Atticus grabs his own bow and quiver and follows Erik behind Checkpoint Aethen headquarters, with Zyra trailing close behind. As they turn the corner, they see Erik already nocking an arrow into his bowstring, taking aim, pulling it back, and loosing the arrow in one swift, uninterrupted motion. Their eyes follow the arrow's trajectory and witness it nail the bullseye of one of several hay targets with red circles painted on it approximately one hundred feet away.
“Impressive.” Atticus can't help but react positively at the precise shot. “I noticed how quickly and efficiently you were taking out the undead back at Levinburg, too. You definitely have years of experience.”
“I do.” Erik nods with a proud smile. “I noticed how good you were then, as well. Come, join me.” The archer beckons the knight to stand next to him, and the knight obliges.
Bow in hand, Atticus pulls an arrow out of his quiver and takes a deep breath. Similar to how Erik took his own shot, the knight nocks an arrow, aims, pulls the string back, and looses it just as quickly. It cuts the air with just as much speed, and pierces the hay target next to Erik's. However, it's not as centered. Atticus's arrow is touching the very edge of the innermost red circle, while Erik's is in the exact middle. Nevertheless, the archer is pleased.
“Very good.” Erik expresses his satisfaction.
“You have the edge on me, though.” Atticus concedes.
“Ah, it's not that big of a margin.” The superior archer tries to stay modest.
“How long have you been practicing?”
“For twenty years, since I was eight.”
“Have you been competing that long, too?”
“Just about.”
“No wonder. You're extremely impressive.” The knight continues his praise of his teammate's displayed ability.
“You're very skillful in your own right.” Erik smiles and points at Atticus encouragingly. “The fact that you're almost as good at archery as someone with twenty years of competitive experience while also being an extremely competent swordsman is definitely a testament to your capabilities.”
“I appreciate that.” The humbled knight graciously accepts praise of his own.
“...And a testament to the combat expertise of the Threcian royal guard.” Erik slyly remarks, catching both the knight and Zyra, who is listening in, by surprise.
“When did you figure it out?” Atticus asks, not bothering to dodge the conversation this time around.
“Well, I recognized the armor when I first saw you,” The archer begins his explanation while nocking another arrow onto his bowstring, “but I wasn't sure if you were the real thing until we arrived at Levinburg. Before then, you could've been some fraud who found a way to acquire that armor illegally.” He looses the second arrow, and once again strikes the center of the bullseye with such precision, it grazes the first one.
“You must be of noble birth if you were given an opportunity to learn of the Threcian royal guard without even attending the university.” Atticus nocks another arrow himself and takes aim. “And I assume your original invitation to shoot with you was to find out if I was legitimate?” He looses his arrow, and once again hits the edge of the innermost red circle, but this time on the opposite side of where the first arrow landed.
“You're right on both accounts.” Erik readily admits while nocking a third arrow. “My father inherited the Bebbenborrow Memorial Library in Evatica when I was a little boy. I learned about various Rhodish cities thanks to the books there, including Threcia.” He looses the third arrow, and as expected, it nails the center of the bullseye again, shoulder to shoulder with the previous two.
“A little over a day ago, I thought I was keeping a relatively low profile.” The knight voices disappointment in his own lack of foresight while nocking his own third arrow. “Then I ended up joining a group of Mistwalkers who could tell where I'm from by just looking at me.” He looses it, and once again hits the bullseye, this time closer to the exact center, but still away from the previous two arrows, creating a visibile triangle of space between them.
“Well, it's hard to be subtle when you're walking around in armor that no one's ever seen before.” Erik bluntly states with a grin.
“You're right.” Atticus admits. “I can't bring myself to get rid of it, though.”
“That's fair. You're better off with it on this mission, anyway.” The noble ends the conversation without digging further. Instead, he points towards the hay targets in front of them. “You hit the edge of the bullseye each time, which means you have excellent accuracy. However, they're spaced apart, showing that you don't have as easy a time hitting the same spot consecutively, which means your precision isn't as good, though it's sufficient in general.”
“How do you think I'd do in a competition?” Atticus ponders, half-seriously.
“Third place. Possibly second.” Erik answers promtply, and with confidence.
“Not first?”
“Not if I'm in the same tournament.” The professional archer dons a triumphant grin and walks past the knight, giving him a playful pat on the shoulder while returning to the tents. “It was nice shooting with you!” He comments without turning around.
“That sure was interesting.” Zyra, who had been quietly watching the whole time, finally speaks up. “In the few days I've known him, I've never heard him talk so much, and with such enthusiasm about something. Nice to see his real personality for a change. Though I wonder why a noble like him would bother coming out here.”
“Perhaps shooting stationary targets isn't fulfilling anymore.” Atticus throws out his first guess without much thought. “Either way, we all have our reasons.”
“True.” The pyromancer says as she stares at the hay targets with arrows protruding from them. “Actually, since we're here, can you help me with my casting?”
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“Sure. Your bracelet has two stones in it, right?”
“Yes, since I'm a second year.” Zyra looks down at her bracelet and the two red stones embedded into it. “So I know the most basic utility and offensive spells.”
“Alright.” Atticus nods. “Show me 'Combustion'.”
“Okay...” The novice pyromancer takes a deep breath and faces away, towards the empty space of the shooting range. “Combustion...” She holds her right hand up, palm facing downward, index finger and thumb extended, and the three remaining fingers curled. She takes several more heavy breaths as she stares at her hand with intent, but no flame is conjuring.
“Don't be afraid to say the incantation out loud. It's what you were taught to do.” The knight from Threcia continues to instruct as she struggles. “I know some mages fear looking like beginners because of it, but you must learn to walk before you can run.”
Zyra inhales deeply and speaks the incantation at a whisper. “Combustra...” The two stones in her bracelet begin to glow with the faintest of light, but no fire emerges from her fingertip.
“Again.” Atticus commands, noticing the glimmer. “Remember to visualize the fire, and stress the correct syllable of the incantation.”
The pyromancer takes a deep breath, and pauses. She stares at her hand, desperately trying to clear her mind of any distractions and visualize the flame. After a moment of particularly intentful concentration, she speaks the incantation louder, making sure to emphasize the second syllable.
“Combustra.” And in an instant, the two arcane stones in her bracelet shine with a bright red glow and a burst of flame spews from the tip of her finger, creating a controlled inferno almost as large as her, coming directly from her hand, suspended in mid-air. It lingers for only a second, as the spell is intended to, before it disappears with the same immediacy as it came.
“Good.” The knight says with a soft nod. “It came out very strong, but you took too long to conjure it. Why is that?”
“I...” Zyra hesitates, letting out a long sigh before admitting her shortcomings. “I have trouble concentrating.”
“In what way?”
“Clearing my mind and visualizing the fire.”
Atticus inhales sharply and begins his dissection. “Well, considering how much time it took for you to complete the spell not only now, but the last two times you conjured fireballs, it certainly seems to have trouble with visualization. However, when your spells do come out, they do so quite powerfully, which means strong emotions are behind them, despite the delay.”
“Yes.” The mage admits in a cheerless tone while looking at her bracelet. “The fact my spells come out with such force is what saved me from failing my first year final exams.”
“Strong execution means you certainly want them to come out. But delayed conjuring suggests something unrelated to the spell is clouding your mind.” Atticus takes a step closer and softens his tone slightly. “What is it?”
“My... my family.” Zyra is reluctant to speak candidly of what keeps her mind preoccupied, but forces it out anyway. “Every time I try to cast a spell, I can't help but also think about how desperate I am to not disappoint them.”
“You might be thinking too much about how desperate you are to cast, and not enough on actually casting.” The instructive knight says. “A thin line that separates the two, so you might not notice the difference while you're actually trying to do it, but it's night and day in the way it affects your performance.”
“How should I approach it, then?”
“Instead of thinking 'I need to cast' and picturing your family, instead think 'I will cast' and picture the flame.” Atticus suggests a solution that seems almost too obvious to be true.
“Will such a small difference really work?” Inquires Zyra with an apprehensive expression. “I feel like that's what I've been trying to do this whole time.”
Atticus gives a small shrug. “It's a subtle difference when you think of one right next to the other, but they're two sides to the same coin – night and day, as I said. If you think about needing to cast, then you force yourself to picture your family, as they're the reason you need to do it. But if you think you will cast, then you force yourself to visualize the conjuration of the flame. A focused mind is the most important aspect of casting, everything else is second. Even the pronunciation of the incantation isn't as important.”
“Really?” Zyra is particularly perplexed by those last two statements. “We were told at the university that pronunciation is the crucial.”
“Well, it is. But even you mispronounce it, or stress the wrong syllable, something could still come out. But absolutely nothing will come out at all if you can't visualize the cas and focus on your bracelet.”
“I see...” She looks back at her wrist, now grasping the difference between visualization and incantation, and their varying caliber of importance in the process of casting.
“Think of it like this: I have my bow, right here.” The knight lifts it, presenting it as a visual aid. “The process of casting a spell is like shooting an arrow.” He takes a new arrow from his quiver, and holds it up too. “Making the appropriate hand gesture is like nocking the arrow into the string.” Atticus does exactly that, setting the back end of the arrow into the bowstring. “Your focus is what draws the string back.” He takes aim down the range and pulls the string back. “Finally, the incantation is what looses the arrow.” He releases the string and shoots the arrow, which hits near the bullseye of the hay target he used earlier. “Understand?”
Zyra nods eagerly. “I do. That explanation helps a lot. That's why focus is the most important: without it, the arrow – the spell – isn't going anywhere.”
“Exactly. Now, try again.” Atticus encourages another attempt and takes a few steps back to give the practicing mage her space. “Remember: don't think about how desperate you are to cast. Think about the fact you will cast. You don't need to do it. You will do it.”
“Okay...” Zyra takes another, very deep breath and faces toward the range again.
“Say it to yourself in your head: 'I will cast.'” Atticus continues to encourage her as she builds her concentration. “Repeat it slowly while visualizing the arcane energy of the bracelet making its way to your fingertip and forming a flame. Then, when you're ready, say the incantation out loud.”
Quietly taking his adivce to heart, the novice pyromancer positions herself as she did before: right hand forward, palm down, index finger and thumb extended. Furrowing her brow and slightly narrowing her eyes, she glares intensely at her own hand, but with less uncertainty than before, and more focused intent. She's unquestionably doing as Atticus instructed, and is repeating the phrase to herself while visualizing the flame. Though she isn't casting immediately, it's without a doubt that her mind is clearer than it was in the previous attempt. She stays silent for a prolonged moment, but before long, she confidently utters the incantation.
“Combustra.” She says with force. The two stones in her bracelet light up with powerful incandescense, and a large, searing hot flame pours from her fingertip, and stays suspended in midair for a single second before disappearing, just as before. Zyra heaves a long sigh of breath that she had been holding in for a while, and Atticus walks up her.
“You did good.” The knight says with a commending nod. “Keep doing what you did, and before long, you'll be able to cast instantly, maybe even without saying the incantation out loud.”
“Thank you.” The pyromancer glances up at him with a grateful smile. “I really appreciate your advice. For someone who says he hasn't used magic in a long time, you're a very good instructor.”
“I knew someone a long time ago who had similar trouble with casting.” Atticus casually reveals with a half-shrug.
“Did they ever overcome it?”
“Yes.” He nods. “Eventually she did.”
Ever-so-slightly, Zyra tilts her head and for a split second, a look of curiosity crosses her face. She wants to ask who it is he's referring to, but a pang of doubt stops her from uttering the words. Instead, without really knowing why, she takes the opportunity to change the topic.
“Mind if we stay here and continue practicing?” She asks with a hint of eagerness.
“Sure. It's not like we have anywhere else to be tonight.” Atticus responds promptly with a small grin.