Kashan found himself standing beneath a tree with the astral woman sitting at its base. Gone was that aura so forlorn and somber, now replaced with muffled joy and an expectant gaze as she rapidly tapped the space next to her. The memory formed his old armor, reminiscent of the days when he was truly a knight, blade at rest and sheathed on his back while his helmet dangled from a secondary strap attached to it. He was adorned with Stallaertzo colors, white and deep blue to symbolize the sky and stars of both day and night. As he bent his knees to sit by her side, she answered his yet to be asked question of the armor that adorned him as his hand rose with a single inquisitive finger.
“It is your state of mind. The better you feel, the more collected you appear.”
She was different from before, her figure more solid and defined, no longer hidden from his mind by a haze of uncertainty. Endless as they were, the void and stars in her eyes held an impossible beauty. Kashan’s shoulder was struck by the back of her hand. “Enough fantasizing, look,” was enough to pull his attention toward himself in the distance, older than the scrawny, weeping form he had in his previous dream. He was being held captive by an older woman, clad in a velvet and crimson robe.
She was painting runes and glyphs on Kashan’s arm while he squirmed and pulled away, trying to escape. His uniform was that of a middling squire, Stallaertzo colors with a basic “Per Pale” pattern similar to the banners that dotted the battlements around them. Kashan covered his face in embarrassment as he heard his younger self whine and moan with a voice several octaves higher than his current smooth rumble.
“What’s the point? It’s not something I’ll be using often--”
“Of course it isn’t you prattling whelp. It’s not meant to be used often, it’s for emergencies and opportunities,” the woman grumbled, still scribbling messy arcane scripts onto his leather and steel gauntlets. “Once I’ve finished inscribing the spellform, you should be able to cast a simple barrier. Do you know how to push mana from your body?”
“No,” the boy meekly replied.
“Thank you for the truth. I do not wish to recall the arrogant whelps that say they can, only to die when they cannot,” the woman sighed, more than happy to deal with this small child rather than those larger children. “Tell me, what is your aversion to spells and rituals?” she asked as wiped away a mistake with her thumb.
“They are not my strength. I don’t want to become reliant on a force besides my own,” he declared, standing quite tall and proud until the woman’s bladed glare made him shrink further than before.
“Foolish. My wards and talismans are indeed not your strength. Neither are the blades of your brothers in arms, are they? Will you fight alone, grinding the steel and flesh that hangs from your bones into mush to prove your ego correct? This is why I call you ‘boy’, boy.”
“If I can’t muster the strength, of what use will I be?.”
“You’ll be of little use beyond carrion feed if you’re dead you fool,” She said, leaning into his face as enchanted ink began to solidify the concepts and parameters of spells onto Kashan’s armor. ”These magicks I place upon you aren’t bargains, or machinations, or tests of loyalty. They are assurance,” the woman said as she released the boy’s arm. The inscription began to glow as the spellform finalized, embedding itself into the steel plate as illegible rambling to someone without a background in enchanting.
“Assurance?”
“That you return hale and whole,” was her response, soft and sweet enough for Kashan to assume this she-devil had been possessed. “Enough chatter. I’ve set the spell’s trigger as a somatic instead of reacting to your arcane manipulations,” the woman said almost in passing. “Try an imaginary shield bash while clenching your fist.”
Kashan leaned forward as his memory played out before him, the fragment of a young squire using a spell for the first time and promptly falling unconscious before a panicking arcane specialist. He recalled that his magick reserves were much smaller than the other squires due to his upbringing lacking basic household spells like “Breeze” meant to stoke fires and cool pies. No one taught him back at… back at… Kashan looked to the astral woman, only to be shushed as the memory collapsed around them.
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“One memory at a time.”
The astral woman gently nudged Kashan off a ledge he didn’t know existed. As he fell a thousand fathoms into the dark, he slammed the top of his head on a wooden floor. The young knight gasped as he sat up and clambered in front of himself for purchase, only to find himself back at his inn room. The sun barely peaked above the horizon, stinging his eyes as his mind recovered from the momentary shock. When he stood to remove the stick holding up the window hatch, he felt his sword still on his back, causing an ache in his spine while he slept. He reached for his knapsack to begin another day only to hear a knock at his door accompanied by a familiar voice.
“BOY! COME! We have much to discuss,” was the first thing Kashan heard from the corvid apothecary, prompting him to open the rickety door partially and peek outside. Aleg was an early riser, impatiently tapping her foot and staff as Kashan shut the door on her again, leaving her incredulous. “I am here for your benefit, you lout!”
“Please, some patience until I am dressed, lest you’d have me accompany you in undergarments.”
Before a quarter bell had passed, Kashan had dressed in his town wear again, sword and knapsack clad in supplies as he followed Aleg through the winding roads. The ground alternated between worn cobblestone and compacted dirt as they reached a small shop, formed from the flesh of a large unnatural mushroom. The sun had still barely peaked above the low clouds surrounding the mountain peaks, allowing the pair to watch the gentle pulse of bioluminescence in the mushroom’s gills. Neither of them spoke for a few minutes as Kashan gazed in controlled awe until Aleg broke the silence.
“What did you dream of?” she suddenly asked, yanking Kashan out of his groggy and distracted stupor.
“Of old times, Madam Aleg. Curious?”
“I heard a slam as I came up the stairs,” she explained, moving closer to the odd mushroom house to use one of its barrels as a seat. Her feathers shivered as the sun’s warmth stretched down the street and over the two. “You are young, and as far as I’ve been told, you survived facing a Flood Drake directly. Unless I’m mistaken, you’re too experienced and nimble to simply fall, while not simple minded enough to headbutt the ground for entertainment.” Aleg settled her feathers as she hopped onto a tall barrel, her legs dangling above the soil as the mushroom’s glowing gills pulsed above.
Kashan chuckled at being held in such “high” regard as he approached a shorter crate next to Aleg and sat with a grunt. His pack and blade clattered about as he adjusted himself while he spoke and brushed away the hair that lingered in front of his eyes. “Thank you for the vote of confidence. Besides the idle musings, I do have a personal request,” he said, his voice quiet without creeping into a sharp whisper. “I wish to learn sorcery. I can control my magick, but I don’t have any spells to form.”
Aleg tightened her cloak around her feathers, allowing the black fabric to soak in the heat of the rising sun. After her brief pause, the elder corvid looked at Kashan with an odd disconnection in her eyes. “The magick, it follows your blood. All of it seems to be coalesced around your heart,” she said, blinking like her eyes were strained from whatever gaze she wore.
“Does that mean I’m ill? I feel well enough,” Kashan replied, tapping his chest to see if any disturbances made him cough.
“No, no, it is a basis of Arcane Anatomy, the tendencies and reactions of the arcane interacting with the body. Every caster… Well, every person ever has an arcane inclination. Those with stronger connections to the powers, arcane, elemental, spiritual, or otherwise will learn spells aligned with their inclinations and grow stronger. Those with weaker attachments to those aspects often stick to household spells. Breeze for sweeping, Conjure Water for laundry, that kind of thing.”
“And for those unfortunate enough not to have an attachment?” Kashan asked, leaning towards Aleg like there were secrets to divulge.
“Impossible, actually.”
“Impossible how?”
“Listen boy, how do you make stew? Good stew, not a heap of vegetables in water meant for quenching blades,” asked Aleg with a raised eyebrow. She began to manipulate the basic elements of Fire, Water, Wind and Stone like little ornamental orbs, all floating around a central sphere of pure concentrated energy. “Stew is made from myriad ingredients. Like stew, you and I are complicated. We are erratic amalgams of the elements, like animals and beasts are. Without these aspects, we would be formless. The imbalances of those aspects are your affinities.”
“And without that imbalance, with all elements equal in power, it’s difficult to form spells… But not impossible,” Kashan mumbled as he propped up his chin in contemplation.
Aleg didn’t mind the loss of attention. Seeing a new protege in him reminded her of the joy a young and naive Celeste brought her. “We can learn your affinity at a later date. Throwing spell books at you will be tiring, so I will prepare a ritual casting after my errands. I will send Celeste for you when I am ready, but it will likely be noon by then.”
Before Kashan could slip another question in, the gentle hues of the mushroom pulsed as its front door opened. Aleg hops off of the barrel seat and slowly strides toward the door to hold it for a moment, yelling, “If you have no errands of your own, come! We’ve preparations.”