From Mortal To Mystic

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As soon as Lucian stepped out of the house, he felt the sharp sting of magic brush against his senses, an unseen pressure that told him they were being watched.

"Damian, stay close to me," Lucian said, his voice low and commanding. He could feel the weight of his words settle heavily between them, each syllable thick with caution. The boy was still inexperienced—barely an apprentice—and Lucian feared he'd be an easy target if the wrong person noticed them.

"Okay, but who's watching us?" Damian asked, his voice quivering with confusion. He squinted into the distance, trying to make sense of the world around him. The outside world was a sharp contrast to the cramped, dimly lit interior of the house, and Damian was still awe-struck by the open sky and the endless landscape that stretched before him.

Lucian's eyes narrowed as he scanned the surroundings. The trees swayed gently in the wind, but it wasn't nature that caught his attention. It was the faint tug of magic that danced on the edge of his senses. A presence, invisible yet undeniably there.

Before Lucian could respond, a voice rang out, startling Damian with its suddenness.

"Relax, old man, it's just me. I swear your magic is getting weaker with every passing second." The voice was playful but laced with a hint of mockery, seeming to come from nowhere at all.

Lucian stiffened, but when he realized who it was, he allowed himself to exhale slowly in relief.

"Well, you didn't have to go scaring me like that," Lucian muttered under his breath, irritation tinging his words. His hand rested on the hilt of his staff, instinctively ready for a fight, but his grip loosened when he recognized the magic.

Damian, still confused and untrained in the ways of magic, looked around, his eyes scanning for any sign of who had spoken. "Who's that? I mean, I can hear him, but why can't I see him?"

Lucian chuckled softly, his voice steady as he called out to the air. "Relax, boy. Valtos, come out now, or I'll banish you to another plane."

There was a long pause before Damian's shadow began to warp unnaturally. It twisted and writhed as though it had a mind of its own, forming shapes that didn't belong. Damian watched in wide-eyed fear as the shadow seemed to grow thicker, darker, and from it emerged a figure—its form solidifying out of the darkness itself.

"Ahhh! Who is that?" Damian screamed, stumbling backward, his hands shooting out to steady himself.

"Relax, weakling," the man said lazily, stepping fully into the light. He was dressed in a dark, form-fitting warrior mage's uniform—practical yet imposing. His sharp brown eyes glinted as he surveyed them, and he gave a lazy smile.

"Hi, I'm Valtos," he said with a casual air that seemed almost mocking. There was no fear in his stance, no hint of the tension that usually accompanied one wielding such powerful magic.

Valtos stood tall, about Damian's height, with slicked-back blond hair that caught the light, framing a sharp face with a boyish smile. His features were striking in their American-boy-next-door look—handsome, yet carrying an undeniable aura of danger. He was slender but possessed an athletic frame, the kind that spoke of long hours spent training, not just for looks but for power.

Damian scrambled to his feet, his face flushed with embarrassment. He brushed himself off and shot a glare at the newcomer. "That wasn't a very friendly entrance," he muttered, irritated by the scare.

"Excuse me," Valtos said with exaggerated politeness, raising an eyebrow, "did I say I was here to make friends?"

Damian's patience quickly began to wear thin. "What's your problem? We haven't even had the chance to get to know each other, and you've already decided you hate me."

"I never said I hated you," Valtos replied with a smirk. "In fact, I think you'd make a decent friend." His tone was laced with a challenging edge, his eyes studying Damian as if he were sizing him up for something more than just a conversation.

"Then why the aggression?" Damian asked, his temper flaring.

"I just despise weaklings, and that's exactly what you are," Valtos said coldly, his voice dropping an octave. He took a step forward, closing the distance between them, his eyes narrowing with disdain. He leaned in closer, sneering down at Damian. "Weak."

The insult hit Damian like a physical blow, and his fists clenched at his sides. He wanted to snap back, but before he could respond, Lucian intervened, stepping forward and placing a hand on Damian's shoulder, pulling him back.

"That's enough," Lucian said, his voice stern. "I think he gets the message."

Lucian turned to face the young boy, his eyes softening just a fraction. "Yes, it's true, boy. You are weak." He said the words plainly, without malice, as if stating a simple fact. "But that's not the problem. The problem is staying weak."

Damian froze. His heart skipped a beat. Lucian's words struck a chord deep within him. The memories of his life before—the world he'd been pulled out of—flooded back to him. His favorite food, his job, his phone, everything that made him feel alive. He felt a sudden surge of determination, as if all his previous self-doubt had been swept away.

"Tell me, boy," Lucian continued, his voice quieter now. "Don't you want to get back to your home?"

Damian's hands shook slightly, and for the first time since his arrival in this strange world, he allowed himself to imagine returning. The weight of the question sank deep into his chest, and in that moment, the thought of being strong, truly strong, wasn't just an idea—it was a necessity.

"Right," Damian said firmly, his voice steady with resolve. "I'll get strong. Strong enough to beat that smug jerk over there." He jabbed a finger in Valtos's direction, eyes narrowing in challenge.

"Hah," Valtos scoffed, his lips curling into a sneer. "In your dreams, weakling."

Lucian nodded approvingly. "Good," he said, his tone a bit warmer than before. "That's why Valtos will be the one teaching you about magic."

"WHAT?!" Both Valtos and Damian exclaimed in disbelief, their voices ringing out in perfect harmony. They looked at Lucian with wide eyes, stunned by the sudden announcement.

Valtos threw his head back and laughed bitterly. "Have you finally lost it, old man?" he said, his voice sharp with irritation. "You want me to waste my time on him?"

Damian's frustration boiled over. "Yeah, and I don't want to be taught by this pompous buffoon!" he snapped, his face turning red with anger.

Lucian raised a hand, silencing them both with a single motion. His gaze hardened as he spoke, "Neither of you has a choice in this. Valtos, you owe me. Don't forget that. And Damian, you owe me your life. You'll both do as I say."

Valtos groaned, rubbing his temples. "Fine," he muttered, though his voice was thick with displeasure. "But don't blame me if he doesn't survive."

With that, Valtos dissolved into the shadows once again, leaving nothing but the faintest trace of his presence.

Damian stared after him, his brow furrowed in both confusion and anger. "Old man..." Damian hesitated before speaking again, his voice softer now. "Where did you find me? I've been meaning to ask."

Lucian's face remained stoic, his expression unreadable. "You appeared in my backyard," he said bluntly, his words offering little in the way of comfort.

Damian blinked, stunned. "Wait, what?" he asked, his voice barely above a whisper, his mind struggling to comprehend what Lucian had just said.

Lucian grunted, his attention already shifting back toward the house. "That's all you need to know for now," he added, his tone final, dismissing the topic.

"Hey, where are you going?" Damian called after him, trying to catch up.

" Are you blind? Inside, boy. I'm heading back to the house," Lucian replied, his voice laced with sarcasm.

Damian muttered under his breath as he trailed behind the old man. "Ugh, why's everyone so mean here?"

Inside, the house had changed. The bed Damian had been resting on was gone, replaced by a small wooden worktable and a simple chair. It looked more like a workshop now, and the feeling of abandonment and isolation returned to him as he stepped into the room.

Lucian stood in the doorway, his long white beard and hair almost glowing in the dim light. His robes swirled around him like they were alive, and the crystal-tipped staff in his hand gleamed faintly. He looked every bit the wise mage Damian thought he was.

"Before I let you leave this place," Lucian said, his voice filled with authority, "it would be irresponsible of me not to teach you the basics."

Damian blinked, still trying to process everything. "Teach me what, exactly?" he asked, confused by the sudden shift in their dynamic.

Lucian smiled, his lips curling into a knowing grin. "Apothecary—the art of potion-making. As of now, you are my apprentice."

Damian's eyes widened, and for a moment, the excitement of learning something new flickered in his chest. Potion-making wasn't what he had imagined when he first found himself in this strange world, but the thought of wielding magic in such a practical way intrigued him. He was curious about the potions Lucian spoke of—the possibility of creating something that could give him an edge.

However, his enthusiasm was short-lived as another thought crept into his mind. "Wait… won't this clash with that guy's training schedule?" Damian asked, a slight unease in his voice.

Lucian's eyes gleamed with a mix of amusement and resolve. "That depends entirely on you," he replied. "The faster you complete your tasks, the better. Consider it part of your discipline."

Damian let out a frustrated sigh, feeling the weight of the endless training bearing down on him. "Does he hate me or something?" Damian thought, his face falling. The idea of non-stop training from both Lucian and Valtos sounded exhausting, and he wasn't sure he was ready for that.

Lucian seemed to notice the shift in Damian's expression, his voice softening as he stepped closer. "You want to go back home, don't you? To everything you left behind? Then you'll need to push yourself. It's the only way." His words were surprisingly gentle, but they carried the authority of someone who had lived through countless battles and struggles.

Damian nodded, a sense of purpose slowly taking root. "Right," he muttered, more to himself than to Lucian. He wanted to return home. The only way he could do that was to become stronger—much stronger than he was now.

Lucian nodded approvingly, his voice taking on a more measured tone. "Let's start with your first lesson."

Damian stiffened as Lucian approached him, the old mage's long robes brushing the floor as he moved. Lucian extended a hand, and blue light began to glow faintly from his palm. Damian watched in awe, the soft glow growing brighter, and for a moment, the room seemed to hum with power. The air was thick with an energy Damian hadn't felt before. It was intoxicating.

Lucian's hand hovered just in front of Damian's forehead, and the moment their skin met, a soft pulse of energy flowed from Lucian into Damian. The blue light spiraled into him, filling every corner of his being. Damian gasped, his body stiffening at the unfamiliar sensation. It felt as though something had awakened inside him—a force that he never knew was within him.

The energy swirled within him, its power making his heart race, but he refused to let it overwhelm him. He clenched his fists, focusing on the pulse of energy running through his veins. It was like a spark igniting a wildfire, and Damian was helpless against its pull. His body trembled, but he did not pull away. He wasn't sure he could.

Lucian's voice cut through the haze of energy. "That was me awakening your mana. Now, it's visible to you. Before, it was there, but you couldn't sense it. Now you can. It's time to learn how to control it."

Damian stumbled back a step, the strange blue light flickering in his palms as he struggled to steady himself. He gasped for air, his chest rising and falling rapidly. The sensation was overwhelming. He had no idea what had just happened to him, but one thing was clear: whatever Lucian had just done, it had changed him in a way that was both thrilling and terrifying.

"What did you do to me?" Damian asked, breathless, trying to steady his shaking hands.

Lucian's face remained calm, his tone matter-of-fact. "I awakened your mana and made it visible to you. You now have the ability to control it, but you must learn to focus. Your next task is simple: focus your mana into your palm and create a steady stream of light."

Damian blinked, still trying to recover from the shock of the experience. "That's it?" he asked, a bit skeptical. "That doesn't sound too hard."

Lucian grinned, though there was a hint of challenge in his eyes. "We'll see. You're not leaving this room until you succeed. No food, no water, no breaks."

Damian's eyes widened. "What?!" he shouted, panic creeping into his voice. "You can't be serious! I'm not—"

Lucian held up a hand, cutting him off. "You're weak. You have to start somewhere. It's a small task, but one you will need to master. It's the foundation of everything else." He paused, his eyes narrowing. "Do you want to go home? Or do you want to continue being weak?"

Damian's stomach churned at the thought of being stuck here, but the fire in his chest burned hotter. "Fine," he muttered. "I'll do it."

Lucian stepped back, crossing his arms as he watched Damian carefully. "Good. Now, concentrate."

Damian held his hands out in front of him, his palms facing each other. He could feel the faint trickle of energy within him, the pulse of mana just beneath his skin. The blue light flickered in his hands, more faintly than before. He focused, drawing the energy closer to his palms, trying to coax it into something solid.

His first attempt was clumsy. The light flickered and sputtered, then disappeared altogether. Damian gritted his teeth in frustration. He could feel the power inside him—it was right there, just out of reach. His hands trembled as he tried again, concentrating harder.

But this time, something strange happened. The blue mana began to churn, swirling violently inside him. It was no longer the calm, controlled pulse from before. Now, it was wild, unpredictable. Damian's breathing became erratic as the energy seemed to engulf him. His body stiffened as he felt the mana surge violently through his veins, and his chest tightened.

He struggled to control it. His body felt as if it were being torn apart by the very energy he had tried to harness. The blue light was no longer steady but flickering in chaotic flashes, the room around him beginning to glow unnaturally bright.

Damian gasped for breath as the energy within him spiraled out of control. He pressed his hands against his chest, but it didn't help. The magic was too much.

"What… what's happening to me?" he whispered, panic creeping into his voice. He felt like he was suffocating, as though the very power he'd been trying to wield was now consuming him.

Lucian's voice cut through the chaos, sharp and commanding. "Focus, Damian! Control it! You're letting it control you."

But it was too late.

The room was no longer just glowing—it was blinding. The light intensified, so bright that it felt as though the very air itself was on fire. Damian's heart pounded in his chest, and just as the pressure became unbearable, everything went white.

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