The winds caressed Cyrus's back, carrying the taste of dust in the air. He sneezed, hugging himself tightly as he stood in a different part of the training ground, dressed in his familiar light training attire. The early morning chill nipped at his skin, causing him to shiver slightly.

"Why do we have to get up so early, man?" Cyrus grumbled, his voice still thick with sleep.

The prophet, seemingly unaffected by the early hour, posed a question that caught Cyrus off guard. "What is magic?"

Cyrus's gaze swept across the shooting stand, taking in the array of unique rifles on display. From assault rifles to single-handed pistols, the variety was impressive. He picked up one of the Mustangs, a sleek handgun with intricate markings reminiscent of undulating waves carved into its metallic surface.

Scrutinizing the weapon from every angle, Cyrus pondered the prophet's question. "It's like the essence of everything," he began, his voice thoughtful. "We all have a bit of magic in us, but only a select few can actually tap into it and make it work."

The prophet's aura shifted, his voice taking on a grave tone as he spoke. "We all draw from the essence of life itself to wield magic, a power both potent and perilous. In our pursuit of mastery, we risk disrupting the delicate balance of existence, for every spell woven extracts a toll from the tapestry of life. Beware, Cyrus, for with each incantation spoken, a debt to the cosmos is incurred, demanding recompense in ways unforeseen."

As if to demonstrate, the prophet picked up the Mustang. The weapon bloomed to life, its magical engravings spanning its surface as an ethereal golden hue flickered around it. He pressed the trigger, and a deafening sound filled the air. A beam of light whistled forth, shattering the target in one swift blow. The Mustang was enveloped by a vibrant golden hue as white clouds left its muzzle.

"Until you're able to harness it, you won't be able to learn any useful spells. Give it a try and come back once you succeed," the prophet instructed, placing the Mustang back on the stand before departing.

Cyrus fell silent, his mind racing with questions. Recompense in ways unforeseen. What does he mean? Is it why he has lost his eyes? What are the risks of using magic? He had so many questions, but the prophet had already gone, likely with no intention of answering them. As always, his words were full of incomprehensible wisdom.

"It shouldn't be difficult," Cyrus muttered to himself, picking up the gun and pressing the trigger. A puff of black smoke flickered out, much to his disappointment. "Damn, this thing can't be already broken," he grumbled, picking up another one only to produce the same result. Frowning, he yelled at the weapon, "Will you fire, you damn gun?" A small light flickered to life but disappeared halfway before reaching the target.

Suddenly, a dazzling golden light bloomed from the next spot, tainting the void. Cyrus's gaze shifted to its source – a middle-aged man with fiery hair that seemed to burn like flames. The targets sprang to life, shifting and changing position with unmatched agility as they dangerously closed in.

The man leaned forward, hefting a huge assault rifle. It flickered to life, an ethereal golden light whistling forth in a violent explosion. The void was tainted golden, like miniature silk threads curving through the air. With surgical precision, the beams pierced through their targets' heads one after the other.

"How can he be so accurate with something so massive?" Cyrus wondered aloud, speechless at the display of skill.

The figure turned to look at him, a smug expression on his face. "You can't match my wits. You're nothing but a pesky little bug buzzing around. If you don't want to get burned, I suggest you scurry away before I lose interest."

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Cyrus yawned, returning to his practice. He was in no mood to entertain another fool, not until this damn gun obeyed him.

"Listen up, human bug," the man continued, his voice dripping with condescension. "Not everyone's cut out for my league. You better know your place before you embarrass yourself."

Cyrus halted his movements, his eyes sinking into the other party. Do they all think I'm a pushover? Okay, maybe a little, but still...

"Consider my words, tucked away in the depths of your feeble mind where they'll simmer and haunt you until you finally realize your insignificance," the man said, preparing to put away his rifle.

Suddenly, a realization dawned on Cyrus, and a mocking smile played at the corner of his lips. "I get it now," he said, blinking in mock surprise. "The witch, she cast her spell on you!" He laughed out loud, holding his sides. "Poor guy," he added, shaking his head in pity. If it wasn't for their rough start, he too might have fallen for her charms, but knowing how she really was, he just felt sad for the poor guy.

Cyrus's eyes widened as he suddenly jumped to the side. A golden pulse hammered the nearby pillars, shaking the building violently and sending dust cascading down. He caressed his ears, which were fuming with smoke. Sweat trickled down his face as he realized how close that had been. His heart slowly calmed as the danger passed.

For a moment, Cyrus felt an urge to smack his face into meat plump, but then again, could he really achieve that? Why waste the effort when he'd only get his ass badly beaten? He knew deep down it was just an excuse, but he smiled anyway. "I'd rather have an excuse and be alive," he tried to cheer himself up.

Just then, a familiar figure entered the scene. "Ah, my Leora, there you are!" the man exclaimed. "I haven't seen you in a long time. You look even more ravishing than I remember." He stepped forward eagerly.

Leora waved, and the man froze on the spot, an awkward smile plastered on his face. "Tirag, be careful how you address me," she said, her voice calm and devoid of emotion.

"Come on, Leora," Tirag pleaded, his face visibly twitching before rapidly returning to normal. "Everything has already been decided. How much longer are you going to throw your little tantrums like a spoiled child?"

"Follow my lead, and take your Mustang with you," Leora commanded, sparing Tirag barely a glance before turning to leave.

Cyrus, already used to Leora's cold demeanor, found himself more curious than angry. What was going on between these two? Tirag had been so casual with her, yet he managed to get out unscathed – what a feat! Cyrus felt his eyes were playing tricks on him. Either this wasn't the same girl he knew, or their relationship was far more complex than it appeared.

Don't pry, it doesn't concern you, Cyrus tried to convince himself. But seriously, who could stay out of such intrigue? It was like a drug that, at just the sight of it, one became addicted. Following after Leora, he swept a last glance at Tirag.

"You can scurry away for now," Tirag called out, his voice laced with menace, "but I wonder, how long can you hide? Just make sure you're nowhere in my sight during the annual hunt. I wouldn't want to accidentally mistake you for prey."

Too busy chasing after Leora, Cyrus didn't take those words to heart. So what if he fled? Only a fool would not see the difference between them at the moment. You just wait for me to get stronger, he thought, a burning rage slowly crawling into his heart.

Like the adage said, a good general never retreats; he simply strategizes. Vengeance shall come in due time, Cyrus promised himself as he hurried after Leora, his mind racing with questions about the complex web of relationships and power dynamics he found himself entangled in.

As he followed Leora, Cyrus couldn't help but reflect on the morning's events. The prophet's cryptic words about the nature of magic, the display of power from Tirag, and the mysterious relationship between Tirag and Leora – it all swirled in his mind, pieces of a puzzle he was determined to solve.

He gripped the Mustang tightly, feeling its weight in his hand. Despite his earlier failures, Cyrus was determined to master this weapon, to harness the magic that seemed to come so easily to others. He knew that his journey was just beginning, and that the path ahead would be fraught with challenges and dangers.

But as he walked, following Leora to whatever new trial awaited him, Cyrus felt a spark of determination ignite within him. He may be seen as a "human bug" now, but he would prove them all wrong. He would master magic, unravel the mysteries surrounding him, and carve out his own place in this strange and dangerous world