The conversation was going well, Wallace was able to bring both Igraine and Uther to a quiet and private area.
Marlive gardens, It was once an old safe house during the war of the mad king, and left as a historical landmark and museum.
Due to his connections he was able to get the building cleared out so they could have this "chat".
Wallace sat at the table with Uther and Igraine sitting in front of him.
The old man knew that he had to play this slow and delicately, so he started with the big news first.
"It seems Mordred has recovered his memories."
Uther who had been at least trying to look invested and Igraine who couldn't bother to look Wallace in the eyes, both of them became chillingly still.
It was Uther who spoke first, his voice soft yet raging like a storm.
"What has he regained?"
Wallace straightened his posture as he spoke.
"Everything it seems, though I have not checked myself.
Now Igraine asked her question.
"What has he been doing?"
Wallace stifled his laughter as he gave his answer.
"aparantly, he has found his 'Fated Partner'."
Igraine instantly became confused, but Uther instantly gained the fervor of ten men.
As he started to ask hundreds of questions about his chosen weapon.
But thankfully Wallace had actually foreseen this happening and knew what could put them back on track.
The old man slid the record of Mordred's escapades during the last week.
Uther immediately started to go through the journey of his son's warrior path, but before Igraine could ask her questions she suddenly tensed up.
The reason why she froze is because something had appeared from the west of them and started to take in a lot of mana.
And as she felt this massive vortex absorbing mana grow stronger and stronger, the worst part is that she instantly recognized the mana that was being drained.
It was Mordred's, she felt like her heart had completely stopped when she recognized his mana for the first time in almost five years.
She started to stir carefully trying to figure out what was draining Mordred.
It couldn't be anything mortal, and see would have known if a spirit was anywhere near Soladarr.
She slowly and silently started to leave her seat, and as she finally stood the giant arcane vortex that was draining her son's mana grew in strength.
And with that Igraine ran out of the meeting, as the pushed through the door she summoned her partner.
Duvow appeared before her, and just when Uther caught up to his wife Igraine had already taken flight.
…
Igraine was always proud of Mordred, but she would be lying if she said that she would be okay if he never learned her magic.
She refused to say it publicly, especially in front of her son, but she wanted him to become a sorcerer like herself and learn her family's style of magic.
A part of her was scared that the great sorceries and arcane arcane arts of her now gane family were going to end with her.
But much to her hidden joy, Mordred as much a sorcerer as he was a knight.
Truly her happiest memories was when she was teaching Mordred magic.
How he took to magic both arcane and sorcery like an eagle to the sky, and how his mind was always full of questions about the arcane.
And she would always remember when he summoned his own familiar.
His room where the summoning had taken place was covered in soot.
The ten year old Mordred himself was also a mess but all of his attention was focused on the bright crimson red chick that was resting in his small hands.
Oh yes she remembered that night, it was just four days after his tenth birthday.
Mordred had been begging his mother to teach him more about familiars.
But as Igraine herself first summoned Duvow when she was fifteen like everyone else in her family did.
She thought it would be for the best for Mordred to wait until he was older.
But Mordred had other ideas, her son using her own journals from her youth successfully recreated the summoning circle and used it.
Of course she scolded him, because of how dangerous sorcery was she couldn't allow stunts like this to become the norm.
But deep down she was proud, because of course she was.
Her ten year old little boy had recreated a sorcery he was never shown, something others had been trying to do for centuries.
Oh how she wished, that she had rubbed in every other parent's faces.
How she wanted to show off her pride, but she didn't for Mordred's sake she couldn't.
She knew the pain of lofty expectations, and she would never allow Mordred to feel that.
…
They had been flying for almost two hours, more than enough for dread to settle in her mind.
Duvow flew faster than she had ever flown before, she felt her caster's worry and fear as they flew to the site of whatever that thing was.
Whatever that was there had already reached a critical juncture and had disappeared from her senses.
Thankfully she could still follow the mana to said site, and after a while that was also unnecessary.
For a large pillar of smoke had divided the sky in two, leading her to a valley near their home.
she gasped when she saw the valley, a sundered and burning land, thankfully it seemed to be far enough from any people or residents.
It was then a creature made his presence known.
From the smoke filled skies he flew to meet Igraine and Duvow, a wing creature that was four times duvow's size.
She surprisingly recognized this creature, the mountrous claw.
A creature that ruled the skies over the sundered lands, whose body was as big as a battle ship and who was the end of anyone foolish enough that tried to explore those damned dunes.
Of course its existence had never been able to be proven, yet Igraine's scholarly mind was silenced by the titanic creature hovered there in front of her.
"Teratorn!"
From below came a voice as deep as any cavern and raspy like the north winds.
Yet it carried a joyful and youthful energy, an energy Igraine could never forget.
And the name he was calling for sealed it for her, she didn't wait for her familiar as she jumped off Duvow and used her magic to slow her descent.
…
Mordred was practising magic when he called to Teratorn, sadly trying to do magic after almost five years of being idle left his arcane senses deteriorated.
Thankfully the summoning ritual revitalised his magic, and along with that he had made an incredible discovery.
His mana capacity had grown to at least ten times of what it was when he was fourteen.
Of course it is well known that one's mana capacity grows with age but nothing even close to this level of growth.
That was not all, for when Mordred actually started to cast spells as practice, he noticed how fast his mana now regenerated.
The combination of these two incredible adaptations made him seem to possess bottomless mana akin to old heroes told of in stories.
Yet as he was thinking that he felt an arcane presence slowly coming right at him.
But before he could react she was already in front of him, his mother and teacher Igraine.
"Oh hello mother!"
Mordred exclaimed a care free smile on his face.
"I thought you and father would be gone for a little longer?"
But instead of receiving an answer he instead was embraced, faster than he could react.
And soon he felt his mother's tears, Mordred silently just put his arms around his tearful mother.
"Your back, you really back aren't you?"
Igraine spoke through her tears, holding her son as tightly as she could.
Mordred just looked up to the sky watching Teratorn and Duvow fly in tandem with each other.
And as he turned his view towards his mother he smiled.
"Thank you for waiting for me!"
…
Mordred now stood in the middle of the training arena showing Igraine his new arcane abilities to igraine.
In his had he was casting [Torrential Flare] a spell known for the
"It's most likely due to the damned armor you were trapped in."
"The Abadull plate is known for its horrible strain that it gives to any poor mage that finds themselves imprisoned by it."
"The same tortuous strain explains your new size, your body pushed to awaken the Highlander blood for survival."
Mordred said nothing as he felt that he had grasped something like never before while using magic.
His open hand closed as he stopped using the spell, and instead tried tapping into the feeling he had grasped just before.
Through grasped fingers came not fire but ash Mordred watched, shocked by the soot that slipped through his fingers like sand.
Igraine too had noticed her son's new discovery, stopping in her tracks as she watched the impossible happen.
Because no one in the entire history of their family was able to conjure ash from mana.
But that was not all because Mordred seemingly innately knew that this was not all he could do as he slowly opened his hand once again.
And out came billowing smoke black as pitch, that rose quickly into the sky to the wonder of the two.
Morded smiled as he came up with a great idea.
Slamming his hands together the soot he had created collected into a five foot diameter sphere.
Then the smoke that was drifting above them converged and started to orbit around the sphere.
And with a wave of his hand the ash and smoke converged, as they did it started to take on a humanoid shape.
Mordred stood in front of his creation, his mother and teacher right by his side.
An arcane sentinel, akin to the golems used by the mage tower.
The only spell that their family had no answer to.
But now here it was standing in front of Mordred, featureless face staring blankly in front of them.
With a body made of cinders and ash, smoke pumping through its heart.
Ashen grey body that stood at about eight foot even, Mordred took a second before puppeting his creation.
Yet even though this was his first time controlling a construct such as this, with just a simple thought the puppet instantly took on a fighting stance.
"How about [Inferno warrior]?"
Mordred asked his teacher, eyes still on the construct.
Igraine, still mesmerized by her son's creation, her words were no more than a whisper.
"Why inferno exactly?"
The answer to her question came not from her son but the puppet in front of them whose soot made hide burst into flame.
Now before them stood a man made of fire, their ashen form devoured by the roaring orange flames.
But still the puppet moved, turning around at one of the last surviving pieces of training equipment.
A training post that was spared of Mordred "harvest", the puppet pulled back its fist and struck at the post.
To which it was sent flying until it was stopped by the wall of the court yard.
It's once straight form now taking on a crescent like shape.
"The Strength is not bad, but it seems when it is blazing it seems to take a major blow to its durability."
Mordred said casually as he stared at his puppets' now missing hand.
But that comment about the puppets' strength knocked Igraine out of her wonder fueled stupor.
"What do you mean it's strength is not bad!?"
Mordred continued to focus on the second puppet he was creating, but he did take the effort of pointing to a different training post.
Which unlike the one that the puppet used, was shattered from the middle up.
Igraine instantly gained an image of what happened to it, her son taking a stance similar to the puppet and punching out.
Only for the pole to shatter before him, Igraine knew that Uther wouldn't be able to do something like this as a simple warm up.
Igraine could only shake her head as her child continued to do the impossible.