Traverse The Fog

The Dúndraíocht stood before Cyrus, almost blending in with the swaying lilies behind him. The two remained silent, but Cyrus quickly composed himself and placed a hand over his heart.

"Clear skies, Lord Dílis. I did not notice your arrival." Inwardly, he added, And how did you know I was out here?

A warm smile crossed Lord Dìlis' face as a gentle breeze swept through the field, causing their clothes to flutter softly. "It's rather easy, Cyrus. When a mage practices the proper life domain techniques, even the smallest mana fluctuation is readily noticeable." —His expression then shifted into a playful one— "Like when a freshly awakened mage gets a little too excited with his new powers?"

Cyrus coughed in response in hopes of masking his embarrassment.

"Go ahead and try it," Lord Dílis guided, curling his arm and tightly clenching his fist. "Think of mana as an extension of your body. And just like throwing a fist, you engage your shoulders, biceps, triceps, etc. Channeling mana works the same way."

Of course, Cyrus was not about to ignore the advice of a grandmaster. Who in their right mind would? Facing the manor once more, Cyrus breathed deeply before raising his fists and assuming a boxer's stance. He began practicing simple jabs, earning a nod from The Dúndraíocht.

"Nice form."

Cyrus muttered a perfunctory "Thanks" in response, trying to maintain focus. Only after a few punches did he feel ready.

"Alright," Cyrus sighed, preparing a stance. "Here goes nothing."

With a sharp exhale, he then threw a punch, willing his mana to flow through his arm in tandem. It felt like splitting his mind in two, yet it felt natural, like his body was working with him, not against him.

One second. Two.

Meanwhile, his mana flowed almost like water in response to his movements, removing that strange, slimy sensation that had clung to his earlier casts.

And it was a success. Another flame plumed from Cyrus' fist, slightly brighter and hotter than his previous attempts. It was a marginal improvement, yet Cyrus was satisfied with the results. What mattered was that the feeling of sluggishness was nearly nonexistent. Encouraged, he continued practicing until he almost depleted his mana, exhaustion creeping over him with every cast.

"I feel like I just ran a mile," he gasped between breaths, yet clutched his fist in satisfaction.

"The mana you expend is yours, after all," Lord Dílis explained. "Managing that expenditure is crucial in battle. But once you've reached the higher echelons, such concerns won't be an issue."

For once, a strange sense of gratitude wormed into Cyrus' heart. He usually kept his thoughts guarded, but he couldn't stop himself this time.

"Thank you, Lord Dílis," He warmly expressed. "Without you, I would have never been able to practice magic."

At least, probably not so quickly.

"Come now, Cyrus, call me Cosan." Lord Dílis' subtle smile tugged further. "And don't mention it. I have no doubt you would have found your way to this point eventually, even without my help." With a casual wave of his hand, a smooth mana crystal materialized in Lord Dílis' palm. "Take this. It will help you recover your mana."

How did he do that? Could it be...

"Y-you're a spatial mage?" He asked, his voice hitching from excitement.

What else could explain The Dúndraíocht's ability to summon things right out of the void? And if so, could he awaken his dormant domain?

Cyrus had to ask. If not, when would the next chance come? He had nothing to lose by asking but a world to gain if possible.

Lord Dílis chucked at the question. "If only, Cyrus. My life would have been far easier." —As he spoke, he pulled a small leather pouch from his pocket— "No, what I have is an old trinket—spatial storage. It helps me carry mountains of items without the burden."

There was a pause soon after he finished speaking. His sharp, dark brown eyes appeared as if lost in thought, dulling and growing wistful of old memories of a life long passed. And yet, with another blink, Lord Dìlis' dreamlike visage vanished and returned to that familiar, subtle smile.

Slowly, he shifted his gaze onto Cyrus, locking eyes with him. "You've created enough runes to run the length of your arm. Including the three you made earlier, you've made at least seven runes a day." He then sighed with his eyes shut. "Remarkable."

Close, but Cyrus had formed eight runes. However, he decided not to mention that yet. "You can't tell?"

The Dúndraíocht shook his head. "Unfortunately not, Cyrus. There are few reliable ways to determine if someone is a mage." With a flick of his wrist, he toyed with his cuffs. "I could sense your mana fluctuations, yes. But that was all."

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Cyrus nearly smiled. This was good news. As long as he was careful, no one would realize his abilities. Still, Cyrus furrowed his brows in thought. "Would the scan from yesterday prove my magical status?"

"Ah, about that," Lord Dílis said, shaking his head. "Think as runes as part of your very being. Because of that, a scan from me would no more reveal than the cells of your body or invasive entities." A pause. "That said, once a mage becomes a master, it becomes much easier to discover their status." With a tilt of his head, he chuckled. "Well, for for someone like me, that is."

That subtle smile remained on his face, but Cyrus' spine shivered in dread for some reason. Ominous.

"Couldn't you check my blood for magical properties or something?" He asked, searching for lies in Lord Dílis' expression.

"And why would I?" Lord Dílis replied. "The whole world is saturated with mana and domains, including those that reside on it. It would be more of a shock to find someone without magical influence."

Oh. That made sense, and the thought brought comfort to Cyrus.

"And to think—" Lord Dìlis turned his back toward Cyrus and stared at the shining jewel that was Avalorn. "—An ordinary man such as yourself wandering beyond the walls, unprotected. A miracle even." —his voice slowly dipped into a whisper with each passing word— "Rather unbelievable, actually."

Such words didn't reach Cyrus. He was too preoccupied with a troubling thought: Anyone could be a secret mage. What if, one day, he were conversing with someone when a random all-out battle between mages with strange and unusual powers happened out of nowhere? Nah. That wouldn't happen... right?

Shaking his head, Cyrus returned to the earlier topic. "So... are seven runes considered good?"

The Steward chuckled softly, facing him again. "'Is it good?' he says. It's excellent,Cyrus." A pause. "I'll have you know that at your age, I could only manage five runes at your level." Slowly, he lifted a finger. "In truth, I've only had the pleasure of knowing one other who could produce seven during my time in the central states. It's that rare."

However, Cyrus almost frowned in response. Indeed, the idea that he was an anomaly did not sit well with him. It raised too many questions—questions Cyrus did not want answers to.

So, masking his unease, Cyrus replied with a polite smile, "That's good, then. The faster I grow in strength, the sooner I can help Avalorn."

And the quicker he could leave once he's grown tired of Avalorn.

Lord Dìlis' subtle smile widened into a charming grin, his dark brown eyes nearly narrowing. "Then I'll do everything within my power to help you, Cyrus." —He then extended his hand for a shake— "To our future. May the skies clear and the dawn break."

The two shared a firm handshake while harboring private thoughts about the other. Yet, the air between them had lightened, becoming amicable even.

Now, how do I capitalize this? Cyrus wondered.

Lord Dìlis, after all, was a busy man. But who knew when he would have another opportunity to receive help from a grandmaster mage? If this works, he could earn the lord's good graces and, more importantly, advance his magical path—so many questions with so little time.

Thus, Cyrus rubbed the back of his head, masking his intentions with a sheepish grin. "Would it be alright if I came to you for pointers now and then? Only if it's alright." His gaze flickered with embarrassment. "I'd be useless without guidance, and there aren't any fire or light teachers around."

Lord Dílis nodded without hesitation. "Of course, Cyrus. I already have some ideas about finding a trainer for you, but they'll take some time to put into motion." His gaze landed on the sea of white lilies swaying gently in the wind. "And while I can't teach you about your other elements, we do share a domain."

That's right. The life rune... However, Cyrus raised his brows. "Are you going to teach me how to control plants?"

"Hardly." The Steward warmly laughed. With a wave of his arms, the sea of white lilies unfurled and bloomed under the glow of the manor's lights.

"Floramancy isn't as simple as that," Lord Dílis said, voice mixed with amusement and pride. "And I do not merely just 'control plants,' as you so eloquently put it, but have also honed my body as a warrior." He pointed at Cyrus' chest. "What resides within your heart lies the gateway of becoming something more than human. It could make you faster, stronger, sharper, and so much more. Just because you can cast flame and light does not mean you should disregard your life domain."

'Becoming something more than human.' The phrase resonated with Cyrus, compelling goosebumps to creep across his sun-kissed skin. But such a look was unbecoming. And he quickly stifled it with a cough.

"So, how will you teach me? What will you teach me?"

"I'll have the staff bring some tomes to build on your magical foundation," Lord Dílis responded, his eyes trailing to the back of his home. "As for your training, meet me at the back during the mornings. There, we will prepare you for the future."

Cyrus was surprised but delighted nonetheless. Quickly, he bowed again, placing his hand over his heart. "Thank you, Lor—Cosan. Words can't sufficiently explain my gratitude, and I won't waste this opportunity."

Another day. Another debt. Maybe he'll discover something worthwhile for the city as compensation. That way, Cyrus wouldn't feel too bad once he leaves.

Unaware of his thoughts, Lord Dìlis retained his friendly smile before making his way to the front door. "There is a greenhouse and aviary in the back. We'll me there." He paused, glancing at Cyrus one last time. "Rest well, Cyrus."

And with that, Lord Dílis disappeared into his manor, leaving Cyrus alone with his thoughts. The rest of the night was uneventful, with Cyrus practicing his casting for an extra hour before heading off to bed. When morning arrived, he stepped outside the back with his spear in hand, making his way to the courtyard behind the manor.

Yet, the sight of that gray, unending haze stretching far into the horizon brought him to a pause. One only misses something once it is gone, and that aphorism could not be more valid than now. No longer would the skies warm his skin, nor could he glimpse that orange sphere.

And the thought shook him to his core. Left at a loss, Cyrus could only wistfully sigh at the sight before him.

"I miss the morning dawn."