At once three boys in green dived at Maximus, blowing a sizable gust of air in his direction in hopes of knocking the crown over and into their hands; the wind in its path scuffed up loose stone and moss, and roared with fury. But just before it reached him, a wall of steam exploded out of the air, colliding with it as a lump of dough flattens against a table. Maximus had yet to move a muscle; the three boys, dumbfounded, glanced at each other.
Wasting no opportunity, a boy and a girl from behind him quietly pulled whatever gravel they could, and molded it into a gauntlet they could throw, and throw they did; it latched onto Maximus's crown for a split second, ready to pull it off his head and dart to their owners. But in the blink of an eye shards of ice had materialized on the minute cracks between the gauntlet's fingers, and with a snap of Maximus's own they crackled and tore apart the gravel that held the gauntlet together. The earthen palm crumbled to fine dust on his head; the crown rested relaxedly as ever.
“I am certain this is not the best of you.” He declared, his eyes still closed.
At the taunt, half a dozen boys and girls who'd been waiting raced towards Maximus, to engage him with jets and punches of fire in close quarters; there'd be no way he could defend against five or six of them at once with fire this close, and a well-placed fireball could blast him back and tumble the crown off his head. Each Fradihta pounded and pummeled at him, but all they hit was air; every time they tried to strike or grasp at the crown Maximus would avoid it with a well-timed dodge. With a gracious movement of his arms he drew several streams of water from the damp ceiling and the lake, and formed it into sinuous ropes; he bound his assailers together, freezing the water so they couldn't break free without effort, and threw them aside.
“Again!”
At the mention of 'again' nearly everyone in the frontline lunged into the scuffle. Some two dozen Fradihta – their uniforms billowing – created, threw, pulled, stabbed, and pummeled at Maximus with the best they could muster with all the Mahamastra at their disposal; pebbles and stone flew from a corner of the stadia to another, small jets of fire missed Maximus's crown by inches, the winds from the Air-wielders blew up a damp storm of moss and loose gravel on the arena, and balls of spiky hail shot between the Fradihta. But still the crown rested on his head; and this time now, Maximus returned the all-out assault himself with his Arts of Water. He did not simply fashion water into balls of ice or a half-mustered whip like the Fradihta did, but froze and melted and vaporized it into various shapes, forming it into a wall, a hammer, a shield, a spear, a halberd, a gauntlet with frightening speed; all around Maximus water weaved as if he was the Moon itself, their forms and spirits freed from gravity and moving in tandem with his every command, every step, every graceful rhythm of the arms and wrists. Several more joined in the fray, but Maximus pushed and flung them away with bastions of ice that moved on their own accord; the Fradihta tried desperately with their strength to push it back, or melt it, but it was no use. Several threw a spear of ice at Maximus, but he vaporized it instantaneously and returned the spear to the original owners; it would have certainly pierced and maimed the targets, but Maximus always melted them just before the point of contact, so the first-years were splashed with jets of water instead.
All around Elwin, the brave Fradihta who'd dared for Maximus's crown tumbled and rolled on the ground, groaning with pain. Elwin stood there frozen with indecision; though he wanted to take this challenge, witnessing Maximus was to witness the divine, and he knew at once why all of the Dining Hall murmured with hushed voices when Maximus stood up to receive the blessing of his House. He was, possibly, the greatest wielder of Mashur that Elwin had seen to that date – was this the ceiling he must reach to become the champion of the tournament for his own year?
Out of the corner of his eye, however, Elwin saw Lucian prepare a different tactic.
Ever so slowly, Lucian creeped water beneath Maximus's feet, waiting until the puddle was big enough to freeze into a sizable field of ice; Maximus was still occupied with the continuous assault that he, Lucian thought, wouldn't notice. Biding his time until just the right moment when three of his friends lunged at Maximus with fire, Lucian froze the puddle and locked Maximus's feet in frost. But Maximus, ever observant of the puddle beneath his feet growing for some time now, turned it to liquid back again in a fraction of a second, and used it as a wave to surf to Lucian. He took the crown off his head and hovered it above Lucian's head in jest, who, nearly stupefied by the turn of events, grasped at it like a baby bird waiting for food, which made Elwin burst out in laughter; Maximus darted it out of Lucian's reach, and then rode the wave outward, encircling the Fradihta. Even now, his eyes were still shut.
And just then, Elwin and the others heard a roar as if thunder was breaking upon the shore, and saw an enormous whip of fire lashing out from behind them; it raced all the way to Maximus and snatched the crown off of his head at last, but the challenge wouldn't be complete until the crown actually fell into their hands, whosever it was. Maximus opened his eyes at once, cognizant of the threat, and flung two shards of ice that bisected the fire-whip at the center; by the heat of the fire, the ice exploded to steam, and the long tendril of flame came undone. The crown fell to the cold stone halfway between Maximus and the challenger.
Stolen novel; please report.
All Fradihta halted their movements, their mouths agape; they creaked to the direction of whoever threw that fire-whip, the great contender to the disciple of the waters.
All was quiet.
And on the foot of the mossy stairs stood Sandora, her hair of silver and complexion of deep clay like Headmaster Abraxas's. Elwin, of course, was both delighted and surprised to see her there, and so did the kismets, especially Katherine; the rest of the Fradihta recognized her as the very first among the Viatira to choose their House, even before Maximus.
Maximus's steely expression warmed into a smile.
“Well, if it isn't our Torch Bearer and captain,” he said. They both approached one another, and broke into a warriorlike embrace, hugging tight.
“It's good to see you again, Sandora,” said Maximus. “How've you been?”
“Not had as much fun as you're having. Preparing well for the Narak Month?”
Maximus broke into hearty laughter that rang the temple with mirth.
“Hahaha! If you insist on calling it that way. How's Leonardo? Hina?”
“Quite well. I wanted to bring them here, but they were busy with their duties.”
She took a long glance at the first-years, assessing them almost as a professor does her Artens. Such was the difference of just a single year.
“I figured I'd drop by to say hello, and perhaps help the Fradihta out in their challenge, seeing as you've still had your eyes shut.”
Maximus addressed the lot at last.
“First-years, this is Sandora. Sandora Hamilton. As you no doubt remember during the entrance ceremony, she was the first to choose her House, as the Torch Bearer and captain for our squadra in our own Franen tournament last spring.”
Sandora, in turn, returned the compliment.
“As skilled as we may appear in your eyes, fear not that you cannot reach our level. You most certainly can, with a measure of sweat and endeavor.”
So this was the level Elwin had to reach. He resolved to be like them in any way possible – they were the ones who first showed him what it was to be an Arten of Aeternitas, after all.
“Thank you, our champions, and professors.”
The unfamiliar man in the shadows finally stepped out into the light. His dark brown hair, swept back at the front, contrasted well with the impeccable décor of his demeanor: of fierce and handsome intelligence. His indigo eyes were almost as sharp as the headmaster's.
“I am Quanmaster Montgomery of Aeternitas. Praxis Montgomery. I hope some of you are familiar with what my profession entails.”
Mirai's eyes lit up in recognition.
Quanmaster Montgomery continued.
“What you witnessed just now, although most certainly testament to the countless hours Maximus dedicated to the Mashurmastra,” he continued, “also has a secret behind it. And that is the power of the Quan.”
Maximus, at the Quanmaster's behest, pulled back the folds of his left sleeve to reveal a Quan of luminescent blue fastened on his wrist, and Elwin peered closely from his place in the crowd; it was just as he remembered from the night back then, and its general shape corresponded to that of his father’s. In the daylight now however, Elwin could peruse the Quan with much more clarity: it reminded him of those newfangled wristwatches that were recently invented. But instead of occupying just the wrist, the Quan consisted of an intricately patterned braceloom that covered half of Maximus’s left forearm. Upon it were engraved the orbital patterns of the great Moon and its ring, although such a pattern was unique to his Quan; and etched into the clocklike frame on the central surface of the braceloom were classical alphabets which only a few Fradihta could read. Fastened securely amidst that clocklike frame was an iridescent disk of cyan in the shape of an octagon, which seemed to hum and vibrate with frost and steam every time Maximus made use of his Art.
Quanmaster Montgomery spoke once more.
“Professor Aionia would have taught you that all acts in the Four Elemental Arts – all acts in the Four Mahamastra – require transfer of energy in equal measure. Am I correct?”
The Fradihta gave a nod in unison. Professor Aionia watched, tenderly pleased.
He continued. “Such a transfer of energy is often inefficient or cannot be accomplished under natural circumstances. Every time we do something the world cannot naturally do, our mind performs work to make it possible.”
A knowing hint sparkled from Katherine's eyes. “So that is why...”
“That is why you would have found it hard to control matter for an extended period of time, whether it’s fire, water, earth, or air.”
Elwin had always wondered why – and he was about to be given the answer.
Many a time he performed small and rather insignificant techniques of the Arts at The Marlin, if they could even be called techniques. Those small acts posed no problem to him. But whenever he had to work extended shifts, like floating that jug of water for more than three minutes, or grinding coffee with his water-powered grinder for more than five times in a row, he'd feel his head and neck seize up, demanding a break.
“Your mind is also a muscle. It may be up here,” the Quanmaster elucidated, gesturing to his head, “but just because it isn't burly or can't be seen doesn't mean we should ignore it.”
“Fortunately, there is a way to share the load of the mind's work: by donning and using a Quan. It may look like a watch or some machine to you – but it is a living, conscious thing, with a soul of its own. When you forge it, a part of your own soul will flow into it and meld with the metal used to create it.”
Numerous voices murmured from the crowd.
“Hence, when you wield the Elements with the Quan, you would be able to perform the work of not just one mind, but two – and depending on the quality and care you've put into your Quan during construction, several more. It shall help you break through your current ceiling of abilities in the Mahamastra.”
A voice piped up from the audience.
“Is this why we forge our own Quans? So that we impart our own soul to them?”
“That is very much correct. Because your Quan shall be your incarnation, it shall agree and understand what you're trying to do.”
“How do we forge it?”
“That, young gentleman, is where our fun begins.”