I raised an eyebrow, glancing down at the book now in my hands. “Start with what, exactly?”
“Nothing too demanding, considering this is our very first practical lesson,” he replied, seemingly oblivious to me nervously shifting on my feet.
“We’ve already discussed this, if you remember. Emblems are divided into seven different families.”
- Elementa, the Art of Elements;
- Omnia, the Art of Creation;
- Sancta, the Art of Holy;
- Gladia and Sagitta, the two Arts of War;
- Kabal, the Art of Alchemy;
- Arcana, the irregular Arts.
I nodded. “I know the Mark of the Dragon belongs to Gladia, and the Mark of the Two Moons likely belongs to the Arcana family.”
“Precisely. Each emblem is supposed to offer you some insight into its Art. They get you so deep into it that emblems are often considered a mage’s greatest asset… as well as their greatest curse. With due time you’ll learn what insight and limitations came with yours,” he explained.
“But for the moment, let’s stick with magic and build up your fundamentals. That’s way easier, trust me.”
“What were you thinking about?” I asked, rubbing my hands excitedly.
“I’m going to cast a few simple spells, and you’ll have to replicate them to the best of your ability.
“You can use that book if you want,” he nodded at the grimoire he had just thrown at me. “It has all the necessary incantations.”
I flipped through the pages, confirming what he’d just said. As expected, the text was written in Ancient Elvish, the language once spoken by the elven mages of Shan-nay, the precursors of magical arts. Nowadays, it was used almost exclusively by mages for incantations.
“Naturally, if you intend to use the book, you’ll need to recognize the spell as I cast it. But I trust that having read Ars Incantandi, this won’t be an issue for you.”
Let’s hope so, I swallowed nervously. I may have neglected my reading a bit lately.
“Are you sure this is a lesson suited for a beginner?” I tried reasoning with him, even though I knew it was rather useless.
“Aye, I think this is a very basic request,” he said with a shrug. “I could have asked for something far more demanding. Don’t worry, I’ll stick with simple spells.”
He spread his arms wide, and a faint silver aura enveloped him. “Alright, no more chitchat now.”
No chanting? I mentally groaned. That’s unfair, master. You may be past that stage, but I am not.
One after another, Baryon cast three spells, pausing briefly in between so as to give me enough time to analyze them properly.
The first conjured flames from his hands, the second created a translucent barrier all around him, while the third had me wondering. Although barely, I’d caught the glimpse of a blue sphere of rapidly swirling water hovering in front of him before it morphed into a dancing copy of himself.
It felt so weird and so real at the same time that I couldn’t help but burst into laughter.
“Did you recognize them?” Baryon asked as he casually sat on a chair.
The first one had produced flames, so it was likely an Elemental spell. The second was some kind of defensive magic, so there wasn’t much room for doubt. The third one, too, wasn’t very difficult to get. I had read some mages were able to use water to twist light and create illusions or mirages—so that must be what Baryon’d done.
“Alright… I believe the first one was ‘Flame flare’—I think it’s called—while the second was some defensive spell,” I rubbed my temple shortly, trying to remember. “As for the third, I’m not sure if it has an actual name, but I guess it was illusion magic, wasn’t it?”
Baryon clapped his hands, looking pleased. “Not bad, Arda. Bonus question for extra credits now. Don’t you think you missed one?”
Did I? I frowned. Is this a trick question? Or…
“Do you mean the chair?” I asked, though it seemed strange that he’d be referring to that.
“Precisely.”
The chair had appeared out of nowhere, and it was definitely not an illusion.
“A Summoning spell, maybe? ‘Creation’?”
His eyes widened and gleamed in surprise before nodding. “Very good, Arda. I’m glad to see your studies are progressing well.”
Baryon gestured toward me. “Now it’s your turn, young master.
“Remember, two things are essential for casting a spell: Mana and a whole lot of imagination. If you can’t recall the formulas, help yourself with the grimoire. But I’m sure you know it.”
Yeah, had I actually read a magic theory book, I might as well know it, I mentally snorted.
How in the world am I supposed to use my mana? That was what my brain was desperate to voice out loud, but I already knew he’d give me some cryptic answer in return. Might as well improvise.
I started with the simplest one, Flame flare.
Mimicking my master’s stance, I spread out my arms, hoping it would somehow be of any help.
Are all chants like this? I wondered as I read.
It seemed like some kind of invocation to a fire spirit or something along those lines.
Roughly, it went something like this:
“O Mother of fire and Father of heat, through you I invoke the sacred flame! Burn brightly in my hands, tame yet relentless! Flame Flare!”
I read slowly, trying not to stumble and slur over the words. But as I neared the final verse, a troubling thought struck me. If I didn’t figure out how to use mana by the time I finished reading, I would be making a fool of myself.
Out of desperation, as I went through the last line, I imagined a vast lake, one where I could dip my hands in and draw mana from.
“Flame flare,” I recited, concluding the chant.
A sharp pain shot through my head, nearly breaking my concentration.
Something began to tingle just above my hands, and an instant later, small flames—no taller than the width of my palm—ignited in my grasp.
I did it! I cheered internally. It felt a little odd, but I figured I could get used to it.
Baryon, however, wore a puzzled expression.
I’m not on fire somewhere I’m not supposed to be, right?
My clothes seemed fine. My hair, too. I had no idea what he was looking at.
Unfortunately, the moment I took a second to check, I lost focus, and the flames vanished.
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“Very good. Try with the next one,” my master said, his usual neutral expression once again on his face.
I flipped through the grimoire until I found the formula for the mana shield, which was about ten pages ahead. The text described a barrier capable of repelling enemy attacks. This time, though, it felt less like an invocation and more like a plain description.
Regardless, I completed the incantation, and once again, the headache struck. A shimmering silver layer of protective energy materialized all around my body.
I dismissed it and moved on to the illusion spell.
Same process, same headache.
Much more slowly than my master, a small orb of water appeared in front of me, taking a rough resemblance of my body. My translucent, half-backed clone performed a bow and vanished in a twirl.
Flipping through the book one last time, I searched for Creation’s chant. This spell was of a higher level than the previous three, so I couldn’t help but wonder if I could really pull it off.
“Arda, that one isn’t necessary. You can skip—” Baryon broke off mid-sentence. I didn’t know why he had suddenly fallen silent, but I decided to give it a try anyway.
When I finally found it, my eyes immediately started to read through the incantation. Unlike the others, which at least hinted at what they were meant to do, this one was extremely vague.
A spell like Creation also required the caster to actively think about what they wanted to create, making it significantly harder to control.
That’s probably why Baryon tried to stop me, I realized as I finished the spell.
“Creation.”
I envisioned a staff. It had a simple shape and was a common object, so I thought it would make a good choice as a first attempt.
A wooden staff materialized before me.
Overjoyed, I reached out to grab it, but the moment my fingers touched it, my legs buckled beneath me, and I fell to the ground, the staff splintering under my weight.
What the hell is happening?
A sharp pain in my head jolted me out of my catatonic state. My vision was blurry, and an annoying ringing filled my ears.
“Arda! Are you alright?”
With some effort, I managed to sit up. My vision cleared a little, but the buzzing in my ears refused to go away.
“Are you alright?” My master asked again.
“I’ve been better,” I muttered, fighting back the urge to puke.
Baryon let out a relieved sigh. “I told you not to push yourself too hard!”
“Well, you did know I can be a little stubborn. Did I pass the test at least?”
He must have thought I was insane for asking such a thing right after passing out. Sure enough, he burst into laughter. “Well, yeah? I mean, you managed to cast an Intermediate-class spell on your very first lesson, after all. Although…”
He trailed off, holding his breath for a moment. Something was clearly on his mind, and he wasn’t sure whether to say it out loud. That same strange expression from before crossed his face.
“Although?” I urged him to continue.
“Although you weren’t using mana in the strictest sense of the word,” he finally breathed.
“What do you mean?” I frowned. Baryon had the terrible habit of cutting his explanations short right before they started making any sense.
“Don’t get me wrong,” he said. “The spells you cast were textbook, and their execution was in line with what one would expect from a novice. The problem was how you’ve cast them.”
Huh? I blinked several times, making sure I had heard him correctly. I used mana to manifest them, didn’t I?
“Your spells did contain mana, young master,” he explained. “But it didn’t come from your reserves. Instead, it looks like it was drawn from your body.
“And that’s not supposed to happen,” he put much emphasis on this last sentence. “The fact that you felt ill right after only confirms my theory.”
He paused shortly before saying, “What you experienced is usually called backlash. It’s a condition occurring when a mage keeps drawing mana from completely depleted reserves.
“But in your case, it was more as if your reserves were entirely skipped, and your body made up for the necessary mana instead.”
“Is there anything we can do about that?” I asked, my concern growing.
“If you allow me, I can try to probe your mana reserves,” he suggested. “Maybe there’s some kind of obstruction.”
I quickly nodded, letting him proceed.
Baryon placed a hand on my head and closed his eyes. Silence stretched between us for several minutes. He must have been extremely focused to stay so still.
“Just as I thought,” he finally muttered.
“Did you find something?”
“The mana is there, and I can’t feel anything obstructing its flow. Yet, I tried to force it out, but I couldn’t. You’ll have to do it yourself.”
Easier said than done, I smirked. I totally should have taken that magic theory book.
“Close your eyes and try to look for the place where your mana gathers,” he instructed.
I did as he said, though I had no idea where to even begin.
Maybe that lake I imagined earlier might be a good start.
Taking a deep breath, I focused on that image.
Slowly, the world around me faded into darkness. Then, in its stead, a vast lake appeared, nestled between the rolling green meadows of a mountain valley. Towering, snow-capped peaks stretched across the horizon, but beyond them, there was nothing.
The setting sun reflected on the water’s surface, making the lake look like a massive ball of fire.
“It seems like a fairly large mana lake to me,” I muttered, taking a look around.
Weird that I can’t seem to draw enough from it.
As I pondered what to do next, a strong gust of wind stirred me out of my thoughts.
I turned over my shoulder, only to find a pair of massive, bright blue eyes staring straight at me. The moment I realized what, or rather, whom they belonged to, my legs gave out. I fell clumsily to the ground, a faint tremor running through me.
I-it’s a… even my thoughts stuttered.
A colossal black dragon stood before me in all its baleful majesty.
Its gleaming scales covered its body from head to tail, dark as a moonless night. Its wings spread wide, spanning an impossible distance. Even though fear gripped me to my core, my overwhelming sense of wonder and astonishment managed to push through.
Partially hidden beneath a layer of black scales, streaks of scarlet and gold adorned its wings, forming intricate symbols and patterns I didn’t recognize.
“U-uh…” I stammered. “H-hello?”
The dragon’s vertical pupils, like a cat’s, contracted. Its icy-blue irises were so bright that I could see my reflection in them. Not surprisingly, it remained silent, eerily so. It was almost impossible to believe that a creature so massive could be so quiet.
Mustering every ounce of courage I had, I forced myself to speak. “L-Lord Dragon… would you happen to know why my mana isn’t,” I struggled for the right word, “isn’t working?”
That wasn’t even half as eloquent as I’d like it to be, but it was the first thing that came to me. I had no idea if it even understood my language, let alone if it could answer me.
The dragon tilted his head, intrigued, but remained silent. Then, unexpectedly, it did something I never could have anticipated. It folded his legs and lowered itself onto the ground.
“Are you asking me to… hop on?” I hesitated.
As usual, there was no verbal response. But then, its tail began wagging.
“I take that’s a yes,” I said, giving it a tentative smile to cast off the fear.
With its tail wagging, it looked like a giant dog. A dog with wings, fangs, and probably fire breath—but still, a dog.
I barely had time to climb onto its scaly back before the dragon took off into the sky.
My imaginary stomach decided to stay behind.
“So that you know, I never said I was ready!” I yelled, struggling to take a firm hold as the dragon shot almost vertically into the sky above.
It didn’t seem to care much about my protests.
To be fair, if I were a dragon, I’d probably do the same, I thought, gripping onto two scales protruding at the base of its wings. I wouldn’t be too concerned if the guy riding me was comfortable or not. Dragon you go, customs you find.
Under normal circumstances, I would have enjoyed the ride; flying had always been one of my greatest dreams. But here, there was nothing to see.
We soared with the sun at our backs, as everything in this imaginary world slowly vanished over the horizon.
After some time that we were soaring over the void, from within that absolute nothingness, an intense light began to form, directly ahead. Whatever it was, the dragon was determined to reach it.
When we finally stopped, its mighty wings keeping us aloft, the light was so bright that I had to avert my gaze.
Within that light, even stronger than that of the sun, two small moons gleamed, each over a hundred yards in size.
The dragon let out a deep snort, urging me to do something, but my mouth wouldn’t budge.
Every time I tried to speak, my voice died in my throat before I could make a sound.
As if in response to my silence, the two moons began glowing even brighter, to a point it soon became unbearable. My balance wavered, and before I could realize it, I was falling, plunging into the endless void.
Below me, where there should have been nothing, the lake reappeared, growing larger as I plummeted towards it.
When my face was barely an inch from the water’s surface, I shut my eyes.
Despite the breakneck speed of my descent, I felt no pain upon impact.
All I could feel was the rush of bubbles rising around me, tickling my body as they erupted toward the surface. The last thing I remembered was the roar of water bursting from the lake.
“Arda!” A distant voice cried out.
“What the hell did you do?”