Years drifted by like soft winds through Suntails Hollow, carrying with them the steady progress of four inseparable friends. Dorian's magic grew more refined with each passing day; sparks of lightning, soft gusts of wind, and shimmering leaves in his melodies became second nature. Ryssa delved further into her pyromancy, mastering flames both destructive and gentle, her confidence rising with every spell. Lucas honed his swordplay, his form growing sharper and surer, though he never quite gave up his penchant for theatrics. Meanwhile, Bogo poured his soul into his crafts, creating works of art that held the spirit of their shared dreams.
By the time they were fourteen, the bond between them was as strong as ever, their dreams taking firmer shape with each passing moment.
It was one crisp morning that Ryssa returned home from practice to find her mother, Meryth, waiting with an air of excitement.
"I've arranged for a teacher," Meryth said, her voice lilting with satisfaction. "He's one of the finest pyromancers I know—an old friend of mine. You'll learn so much from him."
Ryssa froze. Even with her newfound confidence, the thought of being judged by a stranger made her hesitate. "A teacher? Now?"
Meryth tilted her head, her eyes softening. "I know it's intimidating, but he'll push you further. You've grown so much, Ryssa. It's time for the next step."
Though her mother's encouragement was well-meaning, doubt still gnawed at Ryssa. She brought the matter to her grandfather, Vaerin, who spoke with gentle understanding.
"Growth can feel uncomfortable," Vaerin said. "But you're not alone, ember. Bring your friends. Have the teacher show them as well if you like. Comfort isn't the enemy of progress."
Relenting at last, Ryssa agreed—but only on the condition that Dorian joined her as a fellow student, and Lucas and Bogo could come along to watch if they wished. "I'm not going to face this stranger alone," she said firmly, and Meryth readily agreed.
…
The next morning, the group gathered under the great oak tree that had witnessed countless hours of their experiments and training. A light breeze ruffled the leaves, the sun casting playful shadows across the grass as they waited for Ryssa's mysterious teacher to arrive.
When he finally strolled into view, the group couldn't have looked more unimpressed.
He was a lanky man, dressed in simple travel clothes with no sign of elegance or distinction. His dark hair was an unkempt mess, and his stubbled face carried an expression of perpetual boredom. A lopsided satchel hung from one shoulder, and his stride was slow, almost aimless, as though he'd wandered here by accident.
"Is this the guy?" Lucas whispered, smirking. "Looks like he should be teaching naps, not pyromancy."
"Hush," Ryssa hissed, elbowing him sharply.
The man stopped in front of the group and yawned. "Morning. I'm Tyrn. Your mother asked me to come, so here I am." His voice was lazy, his words drawled out as though they cost him energy. "Magic teacher, professional wanderer, occasional collector of rare pies. Pleasure."
The group exchanged glances.
Dorian couldn't resist. "Uh... you don't look like the finest pyromancer in the land."
Tyrn scratched his head. "Yeah, I get that a lot. Let's keep expectations low—saves us both disappointment."
Bogo chuckled quietly. Ryssa's face, meanwhile, turned a fiery shade of red that had little to do with her magic.
"Well then," Tyrn said, plopping down against the oak tree like he'd been there forever. "Let's get one thing clear. Magic's not about flash. It's about words and intent. Without those, you're just waving your arms like an overexcited goat. Got it?"
"Words and intent?" Ryssa frowned. "That's... vague."
"Not vague—foundational," Tyrn replied, brushing a leaf off his shirt. "Words hold meaning. Intent gives them power. Let me show you."
Tyrn's sharp, lazy gaze landed on Lucas. "You. Sword-boy."
Lucas bristled. "My name's Lucas, and I don't need—"
Tyrn cut him off with a smirk. "Tell me this: What happens if I say something to you? Let's try." He sat up straighter, feigning grandeur. "Lucas, you're the greatest swordsman I've ever laid eyes on. The gods themselves must envy your skill."
Lucas blinked, caught off guard. His posture straightened reflexively, a faint grin tugging at his lips. "Well, obviously. You're not wrong."
The group chuckled, but Tyrn wasn't done. He leaned forward, his tone sharp and cutting. "Lucas, you're hopeless. All the sword-waving in the world won't make you anything more than a peasant."
The grin vanished instantly, replaced by a defensive scowl. "What's your point?"
Tyrn leaned back, crossing his arms. "Words and intent. Same person speaking to you, but you reacted differently both times. Now imagine you're channeling magic. Intent is what makes spells work—or fall apart. It's what turns fire into a spark or a blaze. Forget that, and your magic's useless."
Ryssa and the others fell silent, the gravity of the lesson settling in.
Tyrn turned to Dorian next. "What kind of magic are you decent at?"
"Lightning, wind, nature magic, and weapon flow," Dorian answered. "Healing and other specific types—I haven't tried much. It's hard to learn without a guide."
"Good," Tyrn said simply. "Show me your best."
Taking a deep breath, Dorian plucked the strings of his lute, focusing as he conjured a swirling gust of wind that danced with faint streaks of electricity. It crackled and twisted, perfectly controlled.
"Not bad," Tyrn said lazily, barely glancing at it. "From the book, huh?"
"What?" Dorian asked, startled.
Without further explanation, Tyrn raised his hand and casually recreated the spell—without a lute, an incantation, or even standing up. The wind and lightning obeyed him as effortlessly as a thought, crackling with precise energy.
"That," Tyrn said, letting the magic dissipate, "is the difference. Same result, but your magic follows a script. Mine follows my intent. You've got talent. Just make sure it's your talent, not the book's."
With that, Tyrn yawned, stretched, and stood. "That's enough for today. I've got a nap waiting for me back at the inn. See you next lesson."
The group stared after him, their awe-struck expressions frozen in place as he wandered off.
"That," Lucas said after a long silence, "was the laziest genius I've ever met."
"Or the most genius lazy person," Bogo quipped.
Ryssa's flames flickered between her fingers, her expression filled with thought. "I think he's... exactly what we need."