The office's fireplace had its heat extinguished during a clash of magic. It left the room cold, for a moment. Archmage Ray, with a look of indifference, flicked his wrist. The wood reignited back to life , and as warm air filled the office, the tension eventually softened. He sat down in his chair smoothly, as if nothing had happened.
I'm taking him…
Those words hung in the air, and a long silence followed that seemed to last for more than five minutes. Sir Robin stood frozen, still in shock with such a display of power from the sharp-eared Archmage. Lanius, on the other hand, crossed his arms as he looked at the two mages with a rather sour, guarded look.
Damian's jaw hasn't moved since the elf said those words. She stood close to him, with her short frame being only a head taller than him. Though short in stature, he could only guess that her age is twice as old as anyone in this room. Her icy gaze hadn't moved an inch either.
"Very well," Ray said, leaning forward to rest his forearms on the desk. "If that is what you wish, I will not contest it… Archmage Melys."
The elf lady is an Archmage as well? Damian thought, his mind raced trying to align her prestigious rank with her weathered, travel-worn robe.
He was twice as struck as he already was from her otherworldly beauty alone.
Melys's title carried weight equal to Archmage Ray Amarant himself. But something in his gut tells him she might be greater than him. Perhaps it was her innate immortality that her race possesses, as elves mature and get wiser with age according to legends.
Damian mustered the courage to talk. He could have said a praise for her, or talked about how her beauty shines through the cold weather of the north. But instead…
"My lady," Damian blurted out. "You're so small and pretty!"
The room fell silent.
There was no rational reason for him to say that, not in front of the Archmage who would soon teach him how to control his newfound power. He only spoke of a plain observation, and a shattered expectation of the idea that elves were taller than the average humans.
Oh, and of course he complimented her looks, secondly. Which is odd because those are not what makes her interesting, but the prestigious title Melys carries, which he sought the most.
"Mhm, and you're tiny." Melys said, as a matter of fact. "An apprentice shouldn't speak so casually."
Neither annoyed nor fond of it, she pinched Damian's cheeks with both hands. He also wanted to reach up and pinch those snow-white cheeks of hers in return, but he had already surrendered to her touch. She kept squishing Damian's cheeks like soft dough, his bashful squeaks muffled under his breath.
Melys turned her face towards Lanius, letting go of Damian's face.
"Lord Lanius," Melys said. "I will teach your son the higher tiers of spellcasting and help him control the absurd mana pool he possesses."
Lanius did not answer immediately. He came here with the intention of hiring Ray Amarant, but it seems the winds had changed unexpectedly
"It can't be helped, my son seems to like you already." Lanius said. "I will compensate you generously for as long as you teach my son."
"Mm. As for the lodging…" Melys said, looking down to Damian. "I prefer to stay where Damian is the closest to his family."
Damian's ears perked up when he heard her words. He was relieved that he didn't need to study away from home like he previously thought.
"Really? M-Master?" Damian said. He was reluctant when he said the word 'master', not because he was nervous, rather, it was the excitement of being taught at home. Being in close proximity with one of the best practitioners of magic gave him all levels of awe and anticipation.
"Do I need to say it twice?" Melys replied, her tone cool and dismissive. "Oh, and as for my first rule, you will listen to me attentively. Is that understood?"
"Y-yes, master!"
"Good."
After saying their farewells to Ray, Melys and Damian joined the others in the carriage bound for castle Emberhall. The limestone walls loomed overhead as their carriage made its way to the Hill of Ericus—named after the Duke himself—where his massive castle stood for centuries, overlooking the sprawling White Bay and the capital city of Aisdel.
Damian leaned his head out of the window, letting the cold breeze instantly brush against his hair. Vermilion guardsmen immediately noticed the sigil of their carriage and swung the heavy iron gate for them.
Lanius had matters to discuss with the Duke before they could return to their estate at Melvor. Most notably to tell him about Damian's sudden magical awakening, something that is far too significant to be kept hidden to Ericus.
Ornate lion statues flanked the grand staircases of the castle. They sat upright, proud, with their right arms raised and paws curled, baring their teeth and eyes sharply opened. The lion symbolized the Lynerian Empire's absolute dominion over the continent of Talos, adopted by many great houses of Arcaedian descent.
The grand hall of the castle radiated with warmth from its massive hearths. Oswald, the head steward, bowed as he greeted them.
"Welcome, Lord Lanius." Oswald said with practiced courtesy. "Your father is in his study, currently devising his plans for the Vestian refugees living at corners of the city walls."
"Vestian refugees?" Lanius said. "When did they arrive? Are their shelters even built to withstand a northern winter?"
"From what I've heard, their makeshift camps are only made out of scrapped wood and torn sails from the ship that carried them." Oswald said.
"They were mostly composed of feline and canine Vestians. Though Aisdel accepts their kind, these refugees seem to hail from the middle-eastern continent; their dialect is entirely foreign to us who speak Westirian."
"I see." Lanius nodded. "I shall speak with my father at once. Ensure my companions are fed in the meantime.
"Right away, lord." Oswald said and bowed to Lanius.
Before heading upstairs, Lanius told Damian, Sir Robin, and Melys to wait in the living quarters after they finished their meal.
Naturally, servants moved in attention to tend to their guests, providing them food and refreshments.
They were served a hearty spread of roasted mutton, crisp potatoes, and green vegetables, accompanied by a rich, savory brown gravy and goblets of aged wine and a goblet of sweet grape juice for Damian.
Damian sat at the far edge of the long table with Melys beside him. Across from them sat Sir Robin, who had remained stoically quiet since leaving the magic university. It was not unusual to see him this quiet, likely he was still processing the elven Archmage's power.
Sir Robin broke his silence, for he will bless the food. Eyes closed, hands clasped firmly, he spoke his prayer in a soothing, matured and measured tone of someone raised under the clergy.
While praying, Damian can't help but peek to his right to see his master, just for a brief moment. Melys had already consumed five mutton chops, completely ignoring the solemnity of the knight's prayers. .
"...Amen." Sir Robin finished, letting off a soft, suppressed sigh as he opened his eyes.
Melys blinked, glancing between the two with a bored look on her face.
"Hm? What?"
Damian swallowed. Hesitated to ask, he was uncertain if she simply lacked the table manners or didn't follow the Dawnist Faith, but he felt compelled to speak up.
"Master, may I speak freely?" Damian asked, his tone measured and careful.
"Go on, I won't bite you for it."
"Whenever someone is blessing our food, it is polite to wait until they're finished."
Melys's brow furrowed, a hint of irritation passing over her face at being lectured on table etiquette by a six-year-old boy.
"The food smelled good, and I haven't eaten since morning. I know plenty about table manners, child." Melys said plainly.
"And before you ask another question, no, I do not follow your faith."
Before Damian could even reply, Melys reached over and gave his ear a sharp, firm pinch. The boy yelped.
"You are observant, I'll give you that." Melys said, letting him go as she gestured to a servant for another plateful of mutton. "Don't correct me again."
After they're done eating, they move to the living quarters, just as Lanius instructed. A crackling fireplace warmed the room, and large glass windows let in the sunlight to illuminate it.
Melys, however, had no intention of waiting around.
The Archmage grabbed Damian's hand. Without looking back or saying a word, she headed straight towards the exit. She didn't even ask his permission.
Damian let out a short gasp, reluctantly following her footsteps.
"M–master, my father told us to wait here—"
"I don't want to wait any longer, kid." Melys said. "We must go to the castle's yard."
Does Melys have this great sense of pride at her status that she doesn't care about proper manners at all? It could be, or rather a powerful being such as her can just bend the rules whatever she seems fit?
Melys and Damian headed at the paved courtyard of the castle's training grounds. Snow was frequently swept by the cleaners so the household guards and knights can train here without worry of slipping and injuring themselves.
"Sit down," Melys instructed, gesturing to the ground. "Cross your legs and relax your arms. Focus solely on your breathing, your attention must remain undivided."
Damian nodded. He sat down and adjusted his posture carefully.
"Breathe in, breath out." Melys guided, her hands surprisingly gentle as she corrected the angel of his shoulder. It was just like when he first awakened his mana radiance with his mother. The basics and the fundamentals of magic being applied at this moment. "Visualize your mana and suppress its overflow."
A translucent, blue aura expanded from his body, spiking up like a pillar. It reached the height of a two-storey building. The pressure coming out of him shifted the air violently, making the guards stationed on the battlements snap their heads towards the yard.
"Don't rush it." Melys said. "An unstable expansion will only lead to a chaotic spellcasting. Try to decrease its size by half."
Damian took a long, deep breath, imagining the storm within him slowing into a steady tide. The height of his mana radiance went down to a storey and a half.
…
"Mm, there is a semblance of control in you, though unrefined." Melys said.
"Now cast a simple [Waterball] spell. It is less destructive compared to [Freeze], and you'd only worry about others getting soaked.
And the castle wall getting pushed back by the rushing, overcasted water spell? Damian told himself.
"And of course, just aim at the castle wall."
"Huh, what?!" Damian said, his head turning quickly at her. "The wall?!"
"Did I stutter?"
"No, not at all, master." Damian answered, though still skeptical about her instruction.
Did she just read my mind? He asked himself. No, my shock came from where I must aim the [Waterball] spell, grandfather's castle will be damaged for the first time!
"Wont it damage the castle wall?
"Yes."
"Are you going to use [Dispel] before it hits then?"
"Mm, maybe."
"Maybe?! Why the uncertainty?"
"Your spell might be too fast for my eyes." Melys said and yawned. She blinked slowly and rubbed her eyes, not caring about collateral damage to the Duke's castle.
"No more questions, just cast the spell before I fall asleep."
She's bluffing, I know it. Damian told himself. Memories of her nullifying magic flashed in his mind, and he could have sworn Melys reacted quickly, just like how soldiers would react when they are attacked in their sleep. Or better yet, how an experienced archer fires their bows in three consecutive shots without holding it for too long to aim.
"Okay…" Damian said. Taking a long, deep breath, he focused on suppressing his radiance, and visualized control of the spell.
Damian assumed a stance. He set his feet aligned with the width of his shoulders, bent his knees slightly, and raised his right hand, bracing his wrist with his left to prepare for the spellcasting's recoil.
A surge of magical energy spread throughout his body, giving it a hot, but not unpleasant sensation.
Water formed out of thin air before his palm. His spell started from the size of an apple, then swelled to the size of a big rock. Damian thought that would be the end of it. The [Waterball] grew even bigger until it reached the size of a boulder.
"Uhh, master?" Damian said, calling out Melys as he slowly turned his head, facing her. "I don't think I'll be able to hold it off for much longer! Please tell me that your [Dispel] is ready to interfere!"
A wave of panic broke Damian's concentration. All the focus had gone in a matter of seconds. His mana radiance grew at two-storeys, and his hold of the spell weakened.
The [Waterball] spell—which doubled its mass—had removed itself from his control and slipped off of his hand. It was headed straight at the castle wall.
The recoil knocked Damian off his feet, tumbling backward.
Damian instinctively covered his ears, closed his eyes, and yelped, not knowing what to do once the massive [Waterball] shatter a part of his grandfather's castle walls. Will he scold him? Duke Ericus's voice was the thunder given voice of a man. He'd probably collapsed by the sheer presence of his aura.
Opening his eyes, he had expected a sudden burst of debris exploding, and men tranced with panic and worry.
"Ohh?" Damian said, blinking.
Melys stood a few paces ahead, her dragon-ornamented staff in her right hand raised high. She twirled the catalyst in a fluid, circular motion. High above was the massive sphere of flowing water, spreading like a cloud.
Her light-blue eyes glow like fire instead of ice. With a sudden upward thrust of her staff, she launched the massive body of water into the clouds above.
"[Dispel]." Melys chanted.
The spell dissolved into a vast, shimmering droplets of water, cascading down the courtyard as a sudden shower of rain. The sky parted just enough for a single beam of sunshine to highlight Melys, breaking the falling droplets into a colorful rainbow around her short frame.
"You lost focus." Melys said, her tone flat. Her gaze dropped to Damian's level. "Your [Waterball] spell even doubled its mass, enough to burst through that castle wall."
"Havent I told you what to do?" Melys sighed. This time, Damian can feel her disappointment escaping her lips.
Damian pulled his knees to his chest, staring at the wet pavement. Regret and anxiety churned in his stomach. He was supposed to be a prodigy worthy of an Archmage's time. Instead, Melys will only think of him as just another unruly child who doesn't listen to his elders. The only thing he knew right now is that he failed at his very first lesson—failed to impress his master.
"You disobeyed me and broke my first rule on day one." Melys said as she stepped close to him. She reached him down with her right index finger lifting his chin so he may be forced to face her.
Despite the icy look on her face, her eyes burned with emotions. Damian searched her eyes for any sign of contempt and he found nothing. Instead, Melys's gaze was burning with determination.
"Master…I…"
"I don't expect you to be perfect on our first day." Melys said with a gentle tone. Her slender index finger pressed on Damian's lips before he could even blurt a stammered apology.
"I expect discipline and presence of mind. Listen, learn, and apply, that is all I ask."
Damian's eyes glinted, a single tear fell in his eye which he immediately wiped with his sleeve. He sniffled as he fixed his voice and straightened his posture.
"Yes, master!" Damian said.