Lysander sighed as he held a wrapped parcel in his hand. He stood near a fountain, clearly waiting for someone, his impatience obvious as he repeatedly tapped his foot.
"So the king finally decides to show up," Lysander said, turning toward the figure approaching him. "If not for my generosity, I would have left you and gone back to my work. But I won't. I'm not known as a cruel person. And you did ask me to tutor you in magic."
"Fuck, you talk a lot," the man walking toward him replied.
It was none other than Aurelian, who had just finished purchasing what he believed were suitable gifts for Thaleia's father.
Among the gifts was a small ceramic flask sealed with wax. Inside was fine olive oil, infused with wild thyme and bay leaves. In this era, such oil wasn't just a luxury. It was sacred. Olive oil was used for anointing, honoring the gods, treating wounds, and blessing unions. Gifting it was a sign of respect, prosperity, and goodwill, especially in matters tied to marriage.
There was also a length of finely woven fabric, dyed a deep, dignified blue. Cloth of that quality took time, skill, and wealth. In Greek custom, offering fabric symbolized provision and stability, an unspoken promise that the bride would not lack comfort under her husband's roof.
The final gift was a modest piece of jewelry, a bronze necklace set with a small polished gemstone. Not extravagant, but tasteful. Jewelry in marriage offerings wasn't about excess, but intent. It represented commitment, lineage, and the merging of households. Too cheap was insulting. Too lavish was suspicious. This sat right in the middle.
In ancient custom, gifts during a marriage proposal were not only for the bride, but for her family. They were proof. Proof of capability, seriousness, and respect for tradition. Aurelian had made sure of that.
He had spent sixty silver coins in total, with the sixteen he'd taken from the driver's deck after the carriage was destroyed. It had helped more than he liked to admit.
'Sixty silver coins is a lot,' he thought. 'Everything I brought with me is gone now. Getting back to Athens will be difficult.'
He then frowned inwardly.
'I don't even know why I spent so much. But everything here was priced too well to ignore. And I needed proper clothes.'
Then an image flashed through his mind. It was of Thaleia opening his closet with a pause, as she made a subtle, polite and disappointed face.
'She definitely doesn't like my clothes.'
He exhaled slowly.
'Still… I should be able to make reasonable profit if I manage to create that soap.'
The idea was solid. The problem was time.
'Thaleia will be expecting my return by tomorrow. I've already been gone five days.'
If he could prepare the soap within a day, he could sell the recipe to a merchant, continuously earn commission, and leave Gasok without empty hands.
Aurelian lifted his gaze and looked at Lysander.
"Sorry," he said simply. "Got held up."
Lysander snorted. "You better hope those gifts were worth it. Because if you're broke now, magic lessons aren't going to get you back to Athens."
Aurelian smiled faintly. "We'll see."
With that, they moved through the winding streets of Gasok until the noise of merchants and shouting vendors thinned into something quieter. The shop Lysander stopped before looked unimpressive at first glance. No painted sign. No loud display or glowing trinkets. Just a narrow wooden door and a single bronze lamp hanging above it. To anyone without context, it could have passed for a storage room or an old scribe's office. Lysander knocked twice, paused, then pushed the door open without waiting for permission.
The scent inside was old and dusty, with the walls being lined from floor to ceiling with shelves, every one of them crammed with books, scrolls, and codices. Some were neatly arranged. Others were stacked haphazardly, as if the owner knew exactly where everything was without needing order.
Behind a wide desk sat an old man with sharp eyes. His hair was white and thin, pulled back loosely, and his beard reached the center of his chest. He didn't look up immediately. He was reading, one finger tracing a line of text as if committing it to memory. Only after a long moment did he lift his gaze, and when he did, it landed on Lysander with clear displeasure.
"…You," the old man said flatly. "I was hoping the city had finally rid itself of you."
"Heron," Lysander replied with a crooked grin. "Always a pleasure. You look terrible. Still alive though, so the gods must be distracted."
Heron sniffed. "You have no right to step into my library after the filth you borrowed me last time. Disgusting. I still regret touching it with my hands."
Lysander waved him off. "Please. That book was profound. You're just too old to appreciate—"
"Silence!" Heron snapped. "You are a creep, Lysander. A man ruled by appetite, not thought. You don't seek knowledge."
Lysander sighed dramatically. "And here I was thinking we were friends."
Heron ignored him and finally noticed Aurelian standing a step behind. The change was immediate. His eyes narrowed, not in suspicion, but in focus. He leaned forward slightly, studying Aurelian as if peering through unseen layers. The air in the room shifted, subtle but real, as though something ancient had stirred in recognition.
"…Interesting," Heron murmured.
Aurelian felt it too. The way the man studied him, the awareness, the thought of being observed by something old and experienced.
Heron stood slowly, moving around the desk until he was directly in front of Aurelian. His sharp expression softened, replaced by something close to reverence.
"Remarkable," he said. "Such presence. Such clarity. There is a holy weight to you, boy. Not forced. Not borrowed. It rests naturally, like sunlight on marble."
"And your face...." Heron continued. "Such beauty."
'Damn it, old man!' Lysander thought, his jaw tightening as he watched the exchange. 'Must you stroke his ego like that? I mean, fine, we all have eyes—the man is a pretty boy—but by the gods, I definitely don't need to see this guy getting hyped up any more than he already is. He's already walking around like he owns the city; the last thing he needs is a fan club.'
Aurelian blinked, then chuckled lightly. "You're too kind."
Heron waved a hand. "Kindness has nothing to do with it. Beauty like yours is immaculate. Balanced features, strong form, clear spirit. Gasok hasn't seen a face like that ever."
Aurelian smiled, rubbing the back of his neck. "You're about the seventieth person to say something like that since I arrived."
Clearing his throat, Lysander finally got to the point. "I'm here to borrow a codex. For him." He gestured toward Aurelian. "My apprentice."
Heron then studied Aurelian again, slower this time. "You seek magic?"
"I seek understanding," Aurelian replied calmly. "Magic is part of that."
Heron smiled faintly. "Good answer."
He then turned back toward the shelves, fingers brushing over spines as he walked. "I will not lend to Lysander. Ever again. But I might lend to you." He paused, glancing back over his shoulder. "On one condition."
"Name it."
Heron's eyes gleamed. "You treat knowledge with respect. And you return my book on time, no delays."
"Since you're just beginning with magic," Heron continued, holding a thick book against his chest, "I suggest you start with a codex on affinity. Any competent Magi will tell you this. Mastering an affinity first isn't just smart, it's necessary."
Aurelian nodded and accepted the book Heron handed him. And embossed on its leather cover were the words 'First Step to Elementary Mastery.' He flipped it open once, glanced at the dense text, then quietly closed it again.
Aurelian, not wanting to waste his time reading the entire book, which looked to have more than a thousand pages, asked Heron to list all the affinities documented in the codex.
Heron blinked. Then he let out a short, amused chuckle. "Straight to the marrow, hm? An eager one. I like that. Most beginners drown themselves before even knowing what they're looking for."
He leaned back against a shelf. "Very well. This particular codex only has the four basic affinities."
He then raised one finger. "Fire."
Another finger. "Water."
A third. "Then there's earth."
And the fourth. "Lastly, Wind."
Aurelian listened closely, his expression calm but focused.
Heron continued, clearly warming to the topic. "Beyond those, other codex documents secondary and advanced affinities. Lightning. Ice. Metal. Wood. Light. Shadow. Blood. Sound. Gravity. Illusion. Poison. Spirit. Time, though that one is mostly theoretical. Space. Mind."
He waved his hand dismissively. "And so on. Combination affinities, mutated strains, artificial awakenings. The deeper you go, the messier it becomes."
Only four affinities. And none was Light magic, Aurelian thought. He knew from the system's description of the Paladin class that he had a natural, though currently inaccessible, affinity with Light magic. As he leveled up, it would eventually evolve into Holy Light, the primordial luminance of the heavens, capable of inflicting severe damage even upon gods when wielded as an attack.
To put it plainly, his Light magic affinity wasn't locked. He simply hadn't yet had the opportunity to learn a Light magic spell to manifest it. To do that, he would need to get his hands on a Light magic codex.
Returning the book to Heron, Aurelian said, "The basics won't cut it. Do you have anything on Light magic?"