"That doesn't look right," Pendrick critiqued, pointing at the miniature creature's ears. "Don't tell me you've never seen a tarbit before."
Bach heaved, sweating profusely as he struggled to maintain the image he was conjuring. He had never felt such a strong urge to curse someone out until now.
"It's… not… easy," he managed, the conjuration dispersing as his focus split.
"So it seems," Pendrick said plainly. "What exactly are you? How can you do that?"
The sheepish boy glanced sideways at him, unsure whether Pendrick genuinely didn't know or was simply messing with him. After the past hour, he wasn't confident he could tell when the blond was being serious or playing mind games.
"It's my Gift," Bach explained between laboured breaths. "I don't really understand it, but I got it about a year ago at the festival in Verna."
'Gift?' Pendrick recalled the encyclopedia from earlier, quickly deciding he'd read through it as soon as possible.
"So it's something you find?"
"You really don't know?" Bach asked incredulously.
Pendrick scowled. "Obviously. Why would I pretend otherwise? To mess with you?"
He scoffed and hopped down from the ledge he'd been sitting on.
"Be serious, man."
Bach stared at him, remembering how only minutes earlier Pendrick had tricked him into yelling profanities at the servants by making him believe his ability could conjure sound as a cover as well.
"Try making something bigger," Pendrick said excitedly. "Maybe a—"
"Boys!" Sophia called from the rear veranda. "We're leaving soon, so come back inside!"
Pendrick clicked his tongue in annoyance and patted Bach on the back. Then he jerked his head toward the house, silently urging him to hurry along.
The younger boy followed behind the Dorns' lastborn, barely concealing his shock as his new "friend" slipped seamlessly back into his prim and proper persona the moment they approached his mother.
"Were you able to have fun?"
The blond gave a wide, bright smile.
---
- Tyber's Study -
"Have they left yet?"
Donovan closed the door behind him and turned toward his lord, whose back remained to him.
"Yes. They've just departed. The lady and the young master saw them off."
Tyber nodded and moved to sit in his chair. His eyes scanned the butler's face, settling on the familiar expression of restraint he had learned to ignore over the years. For a moment, he considered addressing the loyal servant's concerns at last—then dismissed the thought just as quickly.
"You said you wanted to speak with me," Tyber said, gesturing toward a seat. "By the way, Pendrick did well today. It was… somewhat impressive. You've taught him exceptionally."
The older man brightened before quickly restraining himself. He had to remind himself that the current master of the house often made such remarks in passing, filling the silence more than offering genuine recognition. Mentioning the neglected son was hardly confirmation of anything.
Donovan stepped toward the couch he had been offered. His gaze lingered on the worn furniture, each small tear a quiet reminder of the many years he had spent in service—and of the men and women who had occupied this office before.
Turning to the coffee table between the couches, he traced a finger slowly across the polished wood.
Tyber watched in silence, slightly puzzled by the man's reluctance to sit. As Donovan's contemplative mood settled over the room, Tyber realised this interaction would not go the way he had originally expected. His expression hardened.
"What is it?"
Donovan lifted his gaze from the table. His eyes passed briefly over a few of the portraits lining the walls before settling on his lord.
"I would like to retire from my position."
Tyber stared at the man plainly. To the aged butler, he appeared unsurprised—almost as if he had expected this to happen someday during his tenure.
"So what will you do?" The head of Dorn reclined in his office chair. "Move back to Triots and live out your days in the civilian outskirts?"
"No, not at all. That's not the path for me," Donovan replied with a chuckle, shaking his head slowly. "Instead… if you would allow it, I would like to dedicate all my time to instructing the third young master, Pendrick."
The request caught Tyber off guard.
"You're retiring… because you want to teach the boy full-time?"
Donovan nodded.
"Actually?"
The aged man nodded again, his expression unyielding.
Tyber paused, running through several reassessments in his mind. For a moment, he wondered if he had misjudged the man's intentions all this time—or if there were pieces of the situation he had been too preoccupied to notice.
The loudest thought, however, concerned his youngest son.
Is Pendrick really worth giving up the prestigious position he's held for so long?
The question lingered only briefly before Tyber corrected himself. In strategy, a few steps backwards were sometimes necessary to prepare for a greater advance. The more he considered it, the more certain he became that Donovan was investing in the boy because he saw the potential for him to one day succeed the family.
Tyber sighed, deciding to accept the development and make use of it for the family's benefit.
"I approve your retirement," he said. "You will be reassigned to instruct Pendrick full-time."
The elder bowed deeply.
"I will ensure the results are worthy."
"Of course you will," Tyber replied with a loose smile. With a brief wave of his hand, he dismissed the man, signalling that their business was finished.
---
~ The Next Day ~
A mountain of books stood piled on a table in the estate's library. Pendrick stared at the stack with a blank expression, silently wondering what in the world he had woken up to.
Donovan had pulled him out of bed that morning with far more energy than usual. He wasn't even dressed the way he normally was—in fact, his entire appearance was different. Instead of the attire Pendrick was used to seeing, he wore a loose black dress shirt, untucked with the top buttons undone, along with a well-fitted pair of matching trousers. The well-groomed moustache he'd worn for as long as Pendrick could remember was gone, and his hair—once neatly tied into a bun—now hung in a loose tail.
Despite his lingering sleepiness, the change shocked the young blond awake. He looked Donovan over, adjusting the image he had always held of him.
"How old are you, actually?"
Donovan blinked before smiling warmly at the boy.
"Why do you ask?"
"I couldn't tell with that stuffy uniform you wore all the time… but you're way more fit than an old person is supposed to be."
"That's a rather rude way of putting it," Donovan replied lightly. "But if you must know, I'm ninety-eight this year."
The blond nodded, though the unimpressed look on his face made it clear he didn't believe him in the slightest. The old man chuckled and made no effort to convince him otherwise.
"What's wrong with you today?" Pendrick asked, picking up one of the books and lazily flipping to a random page. "You're all happy and excited. It's kind of unsettling."
Donovan gave him a curious look.
"My joy is strange to you?"
Pendrick nodded without hesitation.
Donovan let out an awkward laugh, drumming his fingers on the table before turning away.
"This child has somehow become even more annoying…" he muttered under his breath.
"Anyway," he said, turning back and clapping his hands together as he changed the subject, "like I mentioned yesterday, I'll be teaching you something new today."
"About Gifts, right?" Pendrick said immediately.
"That will be the main focus, yes." Donovan picked up the book Pendrick had been skimming through and closed it. "But we'll also touch on some of the other unique powers in the world, along with a bit of history."
"Don't you have duties to attend to?" Pendrick asked. "Can we really cover all that properly?"
"Ah," Donovan said casually, "I quit."
Pendrick sat up straight, staring at him.
"I'm your full-time tutor now," Donovan continued as if it were nothing. "Everything's already been settled with the lord, so there's no need to worry."
Pendrick opened his mouth to question him further, then reconsidered and simply nodded, deciding to go along with whatever was happening.
"So," Donovan said thoughtfully, looking over the books. "Where should we begin? Early history, perhaps?"
"Tell me what Gifts are," Pendrick said immediately. "How do they work? Where do they come from? How many are there? Why doesn't everyone just get one?"
Donovan blinked, momentarily overwhelmed by the rapid stream of questions. What surprised him even more was the boy's sudden enthusiasm for the subject.
"Alright, slow down," he said, raising a hand. "I'll answer each of those questions—and any others you come up with—as we go."
Taking a deep breath, the man began the lesson.
"Gifts are powers of inhuman origin. It is said that long ago, during a great war, an ancient race awakened to them in order to improve their chances of victory. We humans do not know the finer details, but at some point we acquired those powers and made them our own."
He picked up a different book, opened it and placed it on the table between the two of them.
"Each Gift is unique in its appearance, temperament, and function. Before being absorbed by a user—who we then call a Gifted—it appears as a luminous orb. Orb is the simplest way to describe the shape, though many possess additional features: spikes, ridges, bumps, and other such details. They also vary in colour and size, though the differences in size are rarely extreme."
He paused, making sure Pendrick was following. The boy's eyes were fixed on him, attentive and eager.
Satisfied, the man slid the book closer to the child and pointed to an illustration.
"This is an example of an existing Gift." The watercolour picture depicted a blue sphere with a smooth, spine-like protrusion running vertically down its centre. "Specifically, the Gift of Bones. As the name suggests, it grants the user the ability to manipulate their bones."
Pendrick winced slightly at the image the explanation conjured.
"Yes, it's quite a lot," Donovan admitted with a nod. "And there are many more Gifts with their own oddities."
He folded his arms.
"Now, regarding temperament, many ancient communities, as well as Gifted throughout history, have described Gifts as being alive."
"Wait, really?" Pendrick interrupted, too startled to contain himself.
"There is no way for us non-Gifted to know for certain," Donovan replied, shaking his head. "All we can do is trust the testimony of those who possess the powers."
"Do you think they are?" the boy asked, curiosity blazing in his eyes.
Donovan paused. His eyes closed briefly, as if recalling something distant. When he opened them again, a faint smile rested on his face.
"I do."
Pendrick's eyes widened. After a moment, he nodded, as though filing the statement away as confirmed knowledge.
"Sorry for interrupting. Please continue."
Donovan found himself amused. The boy was never genuinely polite, aside from when he was learning something that truly fascinated him.
He cleared his throat and continued.
"For the sake of our lessons, we will focus on the testimonies of the Gifted themselves, as they are our most reliable source. According to them, each Gift possesses a personality—though when discussing studies, the term temperament is preferred."
"Some Gifts are neutral. Others aggressive. Some are passive. Interestingly, this temperament is apparently unrelated to the Gift's actual function."
He flipped the book to another page filled with illustrations of various spheres.
"Function refers to the ability each Gift grants. No two Gifts share the exact same function. The Gifted often describe them as individual identities. Some abilities may overlap slightly, but they are never truly identical."
He pointed to one image resembling a small fireball.
"This is the Gift of Flames. There are other Gifts associated with heat, but none that allow the free control of fire like this one does."
Pendrick absorbed the information rapidly, his mind dissecting each detail even as new questions formed. Donovan noticed the boy's thoughts racing and stood to leave the room.
"Take a moment. Gather your thoughts, then we'll continue."
Pendrick immediately jumped from his seat and grabbed the man's shirt.
"Before that—just one question."
Donovan turned back toward him. The boy quickly released his grip.
"These Gifts are absurd—seemingly divine—powers. Do they… not have any weaknesses?"
Donovan smiled.
"They have their share of limitations, just like everything else."
"Really?! Like wh—"
"But only two of them are truly meaningful in direct interactions."
Pendrick visibly deflated as most of the possibilities in his imagination collapsed.
Still, his curiosity won as he didn't dwell on that much longer.
Donovan placed a hand on the boy's shoulder and looked him in the eye.
"The first weakness is the Haze. You remember that lesson, yes?"
Pendrick nodded.
"Within the Haze, all Gifts become worthless. They still activate, supposedly—but their effects disperse instantly. Trying to use one out there is essentially futile."
Pendrick absorbed the information greedily.
"And the other weakness?" he asked eagerly, practically vibrating with anticipation. "What is it?"
Donovan let the silence stretch for a moment, enjoying the boy's excitement.
"The second," he said at last. "Is something we will be discussing later in our lesson."
Pendrick bounced on the balls of his feet, restraining himself from yelling at the man to just say it already.
Donovan smiled faintly.
"It is the power of mankind."
He paused.
"Vers."