Training Part One
1052 Words
The moon was rising.
Its silver light poured through the narrow alleys of the city, painting cobblestones in ghostly hues as I approached the Tower alone. Ashvin had offered to walk me to the edge of the Mage’s domain, but we both knew he wouldn’t be allowed inside. Not tonight.
I felt his eyes on my back until I crossed the threshold, the chill of magic wrapping around me like a warning.
The Tower was still.
The doors opened without touch, their ancient runes shifting beneath my boots as I stepped into the atrium. Shadows bent oddly around the walls, curling like smoke as if the structure itself breathed with unseen life.
He was waiting.
The Imperial Master Mage stood at the heart of a wide, domed chamber beneath an arched ceiling carved with constellations. No torches burned here—only moonlight, pouring in from a high glass aperture, illuminating the marble in a cold, quiet glow.
“You returned,” he said, not looking at me. “I half-expected you to run.”
I didn’t answer immediately. “I said I would.”
His pale eyes turned toward me, unreadable as ever. “Bravery, or foolishness?”
“Does it matter?” I stepped closer, standing at the edge of the circular platform etched with sigils I didn’t yet understand. “You said you’d teach me. I’m here to learn.”
A long silence.
Then, slowly, he extended one hand. A flicker of silver-blue light bloomed in his palm, swirling into a delicate arc before vanishing into the air.
“Magic is not something to be learned like court politics or swordplay,” he said. “It is not mastered. At best, it tolerates you. At worst… it consumes you.”
He gestured for me to join him on the sigil-engraved floor. I hesitated, then obeyed.
“When the Earth God gave the Orb to your predecessor,” he began, “he gave her more than power. He gave her connection. To life. To time. To death. All of that—channeled through intent.”
He raised his hand again, and this time, I felt it.
A pull.
Something ancient and alive stirred beneath my skin, like the moonlight wasn’t just touching me—it was listening.
“What was that?” I asked softly.
“The first lesson.” His eyes met mine. “Magic listens. But it does not obey. Not without cost.”
I nodded slowly.
He moved to the edge of the circle and placed a thick leather-bound book on a stone pedestal.
“Tonight, you learn to feel before you attempt to act. Reach out. Find the magic. And do not lie to it.”
“Lie?”
“To yourself,” he said. “Magic answers truth. Yours, and the world’s. If you try to use it with a mask on, it will reject you. Or worse.”
The air seemed to hum, the runes beneath my feet glowing faintly in response to his words.
I closed my eyes.
It felt like reaching across a chasm—cold, wide, and unknowable. But there was something there. Flickering. Waiting. Not a presence, but a potential.
I opened my eyes, heart racing.
He watched me carefully. “Good,” he said, the faintest edge of approval in his voice. “You felt it.”
Barely, I thought. But I nodded.
“This is where you begin,” he said. “Forget what you think you know. You are not a princess here. Not a chosen heir. You are a child in the dark, and only what you light yourself will guide your steps.”
A chill rippled through me.
But I didn’t step back.
I straightened my spine, breathing in the stillness, the magic, the truth of his words.
I had asked for this. I would not falter now.
The Imperial Master Mage gave no praise. No nod of approval. Just the silent flick of his hand as he moved back to the pedestal, pages of the leather-bound book turning without touch.
I stood still in the circle of runes, the echo of magic barely stirring under my skin. It wasn’t like anything I had imagined—there was no surge of power, no rush. Just… pressure. Like trying to listen to a whisper buried beneath a sea.
“Again,” he said.
So I closed my eyes.
I tried to reach. Not with thought, not with ambition, but with something more fragile—curiosity, maybe. Will. I searched through the quiet for that flicker, that pulse that felt not entirely mine but somehow connected.
It came slower this time.
Fainter.
But it was there. Waiting, as if judging whether I was worthy of its presence.
“Magic,” the Mage said softly, “does not respond to command. It bends to understanding. Tonight, you will only listen. Until you can do that, there is nothing more to teach.”
I didn’t speak.
The hours passed like falling snow—slow, quiet, weightless.
The runes beneath my feet glowed and dimmed with each attempt. My fingers twitched from strain, my head ached from effort, but still I stood, holding on to that fragile thread between what was known… and what might be.
He watched, silent as stone.
The moon continued its arc across the glass ceiling. No warmth entered that room. No fire, no kindness. Only resolve.
When at last my knees trembled and my focus broke entirely, he moved for the first time in what felt like ages.
“That’s enough,” he said. “You did not break.”
It was the closest thing to a compliment I would ever expect from him.
My mouth was dry. My limbs felt hollow. But I nodded and stepped back from the runes, sweat clinging cold against my spine despite the still air.
“You may return tomorrow night,” he said, already turning toward the shadows.
“Will I improve?” I asked before I could stop myself. “Is this… normal?”
He looked at me, faint irritation crossing his face like a passing cloud.
“Progress is not measured by ease,” he said. “If it were, none would have ever earned the orb.”
Then he was gone, swallowed by the Tower’s silence.
- Writer
