The bliss of the afternoon warmth offered to soothe the blistering bump on the man's forehead.

Regaining consciousness, he grappled with a fleeting struggle to recall his own identity, and the peculiar situation at hand wasn't helping in the least.

A great length of rope was wrapped around him, cocooning his form against the sturdy wooden pole to which he was bound. The rustic interior of the hut sheltered him still, and just a breath's distance away lay another figure, seemingly a child, passed out with a book on his face.

He noticed that his sack had been emptied and the contents meticulously arranged across the table along with an emptied bowl of food and discarded fruit peels by the side.

"You know," he uttered with a sigh, his voice disturbing the peace, "I have no idea what to say in this situation other than 'what the hell is going on' and 'why am I tied up'."

Oscar stirred awake, peeling the book off his face to peek at the trespasser he had caught.

"You broke into my place," he furrowed his brows, wariness tingeing his words, "the only reason I haven't handed you over to the Templars is because I saw that picture in your journal," he added, gesturing at a photo resting on the table.

The man looked surprised, looking back at the child with a raised brow, "...what about it?"

"You're a scholar of the Weissenthorpe Academy, right?"

His eyes narrowed at the mention of this, shifting between his journal, the photo, and the child.

Vain as it may be, he then tried to brute force his way out of the ropes. Yet huff and puff proved ineffective when his bounds didn't budge in the slightest. His poor attempt only left him with a pained grunt and a raised brow from his captor.

"Very well," he shrugged, surrendering, "you've got me, young man. Take all my gold and grant me my liberty."

"What? Hey, you're the criminal here," Oscar stood, crossing his arms defensively, "and besides, I've more money than you and your pocket change, old man."

"O-old man?!" he cried, making his voice crack. The look of surprise on the man's face was priceless, taken aback by the notion, "You rude little tadpole! Have you not laid eyes upon these luscious strings of gold adorning my youthful head?"

The younger one's nose wrinkled in disdain, looking down on him condescendingly, "Looks like wilted corn hair to me."

This remark petrified the blonde man.

"Ohoho! Just you wait," his eyes were bloodshot from rage, "I'm gonna strangle you to death, you stupid little brat."

Oscar had reached for the photo, bringing it to the man's face.

"This is Gwendale, the capital city of the Academy. I've seen it in pictures before," he said, looking at it himself, "I'm old enough to enroll and I've saved up money for a semester. All I need now is a recommendation."

The man's eyes narrowed. He started to look serious and the air changed around him as his eyes bore holes into the boy's.

"That's a lie," he said with a hint of fascination.

Oscar felt a nervous pang in his throat, though he didn't let it show.

"What do you mean by that?"

An arrogant smirk fiddled with the man's lips as he then showed off an earring on his right ear, "Behold! A perfect artifact designed by yours truly."

It was a beautiful pearl attached to an emerald hook that gently hung from behind the ear. Looking closely, an intricate enchantment circle was etched on its surface and lined with a very thin layer of gold.

"No lie shall stand undetected with this in my person. Not even the greatest charlatan stands a chance against the might of—hey! Hands off. Ngah!"

The young man was just about to snatch the earing away from him, though he was fortunate to notice. Biting away at the air to defend it from the clutches of the child.

"Back, I say!" he yells with the ferocity of a snake, ready to pounce.

"Oh look, a penny," Oscar announces, pointing and looking at the floor.

The man's eyes were drawn on instinct and his head bobbed down.

The color drained out of his face as it reflected the various emotions he felt staring at the stupid floor, betrayed. Panic set his heart ablaze but it was all much too late. He seemed to die out of the pain of feeling like a fool who fell for such an obvious trick, a single tear rolling down his cheek dramatically as he screamed, "NOOO!" in slow motion.

Oscar held the item up to the light, appreciating the craft. His entire demeanor changed, just as it did when he saw that lady's mechanical hand.

"I have to admit. This is rather well-made."

"THIEF! GIVE IT BACK, YOU—wait, really?" the man's temperament flipped like a switch upon hearing those words.

"Not many could tell but these carvings were handcrafted. It's ridiculous how fine yet smooth the curves turned out. And it must have been such a pain to get the gold fillings in there."

If you discover this tale on Amazon, be aware that it has been unlawfully taken from Royal Road. Please report it.

Again, the depth of his observation astounds his observer.

"Speaking of which," he continues, " Pearls are tough. To get lines this smooth, you must've gone through hundreds."

"THOUSANDS!" the man burst into tears. Someone had finally recognized and appreciated his creation and the validation of his efforts brought him so much joy that it made him wail.

"Oh thank you! You have no idea how wonderful it is to hear that. Those decrepit bastards back at campus mocked me can called my creations 'worthless'," he seemed genuinely distraught as he retold his tragic experience, "They don't realize the potential of it. I mean, it even works on non-humans!"

Oscar sympathized with his plight as they shared a moment of silence. He was a creator himself and recognition is one of those factors that you just crave, no matter how far you've made it.

"I'm Harlem. Harlem Harlan," he introduces himself with a warm smile, "And you are?"

'Funny name.' he pondered. Somehow, the boy couldn't help but be drawn to this person. His lackadaisical attitude contrasted against his drive as a creator and unintendedly, it was one of his better charms.

"It's Oscar. I'm an artificer—well, not yet, really. But I'm getting there."

Harlem thought to himself for a second and spoke, "By getting there, you must be referring to your intentions of enrolling at Weissenthorpe, yes?"

The young man shrugged, "I was hoping you could write me a recommendation, at least."

"Now that I cannot do," the man shakes his head, "I know you are not yet of age like you said. The artifact told me."

Oscar sighs, sitting back down to think, "What even brought you to the Kingdom? I mean, it's pretty well-known over here that the Academy and the Kingdom haven't been on good terms the past few years."

Harlem frowns at the mention of this, "That I cannot tell you at all."

Daylight bled into night time and the young man went to light a few lamps as their conversation went on.

"Pardon me, Oscar. But do you think you could release me now?" he bargains, showing a weak smile, "Being suspended like this isn't very comfortable, you see."

The child considers it momentarily. He did seem like a good person but realistically, there was nothing to gain by putting his trust so blindly.

"On two conditions," he declares, "The artifact stays with me for now. I don't know you and I'd like to keep safe is all. Two. I want you to teach me about Magic."

---

"The Soul and the Body can't be without the other," Harlem explained, illustrating his instruction using Oscar's chalkboard as his canvas.

"The Soul is destroyed upon death and the Body remains to decompose. It is impossible to remove a Soul from its vessel and it is also frowned upon to study this subject in the Magic Community as a whole, save for medical fields." he continued.

"Now, performing Magic is entirely dependent on a person's talent for it. Specifically, their Soul's talent for detecting and assimilating Chaos Particles."

Harlem draws a star with four edges, "This is your Soul," he then draws a circle around the first object. "And this is your soul's Corona. It's where the assimilation process takes place, which is the transformation of Chaos Particles into Chaos Energy."

Oscar, though he was paying attention, couldn't help but take notice of the man's peculiar way of walking. Almost as if he was prancing around as he walked back and forth when teaching.

"Chaos Particles cannot be truly...uh, sensed in a way. They're very vague, you see," he continued, bobbing his hands in suggestion, "Some people say they're a mist, some a web or a cloth. Others declare that they are like atoms in a way but that doesn't really help. However, you should take note that how mages perceive Chaos Particles greatly affects their aptitude for certain elements."

Oscar then raises a question, "How do YOU perceive them?"

"To me, they feel like water," Harlem answers enthusiastically, his hands flowing around, "That is why I have a higher affinity towards the Xantal Rune, which represents Chaos and Water. Oh, and might I mention that I also have an affinity with the Likha Rune, which represents Force and Sound. Hence how I was able to make that artifact."

The young man inspected the artifact and indeed was there a rune that matched his teacher's drawing on the board, "Wait, how many elements are there?"

"Thirteen, but we'll get there," Harlem replies, taking his journal out, "Ah, yes! The way a soul assimilates Chaos Particles into Chaos Energy is through what is known as Orbiting. This is as literal as it gets, Oscar. The particle is flung around, orbiting the soul over and over again. We have no idea how it turns into energy yet, but we do know that the product of this process is Chaos Energy."

"Then? Where does it go?" the boy asked intently, sitting at the edge of his seat.

"It stays in the orbit, actually. What happens is it helps hasten the assimilation process by chipping away at other Chaos Particles," he answered matter-of-factually, drawing something else, "Every living being naturally performs this process. However, the amount of Chaos Energy that a normal human produces in less than a year is a single iota."

Harlem revealed his illustration.

Yet another of the scholar's unexpected quirks decided to show itself. He had sketched a hilariously detailed portrait of himself along with what was supposed to be a portrait of Oscar. However, his image had been drawn with a comically strong jawline and what was possibly the manliest of chins there was.

The boy was at a loss when he saw this.

"Do you see it, kid?" he asked, "The difference between mages and normal people lies in how efficiently they can process Chaos Particles!"

Snapping out of his trance, Oscar raised another question, "So why aren't there more mages?"

"Aha! I was expecting that question." Harlem went back to scribbling with the chalk.

"To become a mage, a living creature must be able to perform what we call 'Internal Rotation'.

This is where your talent for disturbing the natural state of Chaos Particles will be tested and will determine whether you can become a mage, or not. And this is where the cream is separated from the crop.

Either way, Internal Rotation is when you take conscious control of the Orbiting Process in your soul, essentially kickstarting your magic engine."

The young man's eyes were sparkling like a starry night. He was soaking up all this knowledge like a sponge and it was addicting. The books he'd read before were far too advanced and had him guessing about the fundamentals all this time.

"Will you teach me how to do that too?" he was ecstatic at the idea.

"I would love to but, it would be illegal," the scholar says with regret. "As a precautionary method, it was decreed by the Court of the High Mages that the emergence of new magic users must be supervised and guided by a person affiliated with any academic institution formally recognized by the court. And there must also be a witness, holding no direct ancestral relation to the registrant, and is a person of authority from any of the three primary governments in the Continent of Loftwyn."

Oscar scratched his head, "I see..." he muttered, slightly disappointed.

"You're worried about enrolling in the Academy, no? Given that you aren't yet of age, not all hope is lost," Harlem beamed an optimistic smile at him, then returned to his lecture.

"Anyway. As I was saying, once a person achieves Internal Rotation, their journey as a mage finally begins. But this is where the complicated part begins.

You see, one does not simply perform Magic. There is science and logic working behind it, helping to guide and shape your energy so it does not simply dissipate when channeled out of your body.

And this is where we talk about the three main methods in which magic is performed."

From the table, where his items were still on display, he took a wooden wand and tore out a page from his worn journal. The wand featured a deep, burnished orange gem with smooth, flat facets, while a meticulously drawn magic circle adorned its surface in stark black ink. This intricate design seemed to meld seamlessly with the wand's wooden base, intertwining like the roots of an ancient tree. Returning to his stage near the fireplace, he took a minute to quibble on the paper with a pen he took from his vest.

"The first is Conjuration," resuming, he held the wand out over the pot that Oscar used for cooking. Miraculously, a pale yellow glow bathed the room for a brief moment and then a single droplet of water appeared, "my personal specialty." It then spiraled upwards and flowed into a beautiful fountain that seemed to draw the very humidity from the atmosphere around them.

The flow seized just as Harlem willed.

"This we execute using what's called Ourobourian Circles... but everyone just refers to them as Magic Circles for convenience."

He then took the paper he had scribbled on and showed it to Oscar, depicting a rune with the ancient language written around it acting as a circle. "What we have here is an Enchantment, which is the earliest form of magic. I made it so that this Enchantment Circle would set this paper ablaze the moment it leaves my hand."

He threw it at the lumber and just as he prophesized, it was caught up in flames and set the pieces of wood on fire.

"Enchantment Circles cannot be used again. However, they are perfect for small conveniences like this."

The man sat down and for the first time, he seemed reluctant about the next subject.

"The last one would be Transmutation."

His eyes were drawn towards the photo, scanning the faces of his friends and reliving a few good memories in his head. Memories turned sour at the mention of a single incident.

"Transmutations use conduits called Transmutation Arrays. Truth be told, I never really studied this portion. It's a very complicated process and is often used to perform rituals or barriers but, there have been instances where fools dared to venture for something more."

Oscar looked back at the illustrations Harlem made, grateful and amazed at the same time. It was his first-ever lecture and deep down, he knew that he couldn't have been more blessed to have such an animated teacher.

"You can have this back," he sighed, putting the earring on the table.

A hundred things were going through his head right now. Knowledge about the fundamentals of magic had long eluded him despite having read the entire library back at the workshop. But now it was here, now he understood, and everything seemed to click like clockwork as the missing cog had finally been added.

It was time to finish his invention.

"Oscar, my boy." Harlem snapped him back to reality.

"What is it?"

"Well, if I might be so rude," he giggled like a child, rubbing his hands together, "I mean, I would completely understand if you could not provide such things but I really don't have anywhere else to go."

The young man raised a brow, confused, "Just get to the point, man."

"I'm hungry."

~fin~