XANDER YOUTH
“Father, father!” A young child cried out gleefully amid the paved cobblestone streets. Vendors, colourful shops and joyful people as far as his eyes could see. The so-called father bent down to his child and picked him up. “I want one of these, can I, can I?”
The child pointed at one particular vendor who operated a machine that produced a sweet aroma of woven cotton candy. With a wide grin, the father ruffled the hair of the boy. “Sure, son. Let’s get you some.”
Raising his arms the child jubilated loudly and ate the cotton candy while being carried by his father. The sweet scent of cotton candy still lingered in the air.
“What are you waiting for, boy?” A rough voice shook up the young Xander as he observed the father-son relationship playing out. He wondered if this was normal for a family. “Are you listening to me?”
The older man was a wizard.
Wearing a long, thick and velvet long coat lined with runes, sigils and other spell forms woven into the linen. A large scar ran from his grand orange beard to his right ear where a part of it was missing.
His emerald eyes scowled at the young Xander.
“Yes, father,” replied Xander, paying attention to his adoptive father again. The onyx-coloured chains and medallions hung from the wizard’s coat and wide floppy head. Xander fell in awe the first time he saw him but couldn’t help but hang his head remorsefully. “I was listening to you.”
“Good, then repeat what I just said.”
A deep sigh escaped Xander’s lips. Straightening his back Xander focused his gaze on the cloudy sky as a downpour was ready to come down on the city of Stagira, an infamous wizard city in the Hellas Kingdoms.
One of the greatest countries in the world which once dominated the world—or so Xander was educated to believe by the teachers.
“I’m sorry,” answered Xander, dipping his head to face the ground. “I didn’t listen.”
The old wizard growled and glowered at Xander who had to look away in fear. “Inattentive brat,” the wizard conjured a heavy metal book in his hands and hit Xander with it over the head as he cried out. It would leave another bruise for sure. “Your brain is there to be used, not to be flaunted with your long hair or you can at least make an effort to look like one of the street prostitutes!”
The wizard’s name was Argus Galanis, one of the greatest professors and wizards in Hellas but to Xander’s dismay, he was also his adoptive father and life saviour.
An egocentric, quick-tempered and callous man but also an incredibly talented and brilliant individual.
“I will repeat myself,” casually moving his arm Xander watched how Argus picked up the wind like it was a rope tied in the sky. Spindling the windy rope in his hands Argus then presented Xander with a ball of compressed air. “Magic, a phenomenon to change the unchangeable. Interchanging between gaseous, fluid and solid forms. Creating feats of unmeasurable extent.”
Argus compressed the ball of air even further in his large hand, dotted with rings on each finger and a multitude of scars.
Imitating a heartbeat the ball compressed and expanded all on its own now. With his fingers, Xander reached out to the ball only to be startled by how it imploded.
Streams of air, viscous like muddy water engulfed Xander, making him choke in fear as he remembered how he almost drowned not long ago—no, he did drown that day.
From one moment to the next, Xander was then back in the watchtower of the institution he lived in. Breathlessly he buckled down to his knees, struggling to breathe.
“We will continue the lesson inside,” Argus grunted and was greeted by the white-haired servants who he brushed aside as they stood in his way. For a moment though Argus halted, his emerald glowing eyes fixed on Xander who was hesitating to enter the tower.
He still struggled to breathe, imagining his lungs filling with seawater and drowning in the cold sea.
Argus was displeased by Xander and with an aggressive pull of his hand, he forcefully willed Xander inside and shut the heavy doors with a loud bang.
Tumbling over the floor Xander hit his head against the stairs. Trying to pull himself up he winced as Argus stood with his heavy boots on Xander’s dominant left hand.
“Boy, rebel or the next thing I will teach you is the lesson of the freefall,” increasing his weight on the hand he stood on Xander let out an agonising scream. Heard by every servant, teacher and student in the tower.
They were all gawking, wondering what the commotion was about but simply seeing Argus made them step back inside and barricade the doors. No one wanted to deal with this eccentric and cold-blooded wizard.
Not even when he was abusing a pupil.
Especially if it was his own son who he adopted out of goodwill.
“Fight back, use your brain, boy.”
Bones cracked and magic flared up inside Xander’s core, travelling through his channels and veins. His mana was as cold as pure icy water and his eyes glowed when he released a wild wave of magic.
Seemingly unimpressed Argus brushed it aside and the magic went out of control, filling up the entire first floor with water.
The servants with artificial hearts dropped to the ground, feeling their functionality ceasing with the expansion of Xander’s magic as they were overwhelmed by it.
Xander felt bad for them but he was the exception. He had yet to get used to all the servants being artificial humans with weak organs. All of them were disposable.
“Everyone was disposable, except me!”
“Control it, keep yourself under control,” Argus pulled Xander up by his navy long hair so they were staring into each other's eyes. “Recall the elements. Fire, Earth, Air and Water. Imagine how your mana affects them and how they affect you and inevitably your magic. Use it, boy.”
Sucking in the heavy and mana-condensed air Xander concentrated on his throbbing core, his overexerted mana veins and channels. He was not in control, he needed to get a grip on himself.
“Be cool, be collected, be… cold.”
Having let out almost all of his mana into the air Xander needed to pull off with what little mana he had left.
“Something easy, something witty, something impressive.”
He was not an expert in magic, yet. Xander had the knowledge of his past world and a groundbreaking understanding of what he needed to do.
Magic was everything about the quantity and quality of mana. He had both and neither at the same time as he couldn’t control his output but he could salvage what was already there.
Like a drain, Xander attempted to suck in back what he could and refill his core. Forming an equation in his mind he released it back to the outside world, forging a connection.
A crackle of pure mana jolted through his spine as Xander let out a groan. A misfire, a terrible mistake for a wizard but Xander kept going until his spell was ready.
With his free hand outstretched towards his master and father, Xander released the spell, feigning where the real direction was aimed at. “Morning Dew!” Creating a magic circle underneath himself Xander became the centre of his magic.
Like a gale of mist, the wet and heavy fog rose to the very ceiling of the tower. dampening anyone who dared to have stayed around.
This story originates from a different website. Ensure the author gets the support they deserve by reading it there.
Clearing the mist with a strong draft Argus revealed himself almost unharmed by the spell. Except for his damp sleeve, boots and coat dripping with water. “Good job, boy.” Argus removed his foot from Xander’s bruised hand.
His clothes were wet, sticking to his skinny body with his face half-covered with his long hair. Wearing an appreciative smile on his face Xander let out a triumphant cry.
“Eager, are we? Now clean up the mist, should be easy,” Argus laughed snidely, ascending the stairs in a flight and letting Xander seeth in his now frustrated state.
“That old geezer,” the now older Xander said under his breath, remembering his professor and father. “I don’t miss your horrible character but hope to see you again.”
—❂—
On horseback, Xander rode alongside Ragnar and a dozen other Reiszer. They had ventured out and back into the desert early in the morning.
Dawn was close to breaking and the Uridimmu chased after them but when the first rays of the sun hit the Achernar the Uridimmu vanished.
Xander wasn’t pleased about the fact he was surrounded by Reiszer but he didn’t need to worry—the feeling was mutual.
Their eyes shot holes into his back and their hands gripped the edges of their swords or the leather strip of their bows. The Draught Horses snorted in agitation at the apparent tension but Ragnar remained calm which unnerved Xander more than the hatred of the others.
Ragnar held no such thing as anger or any sort of qualms not even when they struck a deal with him that would determine all of their fates, including his daughter.
Kiur was set out with enough food and water to last him for a day or two with no escort of sorts. Ragnar ordered for all Reiszer to stand down and give Kiur free passage so as to not antagonise the escapee groups.
Xander worried that Kiur would have abandoned him and run off with his group when they didn’t talk about Cylia the day before. In all fairness, Xander would have deserved it.
His personal ambition was now to find any trace he could of Cylia. He owed this to them.
“Your friend, I didn’t take him for a brave soul,” commented Ragnar. “No offence but did something happen between you two?”
“You can say that, I don’t think he had forgiven me for what I did.”
“Hmm,” Ragnar pursed his lips. “You think he won’t return?”
“Why, afraid he won’t come back with your beloved blade?”
A chortle escaped Ragnar's lips and he cautiously patted the barren side where his sword would hang from. Xander never saw a Reiszer without a weapon but Ragnar entrusted it to Kiur, in the confidence it would prove Ragnar’s sincere intentions.
As far as Ragnar explained it was an important symbol for the Third Elites of their nation which symbolised their status and was inherited through their family.
Kiur had covered the sword in cloth and hung it above his shoulders with no attention to using it. Xander remembered Kiur’s last glance at them before he ventured into the direction the escapees, his people, could be found.
Xander hoped Kiur would return and not abandon him. He wouldn’t blame him for doing so but he wished Kiur would return. And that Xander returned with Cylia in tow.
“We are here!”
The Reiszer surrounded the crevice and Xander could have sworn it had grown in size. The sand was trickling down the hole where the bottom disappeared into deep darkness.
Dismounting from their horses Ragnar leaned over the edge, picked up a stone and down the hatch it went.
No sound returned except for the welcome draft of cold air.
Ragnar whistled. “This is deep. Who is volunteering?”
No response. Everyone took a step back and Xander found himself between the Reiszer, hoping not to get tied up and thrown into the crevice as the first volunteer.
“No one? Fine, Kochel and Leif, come up.”
The group parted and two Reiszer came forth. A man and a woman, both with therianthrope features.
The woman, Kochel, had blueish-white and rectangular eyes. She had short bobbed white hair with two sharp horns jutting out from the side of her forehead. White fur spotted her tanned arms and her legs were skinny and long, like that of a goat.
The man on the other hand, Leif, was a head shorter than her. His hair was brown and he looked fairly human except for the bushy sideburns, chin beard, his long black nails and squirrel-like feet.
“Check out how deep the rabbit hole goes. Report back anything you see and find.”
Kochel and Leif shuffled nervously, reluctant to go. “My lord, if we may. Why do we have to fulfil the promise to these,” they both eyed Xander and a shiver ran down his core, “people. You know our bad history. We shan’t trust them.”
Ragnar scratched the side of his head. “I didn’t ask for your opinion. I made a promise for mutual collaboration. It’s the least we can do to ensure it, so hop hop,” Ragnar clapped with his hands, “and don’t you dare to return after a minute or two. I am watching, the rest of you, scout the perimeter for any Scorpion People.”
Reluctantly the Reiszer dispersed but Kochel and Leif made sure to bump against Xander before they clambered down the ridge.
Kochel jumped from one small side ledge to the next while Leif made his way straight down by using his sharp nails. They both were gone in the darkness and Xander was left waiting next to Ragnar.
“From what zoo did you get those two? They seem very nice.”
Ragnar sniffed. “Did your mother forget to wash your mouth with soup when you were a child?”
“Soup?” Xander wondered and concluded that he simply misheard. He groaned at the bad experience he had with the dish.
“Points to you, I had no mother but I had a very grumpy adoptive father who regularly threw his heavy tome at me during lectures. He cursed like a sailor when he was in a good mood.”
“Picked up his good traits, didn’t you?”
In silence, Xander sat down on the ground and crossed his legs. The sun cooked him like a goose but he refused to take off his coat. How long had he been in the desert? A month? Two? Almost three he would bet, and Xander hated every second of it.
A frown crept up on his forehead and he gazed down at the crevice, remembering Cylia. Maybe not everything was bad, gods, he hoped she was not dead. His consciousness couldn’t bare it.
“Tell me, what does the lass look like?”
“Must I?” grumbled Xander. “Kiur gave you an extensive description, are you getting senile?”
Ragnar chuckled, a feat Xander couldn’t comprehend. “One more time, would you?”
With another groan, Xander recounted Cylia’s appearance. From her raven black hair tinted with blue tips and fashioned into a crow’s nest. Her tattered clothes which made her look like a beggar. The bruises, smudges of dirt and her hands and feet that looked so dirty Xander thought the dirt became her skin.
There was not a single attribute he found attractive about her.
Not even the time when she was exercising with the people of Kuara or the time she fought the Asag or all the other times.
Nothing he could say about her appearance was good but she was great, that much he had to admit to.
“What charming words you used for her. Sounds like an impressive girl.”
“You haven’t met her, she’s the worst.”
“You seem to like her.”
“IN YOUR DREAMS!” Xander exclaimed red-faced from the sun. “She’s the absolute worst. Always arguing with me and plain relentless. I wish she were–” Xander held his tongue, he almost did it again.
“Why do I sense a hint of jealousy from you?” Ragnar asked, agitating Xander further. “Reminds me of my nephew and Jorunn. Those two, they hated each other to the bones.”
“Hated?” Xander wondered. “What changed?”
“He died,” Ragnar replied grimly. “He went with us to raid Jhangsi. During our escape through the desert, the Scorpion People ambushed us. One of them cornered him and struck him through the chest with the stinger. In death, we learn to truly love those we lost because they are gone forever.”
Ragnar gave Xander a sympathetic smile and he knew, Ragnar would do nothing more than to remain by the side of his daughter than be out here. “If you have the chance, ask for forgiveness. Don’t let past ghosts haunt you.”
Xander shook. He knew that already but he was still the same awful guy he was even before his rebirth. Why was it so hard for him to be nice? Why did he dislike Cylia so much?
“I don’t care why I am like this but I have enough of myself. I swear by the Styx, if you are still alive, I will beg for your forgiveness.”
Xander pulled on his collar and scratched his neck. He would do everything knowing she was still alive.
Then Ragnar’s eyes focused on the abyss and he saw two figures emerge from the darkness. Kochel and Leif were out of breath, eyes unfocused and drenched in sweat.
“We have trouble,” Leif said and produced the forebody of a crossbow. It was broken beyond repair with only the barrel and limbs remaining attached. “We didn’t find the girl. There was only blood and… the Asag, it’s still alive.”
“By Thor’s beard, how?” Ragnar clenched his chin, he hoped to have killed the beast but that was wishful thinking. “Hey, lad, are you alright?”
He watched how Xander picked up the pieces of the crossbow into his shaking hands. He knew they belonged to Cylia. She loved that weapon but seeing it broken to pieces made him fear the worst.
Barking sounds filled the desert and they saw a pack of Uridimmu Hell Hounds coming out of the dunes. Ragnar immediately drew his shield but forgot he didn’t have his sword in hand.
“Why are they here? They don’t come out before night.” Ragnar’s eyes looked for an opening but there was none. Surrounding them in a wide circle the enemy was biding their time to attack.
Then there was a roar and from the distance, they saw more dogs approaching with a large bipedal beast among them. With the feet of an eagle, he was easily three meters in height, had the head of a golden lion with red eyes and viridian wings pointed to the sky.
Sporting a large glimmering spear in hand and an armoured short skirt made of feathers he led the pack of mad dogs.
Stirring them and shaking his braided hair as he caused violent winds while snarling at his prey.
“Don’t tell me, is that an Ugallu?” Xander dropped the wooden pieces of the crossbow and took a step back. “Kiur mentioned him, it’s a daybreak demon.”
“You know about this thing?” Ragnar asked nervously, wishing for his sword. “Some details would be nice.”
Xander eyes widened on recalling the details. “DAMN IT, I SHOULD HAVE LISTENED!”