“Eric Clarkson is the Second Arma, a very powerful supreme mage with extensive combat experience,” Ilforte said pointedly.

  “He also has the magical gift of foresight. He can see certain paths of the future.”

  “Our local Lord Prophet, I’m aware,” I grimaced.

  Ilforte nodded.

  “He can also influence certain aspects of the future, correcting this or that crooked path… if he considers it necessary, of course. But in any case, he’s very sensitive to sudden wrong turns in life, and his instincts should be trusted. So if he senses something wrong in your shadow magic experiments and decides something needs to stop you’ll agree with him unconditionally and won’t argue.”

  “Oh no, I’m not promising that,” I said firmly.

  “I’ll argue with him till I’m hoarse, even if I end up agreeing.”

  Ilforte laughed.

  “Suit yourself. If you want to waste energy on pointless arguments with Eric, who am I to deprive you of that dubious pleasure? We’re all a bit masochistic, in one way or another…”

  I growled quietly again in helpless displeasure.

  “Relax, Calypso. Eric is an excellent specialist in his field. He won’t get in your way. And he won’t constantly hover around you. He’ll just stick his long nose into your notes once a week to assess the progress and safety of your work. He knows exactly when and where to intervene, and when to stand quietly aside. You won’t find a more timely and tactful observer.”

  “Eric this, Eric that… Such a wonderful Eric we have… Too bad he’s not your son, huh?” my voice was full of bitterness.

  “It’s interesting how Eric triggers you,” Ilforte smirked, shaking his head.

  “I have only one son, Calypso, and that’s you. A wonderful son I wouldn’t trade for anyone. But I care deeply about all my charges. You know I’ve raised many of them practically from infancy, so all Armarillis adepts, including those who’ve long grown up, are kind of like my children to me. And I give Eric more attention than many of my other charges because I know, I sense, that someday in the distant future he’ll take my place. I feel it very sharply, without any ‘maybe’ or ‘possibly’ Eric’s path is clear to me. It won’t happen for a very, very long time, but I’m systematically preparing him for the position of Mentor of Armarillis Academy, so to speak.”

  “Why him and not me?” I grumbled.

  “I’m good too.”

  “You are, no argument there,” Ilforte chuckled.

  “But let me remind you that this isn’t my decision, the universe itself chooses who to gift with the zero mark. In this case, I just feel it very sharply and in advance. Besides, the Mentor’s chair isn’t a throne that’s passed down by inheritance. And it’s not your path of development, Calypso.”

  “What is my path then?”

  “I don’t know yet you’re still searching, and that’s normal for your age. From what I sense, you’re currently standing at a crossroads of your fate and will determine your future relatively soon. That’s all I can say for now. And I know for certain that being the Mentor of Armarillis Academy is definitely not your path,” Ilforte said confidently.

  “You think I couldn’t handle it?” I grimaced.

  “I think you’re destined for a different path of development. Possibly even outside the academy,” Ilforte said thoughtfully.

  “It’s hard to be more specific right now because, as I said, you’re standing at a crossroads. I’m only certain that a great future awaits you, Calypso. But only if you face all the obstacles that arise on your path with dignity. There will be many, and sometimes you might feel like it’s all pointless… Every time that happens, remember this conversation of ours. Remember that I once raged about my ‘worthless status’ just as much as you. I had a long and very thorny path of magical development… But if I hadn’t walked it with my head held high, I wouldn’t be who I am today. Remember that a supreme mage always finds his future, Calypso. Always.”

  “I hope so,” I sighed.

  “For now, I’m very far from even half the level of mage you are. I know your magical potential and understand what you’re capable of in battle. Though you now prefer not to get into open fights without a good reason, especially when there’s a whole staff of Fortemins and inquisitors, why waste energy for nothing. But your potential is enormous. It’s… staggering in scale.”

  “All in good time, Calypso. In a couple thousand years you’ll not only catch up to me but surpass me,” Ilforte said thoughtfully.

  I actually choked on air, staring at my father, whose eyes were dancing with amusement.

  “Are you messing with me? I can’t even imagine numbers like that yet.”

  “It’s hard now, it’ll be easy later,” Ilforte said in a singsong voice.

  “But that’ll come later… later. Right now you’re full of youthful maximalism. It’s understandable why. You’re still too young and hot-blooded, you want everything at once and preferably yesterday, you’re just starting your life journey it would be foolish to expect and demand any calm or acceptance from you. And it’s good that you have no acceptance. Your thirst for more constantly pushes you forward. It’s your personal engine of development, and that’s beautiful in its own way.”

  “But along with that thirst, there’s still too much aggression bubbling in you… And that’s not necessarily bad either, because aggression itself is a wonderful energy when directed properly. And actually, aggression is essential in life.”

  “That sounds like the world can’t exist without aggression and negativity at all,” I smirked.

  “In a sense, that’s true, if you think globally. Well, what can you do? Humans fundamentally develop through aggression and move through pain, and that goes double for mages and supreme mages. Maybe someday we’ll learn to develop through pure happiness and pleasure, but not in the next couple thousand years for sure. Humans don’t know how to live in peace. For now we move forward through constant pain of various kinds, both physical and emotional.”

  “That sounds… pretty pessimistic.”

  “Not really, it’s just a fact,” Ilforte shrugged.

  “Think about it. We’re even born through pain. And it hurts the baby too, taking that first breath. Not to mention the mother’s pain. So just to appear in this world, we all go through hellish pain. And a person is born several times in their life. Ever thought about that? Every time we make an important decision and step forward through pain, through aggression we’re born again.”

  The cold sea wind tugged at the hems of Ilforte’s snow-white robe as he walked softly across the sand. He walked along, enjoying the stroll and the restless wind blowing in his face.

  Love this story? Find the genuine version on the author's preferred platform and support their work!

  “But aggression comes in different forms,” Ilforte continued, turning toward the cliffs, and I followed.

  “Its forms vary. Aggression can be destructive, or it can be creative. And quite positive and sweet.”

  “How can aggression be positive and especially sweet?”

  “We-e-ell, intimacy between a man and woman is also a kind of act of aggression, when you think about it,” Ilforte said with a sly smile.

  “A man wants to take the woman he desires, and wants to possess her exclusively. Very sweet aggression. That’s how our natural essence manifests. But from this type of aggression, a wonderful creation is born - a child. The fruit of love, created by two people, the continuation of both families. And that’s perhaps the highest form of positive aggression.”

  “But there’s another aggression, rooted in envy, wars, destruction. With the energy of aggression you can give life to new people, build new cities and countries, grow magnificent gardens or you can destroy entire worlds.”

  “For example, you know that long ago the dark sorceress Arona destroyed an entire world, directing all possible dark forces there and draining the life force and magic from all its inhabitants, using that energy for her horrific experiments and creating a new modification of controllable dark creatures. After destroying that world, she set her sights on continuing her experiments in Forland, which she was also planning to wipe off the face of the earth. And she would have achieved her goal if Zael and Elza hadn’t stopped her once and for all. Different aggression, and look how different the outcomes are, right?”

  “So aggression can both kill and give life… Depending on where you direct that energy. The same goes for darkness and light, for dark and white magic. White magic can also be destructive, and dark magic can serve good. Our Elza is a very vivid example. And not just her, of course, but Elza is especially illustrative here.”

  “And how can white magic be destructive?” I asked.

  “I don’t think I fully understand what you mean.”

  “That’s when the road to Hell is paved with good intentions,” Ilforte smirked.

  “When everyone suffers in the name of some bright and supposedly great goal. That happens much less often, but it happens, so an excess of light, like an excess of darkness, disrupts the balance of worlds. And we Fortemins, warriors of balance, are tasked with maintaining that very balance. The balance of light and darkness in the worlds. As long as there’s a lot of darkness in the worlds, Fortemins will keep being born. If greedy darkness ever stops proliferating, Fortemin magic will simply start dying out on its own. Or rather, wizards with our abilities will stop being born, and there won’t be any need for Armarillis. But I don’t see or sense any signs of that. So if it ever happens, it definitely won’t be in our lifetime.”

  We approached the sheer cliff, and my father waved for me to come closer, almost right up to the rock face.

  “See?” he pointed at black butterfly cocoons hidden in crevices of the cliff.

  “This deserted shore is somehow very popular with filarias. Beautiful poisonous butterflies whose venom can kill very quickly, and whose powder from their delicate wings is a unique miraculous ingredient in healing. Filarias, while still small, unremarkable caterpillars, really love choosing this shore to cocoon and transform into deadly butterflies.”

  There really was an enormous number of butterfly cocoons here. The cocoons — as black as the adult butterflies — stuck out of every possible crevice in the cliffs and even just lay on the sand under the thorny wild rose bushes.

  “This butterfly has already completed its transformation and stepped onto its new path,” Ilforte pointed at one filaria that had already emerged from its cocoon and dried off in the sun.

  Before our eyes, the butterfly spread its wings and flew into the sky as a black speck. Its flight was swift — filarias were faster than ordinary butterflies.

  “Look, this butterfly is only just emerging,” Ilforte said, pointing at another cocoon.

  The cocoon he pointed at was already cracked, but the butterfly inside hadn’t managed to emerge yet. Right now it was struggling with all its might to climb out of the tight cocoon.

  “How about we help it?” Ilforte suggested.

  “It’s suffering so much, and we can ease its struggle.”

  Without waiting for my answer, he approached the cocoon and carefully opened it the rest of the way, making it easier for the butterfly to emerge. For several minutes we silently watched the black filaria spread its wings.

  “What are we waiting for?” I asked quietly.

  Ilforte gestured to wait. He looked very serious and focused.

  Several more minutes later, the filaria’s wings had dried, and it flew up into the sky. But unlike the previous butterfly, it only flew a few feet before it sadly fell to the ground. It twitched for a while, trying to fly, then went completely still.

  “Check on the butterfly?” Ilforte nodded at the motionless filaria.

  “Looks like it’s kicked the bucket.”

  I bent down, picked it up, and confirmed the butterfly was dead.

  “Why do you think it died?” Ilforte asked, watching my expression closely.

  “Its wings were weak.”

  “And why?”

  “Just a weak specimen,” I shrugged, ruthlessly crushing the dead butterfly in my hand.

  “Nothing special.”

  “Wrong,” Ilforte clicked his tongue.

  “There are no weak specimens among filarias.”

  “But the butterfly died,” I said skeptically.

  I opened my palm, and a gust of wind blew the butterfly’s remains from my hand, leaving only precious silver dust on my palm.

  “Because I helped it,” Ilforte said with a sad smile.

  “If you help a butterfly trying to escape its cocoon to leave its shell before it’s ready, the butterfly will die. Because its wings won’t be ready for flight. They won’t have strengthened enough to lift it into the sky and carry it far and high. Inside the cocoon, the caterpillar undergoes incredible changes, completely transforming its appearance… The future butterfly goes through a complex life cycle, struggling to climb out with its little legs. It's very hard. But while it struggles, it grows stronger, its wings strengthen. And the deadly filaria finally spreads its wings.”

  “Hmm, I see. And your point is?”

  “This is that same good intention that paved the road to Hell… Just on the scale of one little butterfly. I wanted so badly to help it, to ease its path, that I killed it… with my help. With what was supposed to be kindness. The same thing can easily happen in relationships between people. And on the scale of entire cities and countries, even worlds with enough desire and persistence. And you’re like this butterfly right now, Calypso,” my father looked into my eyes, his gaze very serious.

  “You’re in your own personal cocoon, slowly finding your way toward the sun. It’s hard sometimes, the pressing walls frustrate you, but you stubbornly crawl forward… Your figurative ‘wings’ are strengthening, you’re getting stronger every day. The day will come when you’ll crawl out of your old shell yourself and spread your beautiful new wings, flying confidently toward the sun. But you have to do it yourself. If someone keeps removing all the obstacles from your path, you won’t grow strong, like this butterfly, and you’ll fall before your time. And all that’ll be left of you is precious dust,” he nodded at my dust-covered palm.

  “Right now you’re thinking about your magical development as if you’re trying to take someone else’s place. When what you need is to find your own place,” Ilforte particularly emphasized ‘your own.’ That’s what’s important. Think about that.”

  “You really love speaking in metaphors,” I smirked, shaking my head.

  “Well, it’s vivid, isn’t it?” Ilforte smiled broadly.

  “True,” I smiled broadly too.

  “More than. I understand, Father. You’re right… As always, I suppose. Well then, I’ll crawl out of my cocoon on my own and find my own place in the sun. Because if even some butterfly can do it, I definitely can, right?”

  “That’s exactly the right conclusion,” Ilforte snapped his fingers approvingly.

  We stepped back from the cliffs, and Ilforte formed a teleportation vortex to return to the academy. But he didn’t hurry to enter it, instead standing still nearby, biting his lip thoughtfully and staring at nothing, as if not seeing anything.

  “Creating is always harder than destroying,” Ilforte said slowly.

  “And with great power comes great responsibility. You, Calypso, are capable not only of taking from this world, but of giving generously. Think about what you can give to the world.”

  “I’ll think about it,” I nodded seriously.

  “I imagine that’s not a one-day thinking question.”

  Ilforte nodded, was quiet for a moment, then added softly:

  “I’m still very worried about the lack of experienced guides in shadow magic. It’s a shame there’s simply no one to ask for advice, no one to supervise you and guide you in the right direction. Because that direction doesn’t exist yet. Everyone who ventures into this will be pioneers.”

  “Well, who knows, maybe I’ll become that experienced guide someday?” I smirked.

  “Anything’s possible, Calypso,” Ilforte sighed heavily, stepping into the teleportation vortex with me.

  “Anything’s possible…”