Magic is the study and manipulation of mana, also called cast energy. Mana exists in everything, living or not. Mages shape magic by constructing and controlling cast via the help of their mageroot. The strength of a mage's mageroot determines how much mana they can control, as they climb through the ranks, that mageroot grows stronger. According to Ocxas's theory on elemental magic, fire forms when mana particles move closely enough to create friction. Water forms when particles cluster enough to be visible but stay apart, and earth forms when particles are brought close just enough to stop friction. He called this "scientific magic" or pseudo-magic. Traditional theories still hold, but Ocxas used science to explain them. In his theory, he theorized that spell incantations activate a certain element via frequencies the mageroot recognizes.
— Arcanism and Magic, Luther Ashville
The previous night…
Rain fell in sheets, drumming on the manor below. Above the clouds, a lone figure hovered, cloaked in patterns that shimmered and shifted like water. Her eyes cut through the mist, locked on the boy beneath.
"What the heck…" Old Lue muttered, squinting. Adrian stood in the rain, soaked, hair plastered, yet smiling at the stars as if they were speaking only to him.
Her fingers tightened on her staff, crystal humming with unease. She had wandered magical zones, cursed cities, battlefields, for two hundred years—but this boy… he made her teeth itch. Even from above, she could feel how still he was, as if the world moved around him, not him through it.
"I told Sue to only contact me if it was serious. Guess it's good I didn't listen. I would've marched in otherwise…" She dragged a hand through her braids.
"And now look what I've got…" She closed her eyes, senses reaching out. The echoes of shattered aura below. No beasts. Only silence. The kind that follows extinction. "I need to talk to this kid. Or kill him. Maybe both."
Current night…
Adrian sat by the fountain behind the manor, legs crossed, a half-eaten apple in hand. The stars blinked lazily. The air was too still. He didn't turn as the old woman entered the garden.
"You've been watching me since last night," he said, tossing the apple core behind him.
Old Lue paused. Her glamour flickered, candlelight soft and deceptive—just long enough for him to see the truth. Silver eyes. Wrinkled skin. Power hidden beneath a harmless guise.
"You don't sleep much, huh?" she said, tapping her cane on the stones.
"What's the point?" Adrian shrugged.
"Hmph. Typical broody boy answer." She stood across from him, curious but calm.
"You don't breathe magic. You don't move like a mage. And yet… you ripple through the realms like someone who's been here longer than the stars."
"You're poetic. Dangerous," Adrian said with a grin.
"And you're cocky. Worse," Lue shot back. A pause. "What are you?"
Adrian looked up, eyes cold and ancient. "I'm a reader."
"You're more than that," she said.
"I didn't say I wasn't."
"You're not the threat I expected… but you're still a threat, aren't you?"
Adrian's smile faded slightly. "Only if someone tries to write my story for me."
The wind picked up. Her cane glowed faintly. The garden seemed to groan under the tension. Then she chuckled.
"You're fun. Dangerous, but fun."
She turned to leave. "I'll be keeping an eye on you, boy."
Adrian watched her go.
"Make sure it's your best one."