed, then another, and yet still no movement. As a minute slipped by, Cyrus frowned, and glanced at Myrel.
"Did I say the words wrong?"
Myrel shook his head. "No… you got them right. Try again, but do your best to will the seed to move. Your desires affect how the aether reacts, and the more powerful your desire, the more powerful the magic."
"I'll- I'll try harder," Cyrus said. He focused his gaze on the seed, and pictured it forming a vine which rose from the stone. "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 in the market. As the guards closed in, and the merchant held you back, what were you feeling?"
Cyrus lowered his gaze. "I was afraid, overwhelmed by the people."
Memories of the day rushed through his mind. The merchant's iron grip on his arm, holding him back. The knight's gleaming armor, shining through the roaring crowd. The cries and screams erupted like a fire through his body, rampaging from his head to his feet.
Cyrus jumped when Sylven gasped, and parted his eyes. His body tensed as he noticed the seed rocking beneath his hand. With a shuddering breath, he focused on it, picturing small tendrils growing from its sides.
With a crack, the seed split open, and several golden roots wriggled out, digging into the table. Cyrus's skin tingled as the warmth whirled through him, and a thin green stalk rose from the table, covered with small thorns.
'This… this is my magic?' Cyrus thought. He tilted his head as a faint whisper flitted through his ears. It reminded him of a rustling forest, waving in a warm summer breeze. The room blurred as he leaned forward, drawn in by the noise. 'What? What is it you're trying to tell me?'
"Easy there, Cyrus. You don't want to do too much," Myrel said, snapping Cyrus back. His grey eyes brimmed with excitement as he stroked his greying beard. "Still, this is quite impressive. How do you feel?"
"I- I feel fine," Cyrus said. Excitement flooded him and he half laughed. "This- This isn't so bad. I can feel the aether flowing through me, following my commands."
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 sense a connection to the aether, like a candle flickering in your mind. I've never heard of anyone actually feeling it in their body before," Myrel said. His frown deepened.
Cyrus winced as the soothing warmth inside his chest grew hotter, lashing out like a whip. On the table, the vine shook, and the roots thickened, fracturing the stone. Sylven stepped back as Myrel reached out a steadying hand.
"Hold on. You must calm down. You'll lose control at this rate."
"I'm- I'm trying," Cyrus said, gritting his teeth. He fought against the flow, 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!"
Before them, the vine rapidly grew, its stalk thickening to the size of a fist. As the roots spread out, they knocked the vial of seeds off the table, shattering it. Sylven jumped back as the seeds within sprouted roots of their own.
A loud crack echoed off the walls as a section of the table broke, and clattered to the floor. Cyrus stumbled back to keep his feet from being crushed, his body weakening with each second. He gasped for breath, his heart pounding in his chest as his sight grew blurry.
"I can't- I can't breathe!" Cyrus rasped. He squeezed his eyes shut, struggling to break free from the aether. Someone grabbed his shoulder, holding him steady, and Myrel's voice slipped through his ears, soft but firm.
"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, allow it to flow freely. Trust it and it will respond to you."
Cyrus lurched to the wall, and grabbed ahold of the stone. Ignoring the pain, he closed his eyes, and forced his muscles to relax. His legs sagged, but Myrel gripped his shoulders, allowing him to focus on the inferno raging inside his body.
'I- I have to follow the flow! This magic is mine. I will not allow it to control me!' Cyrus thought. He bit the side of his mouth until the iron taste of blood filled it, and fixated on the aether surging through him. Gathering his strength, he slammed his mind down on the flow.
'Enough!'