Boom!
"Uwahh...!" Aslan yelped, instinctively smacking the head of the person who startled him.
"Ow! That hurt! Why'd you hit me?" said the person, rubbing her head.
It was a girl—around fifteen, with a pretty face, big eyes, and long black hair.
"Grace? Is that you?" Aslan asked, finally realizing who it was. He stood up and gently patted her head to ease the pain.
As he did, Grace blushed slightly, but quickly turned her face away. "Who are you?! I don't talk to barbarians like you!" she huffed.
"That's what you get for sneaking up on people like a little kid," Aslan said, defending himself.
"Hmph! I'm not talking to someone so rude." Grace sat down, pouting.
"Fine then," Aslan replied, pretending not to care.
Silence.
"Tch... boring," she muttered. "Alright, I'll forgive you this time. So, what were you doing? I called out to you a few times, but you didn't respond."
"I'm confused about something. Think you can help?" Aslan asked.
"Help with what?"
"I don't get how to use Tors energy."
"Hahaha, well then, you're talking to the right person!" Grace said proudly. "Hmm... Tors energy can be used in two ways—by absorbing it into the body or releasing it outward."
"That's nonsense. I've tried both. It doesn't work at all."
"That's because you don't understand how it works," Grace said confidently. "The first method is absorbing it into each cell in your body. But here's the thing—you can't consciously do that. It happens automatically, but really slowly, and it's not something you can learn. Not everyone can do it either. And if you try to control it, you'll actually end up pulling the energy back to one place in your body. That causes the energy to bunch up and... well, it hurts."
"How are we supposed to do it if it can't be learned?" Aslan asked.
"I don't know the details. I study magic, not martial arts. But from what I've heard, the first method needs a trigger—some kind of spark to activate it."
"A trigger? Like what?" Aslan still looked confused.
"Like motivation, or a strong emotional push, maybe."
"Once someone gets that trigger, the Tors energy their body absorbs will spike for a while. After that, the body remembers the feeling, and that's when you can start training it properly. But... not everyone survives that first spike. If the body can't handle it, it can cause serious damage. Sometimes even death. The ones who survive are called fighters."
"So what about the second method?" Aslan asked.
"The second method is releasing it—but it doesn't stop there. You can't just release it freely or it's wasted. That's why, as a mage, I study spells to convert that energy into magic."
"So that means most Tors users are mages?" Aslan guessed.
"Totally wrong," Grace said, shaking her head. "It's true not everyone can be a fighter, but that doesn't mean there are more mages. Actually, around seventy percent of Tors users are fighters. Spellbooks are usually hoarded by nobles. And the ones that do circulate are either crazy expensive or low quality. Commoners can't even hope to learn them."
"Can you teach me some spells?" Aslan asked, shamelessly.
"I could... hmm..." Grace paused, clearly thinking about something.
"What is it? Will you get in trouble for teaching me?" Aslan asked, seeing her hesitate.
"Probably not, but... hehehe..." she giggled. "I'll teach you, but only if you come to my house."
"Huh?"
"Actually, I came here to invite you. But I didn't want to invite your brothers too. It would be rude if I just invited you and ignored them. But! If you ask to visit me, then I don't have to invite anyone else," she said slyly, circling around him.
Aslan wanted to refuse, but something crossed his mind.
"Alright, I'll play along," he said with a smirk.
"Yay! So, when are you coming?" Grace asked excitedly, her face suddenly really close to his.
"Maybe in a week."
"No! You have to be there in five days!"
"Okay, okay. Five days from now, I'll come to your place... if the emperor lets me," Aslan added.
"The emperor? Isn't he your father? Why not just call him Dad?" Grace asked, puzzled.
Aslan fell silent. He didn't know how to respond. Sure, the emperor was technically his father... but to Aslan, he felt more like a stranger.
"No special reason," he replied quietly.
---
Aslan was now standing in his father's study. The desk was covered in books and letters. The emperor was busy writing. Silence filled the room.
"What is it you want to say?" the emperor asked without looking up.
"I'd like to visit Grace's estate."
"When?"
"Five days from now."
"Alright. I'll make arrangements. You may go."
Aslan didn't move.
The conversation was cold and brief—too brief. He wanted to ask more. But he hesitated, unsure if he had the courage.
"Is there something else you wish to say?" the emperor asked, noticing Aslan was still standing there.
Aslan looked at him for a long time. Then, with determination, he spoke.
"Why did you come for me ten years ago? What was your relationship with my mother? Why didn't you come when she died?"
The emperor paused his writing and looked straight at Aslan. After a moment, he finally answered.
"I met your mother on my way back from a journey. It was almost evening, and storm clouds were rolling in. We stopped at a village for rest. I was drunk. A girl selling bread came in to take shelter from the rain. That girl was your mother. I was drawn to her. I told her I was the heir to the empire, and if she came with me, she wouldn't have to work so hard anymore. She refused—said she was engaged and about to get married. I was drunk... and angry. I pulled her into a room and forced myself on her.
"When I came to, I was already back at the palace. I didn't remember what happened. Then my father committed suicide, and I had to take the throne. I didn't recall anything until ten years ago. To make up for my mistake, I sent a soldier to bring you here."
He spoke with a cold, expressionless voice.
Aslan stood there, trying to process everything, his emotions in turmoil. Without another word, he turned and walked out of the room.
"Thank you... Thank you for clearing away my doubts," he muttered bitterly once he was far enough.
Grace's invitation had already stirred thoughts of running away. Aslan felt there was nothing for him in the palace. He had been happier living in the village. But some part of him still hesitated. Not anymore. Now, his decision was final.
To be continued...