The looming shadow placed a heavy, and warm hand on my shoulder. It gave under the sudden weight.
Despite the strength, his touch was gentle. That, his unmistakable smell of incense, and the timbre of his voice had ruined the dramatic effect he'd been going for.
I drew a long breath. Patience, Arek. He is just like this, he enjoys his little jokes. Patience, pretend it was funny.
Sipar's face flushed red. His hands closed into fists on the table. Emma, though, made an exaggerated yawning gesture, clearly unimpressed.
"Ha ha ha! Got you all!" Father Tyeron exclaimed, ignoring our resigned stares as the dimmed light grew brighter again. The golden medallion around his neck clinked: a metallic, crystalline sound.
Forgetting my own advice to be patient, I brought my hand to my forehead in exasperation. "Always with these tricks..."
"All right, I admit it," Tyeron said, wiping away nonexistent tears of joy with theatrical flair. "Maybe I went a bit too far this time. I can see you're all very scared."
His massive thick frame was always in contrast with his cheerful look.
"Not at all!" Sipar's neck was still red. "We've been waiting for you forever, and not only do you show up late, but you've got time for your usual ridiculous pranks!"
My grip loosened on the fang in my pocket. My heart was still pounding a little too fast, but it was the image of the Bestial I'd seen in the book, not Father Tyeron, that had set it racing.
Not a monster. Just an idiot.
"You are a Priest, not a jester…" Sipar was scolding the teacher. Those two work backward: Sipar is the adult and Father Tyeron is the child.
The conversation continued, with Sipar complaining nonstop, Tyeron laughing heartily, his loud voice booming through the shelves of the library, but I stopped listening.
Six months had passed since we'd started lessons. Months in which Father Tyeron had committed to increasingly stupid pranks. We'd gotten used to it; it was like being part of a… family by now. My new family.
Almost.
My gaze slid toward the Priest's hand and the volume he was finally holding with some seriousness.
Is it the magic book? Dark blue leather, the cover adorned with inlays of the five colors of magic arranged in a pentagram: Silver, Blue, Red, White, and Gold; that same Gold that burned on my chest. Above it, the title in bold golden letters: Magic for Novices, Theory and Practice.
Something in my stomach tightened.
Don't look at it, I told myself. Magic is wrong, it took everything from you.
But I couldn't look away. Under the table, my hands clenched into fists, skin stretching tight across my knuckles.
Father Tyeron sat down. The smile vanished looking at all of us, and it was replaced by a gravity that demanded respect.
"Well then," he said, his voice calm but firm. "I made a promise, didn't I? And I keep my promises. Today we'll start with the basics, and it'll be your job to put in your best effort."
My gaze met Sipar's. His eyes were shining, every trace of his earlier anger gone, washed away by excitement.
Mine weren't. I didn't want to be here.
"Magic is a gift from the gods," Tyeron continued, placing the heavy book on top of the map, then his massive hand on the cover. "As you know, almost everyone, more or less, has magical abilities, thanks to the mighty gods."
My throat went dry. Everyone.
"But before we proceed..." Tyeron stopped and stared at me, then his gaze shifted to the tin figure of my brother. "Sipar, please put the map away. That was your job yesterday."
"And how am I supposed to do that if your giant hand and book are on top of it?" Sipar shot back with a grimace.
"Ahahaha, you're right, you're right." Tyeron moved everything and Sipar carefully rolled up the parchment, carrying it toward a deep shelf filled with other scrolls. He returned to the table grinning and clapping his small hands in satisfaction. "There we go. Shall we begin?"
"No," I said and everyone's nose turned toward me. Sipar peered at me with small eyes, Emma tilted her head. The words had come out before I could stop it, born from a knot of fear I couldn't untangle anymore.
"Why do I have to learn magic too?"
Tyeron tilted his head at the same angle as Emma's. "What?"
"Why do I have to learn magic?" I repeated, the words came out flatter than I wanted. "If I don't want to use it."
"Arek, who in the world wouldn't want to learn magic, are you crazy? It's the dream of everyone to use magic — not just to clean rooms and cook, though I suppose those are useful too. But there's so much more: healing, combat, construction, and I haven't even mentioned the possibility of combin—" Tyeron raised a hand to stop the rambling.
"It's a legitimate question, Arek," Tyeron said, lowering his hand. He studied my face, he was trying to read me, probably. "Explain to me, why don't you want to use it?"
Because it kills. Because it only brings trouble. Because when I use it, things burn and people die.
"I don't like it," I said instead. A pathetic half lie.
Tyeron nodded slowly, his gaze reaching past my words to something deeper. "I understand, little one. You are scared, scared of something you think can be used to harm people. You are right, magic can be harmful. And dangerous. But so a knife can be. Let me ask you a question: if a man has a knife in his house, does he necessarily have to use it to hurt someone?"
I didn't answer. I stared at a speck of dust dancing in the light.
"A knife can cut bread," he continued. "It can carve wood. It can be a tool or a weapon. The choice belongs to whoever holds it."
A memory flashed in front of my open eyes: my father, bent over a bed headboard as he carved his symbol. I pushed it away immediately. It hurt too much.
"It's not the same thing."
"Why not?"
"Because..." The words died in my throat. "Because magic is dangerous."
"Everything is dangerous if used wrong, Arek. Even cooking with fire can burn down a house."
"But fire... water..." The words broke apart. I swallowed. "Magic doesn't wait for me to lose control before it devours everything I love."
Silence fell in the library, so thick it could be cut. Tyeron's eyes lowered for a moment. When they rose again, something in them had changed. He'd understood and he knew I wasn't talking about theory, but about what had happened in that house, six months ago.
"That's exactly why you need to study, boy," he finally said, his voice soft as a feather. "Because magic is like a raging river. If you don't build the banks, Arek, the river will sweep everything away. Learning magic doesn't mean using it to destroy. It means learning not to be destroyed by it."
The breathing of my heart got harder. The phantom heat in the chest returned. Icy water in my lungs. Dad falling...
"Arek," Tyeron said, his voice gentler now. "I'm not asking you to love it. I'm not even asking you to use it, if you really don't want to. I'm only asking you to understand it."
He met my eyes, with a firmness that left no room for my demons.
"Because what you don't understand controls you. But what you do understand... that you can choose to use or leave alone."
Silence returned to the library, interrupted only by the ticking of dust against the windowpanes.
"If you understand it, and it happens that you use it beyond your will, you'll have one more tool to take control of it," he repeated, weighing each word.
My hands loosened under the table. My fingers, previously clenched in a fist, relaxed against the dark wood of the chair. Choice. It was the same word Sister Cora had used earlier. If magic was a monster living inside me, ignoring it wouldn't make it disappear; it would only make it hungrier.
Maybe... maybe he was right. If I understood how it worked, maybe I could use it.
Maybe.
"All right," I whispered, looking the other way.
Tyeron smiled, an expression loaded with relief that he tried to hide immediately behind a professional composure. "Good. Then let's begin, my boys."
His gaze shifted immediately to Emma who crossed her arms, her red eyes as open as full moons.
"Boys and girl?"
Emma nodded smiling and Tyeron placed both hands on the heavy blue volume. With a slow, almost ceremonial gesture, he opened the cover. The rustle of ancient paper seemed like a collective sigh among the library walls.
"You can only move what already exists," he began.
Tyeron's voice rang out, it was my mother's, not his. I shook my head. The memory vanished.
"This is what's taught from father to son across generations," he continued, his voice now deep and familiar again.. "We'll see today that this is true, but the concept is much more elaborate and refined. Full knowledge..."
He stopped. His eyes fixed on my face. He waved a hand in front of me.
"Arek, is everything all right?"
I nodded too quickly. His eyebrows rose, but he didn't insist.
"The Breath of the Gods is what we have inside us — in some countries they call it Mana, here some people don't call it at all, or call it energy, or power." He waved his hand dismissively and continued.
"It divides into five branches, five colors that represent the fundamental forces gifted to us by our Gods." He turned the page, revealing a pentagonal diagram on a black page. The metallic ink caught the candlelight: silver, gold, copper red, blue, and white intertwining. "Silver of Terravon, God of Earth. Blue of Aquon, the mighty God of Water. White is the color of Zephyr's wind — the only God with a season for himself, who comes whenever he bloody well pleases." He smiled and all of us giggled, thinking of that capricious season.
"Red for Piraxis, God of Fire and heat. And then the beloved Eteria and her Gold." He raised his pentagonal golden pendant, the symbol of the irradiated eye at its center. He didn't need to explain that he was her priest. "Each of you will feel a different affinity, a pull toward one or more of these elements."`
Sipar leaned forward, practically sticking his nose between the pages. Emma remained still, but her eyes raced quickly between the symbols.
I stared at the diagram, and something inside me contracted.
Red. Blue. The colors that had killed my parents.
"The Red, Fire, isn't just flame," Tyeron said, pointing to the red pattern of the pentagram. "It's Heat. The greater the heat is, in extension and temperature, the stronger the magic of Piraxis is."
Dad falling. Flames roaring from the oven, towering, out of control.
I gripped my tunic under the table, feeling the weight on my shoulder from how hard I was pulling it down.
"Then we have Blue, Purity." Tyeron touched the blue lines. "Water. But not just any water. A crystalline mountain lake has more magical energy than the salty sea."
"Why?" Sipar asked, already with a finger on the page.
"Purity matters. The purer it is, the stronger the pull you can force on it. Of course, the sea is huge and compensates with the quantity you can draw on..." His wrist rotated in the air.
The water filling my lungs. Mom falling, blood mixing with hers.
The fang in my pocket seemed to burn.
"Next we have…" Asked Father Tyeron.
Emma stood up suddenly. With a quick gesture, she pointed at the silver candelabrum near the table.
"Excellent!" Tyeron beamed at her. "Silver, Minerals. Gold, silver, gems. The more precious and abundant they are, the stronger the Terravon magic they generate."
Emma's cheeks colored the same shade as her eyes. She sat down quickly, hiding her face. Her elbow brushed my arm, a light touch that brought me back to the present.
I breathed. Calm down Arek. Just breathed.
"The last two," Tyeron continued, his voice softer now, as if he'd sensed my tension. "White—Wind. The air we breathe, the currents, the storms." He then touched the five-sided medallion he wore around his neck. It was solid gold, heavy and polished, very different from the simple crystal one Sister Cora wore. "And gold, the Light of Eteria, what heals, what blesses the world."
The one that hadn't healed anything when it mattered. I pressed a hand to my chest, where the familiar itch stirred.
My gaze remained fixed on the diagram. Five colors. Five ways to change the world. Five ways to destroy it and everything in between.
Emma pointed at herself and the diagram, her eyebrows furrowed.
"Ah ha ah," Tyeron's laugh echoed among the shelves. His large green eyes regarded us with tenderness. "Now we'll do the affinity test so you'll know which elements you can control, too, little Emma. Just give me a moment to wrap up."
The test. My hands started to sweat.
"So, based on your affinity and the strength of your internal flow, the Breath of the Gods, you can control the corresponding elements externally. Distance and power are factors to take into consideration, as per obstacle between the caster and the element he wants to manipulate. Who can name some other?"
Sipar raised his hand but the priest shook his head.
"Arek?"
My mind was blank. "Um. So the quantity and purity of the element... I think." repeating what he just said, "Then distance..."
"Anything else?"
I shook my head. I couldn't think. The fireball I'd hurled at Vrogat. So small. So useless. Then it had come back...
"Sipar?"
"The strength of the internal Breath is one of the most important factors obviously, we are born with a bigger or smaller pool and can enhance it through training, and the skill with which you use it, also improvable through practice."
"Exactly as I expected from my little bookworm." Tyeron laughed, his hands slamming on the table "In short, we have a more or less large quantity of Breath that the gods give us at birth. We can make it grow through commitment and we can learn to direct it better, doing more with less effort based on experience. They say the world's best mages can move entire mountains with crumbs of gold."
"All clear?"
Not really. I nodded anyway.
"Everyone ready to discover which elements you have affinity with?"
Emma nodded immediately, standing up with her cheeks still flushed from before. Sipar leaned forward as if he wanted to jump from the table, his eyes shining with an excitement I couldn't share.
I remained still. I didn't want to get up. Not yet.
Under the table, my hands clenched tight again.
Fire and water for sure. My chest tightened. Will I have others, too?
Or maybe none at all. Maybe there was something wrong with me, and magic would see it. Maybe I ran out of it. Is it even possible?
Maybe I'd touch that crystal or whatever it was, and nothing would happen. Part of me hoped it would be that way. The part of me that had forgotten how to cry.
"Emma first," Tyeron said, but his eyes rested on me for a moment too long.
"Then Arek."
Then me.
Rising from the chair, my shoulder sank. Whatever color shone or didn't shine today, nothing would ever be the same again.