When Arthur had lived in the academy, he lived in the dorms by himself, with a bathroom attached to his room. Although he had always attended the academy begrudgingly, he never complained about his accommodations. In truth, he thought it was almost more than he deserved. Now, he lived in a shack that seemed to have previous inhabitants of the livestock variety. The hay they slept on clumped together with bits stuck to it, which he could only hope weren’t droppings from those previous occupants.

Still, he couldn’t ask for more. His master had cast him aside, along with Jeanne. The disciples under the other masters lived in their own personal rooms. Watching the other disciples retire to their rooms each night as he made his way to the stables made his blood boil. Still, he held his temper; he didn’t see any point in lashing out at the other disciples and he had nothing to say to the masters without a death wish. For now, he would bide his time. At least he had company.

They woke in the early morning about an hour before sunrise each day. Brushing off hay sticking to his face, Arthur rushed to ready himself before the sun rose. His first duty of the day was drawing water from the creek that ran through the center of the island, then waiting for his master to send the day’s instruction.

Gustav would wait outside the stable before Arthur woke most days, apparently his training required preparation before the sun rose, though he would never say exactly what he did. Ever since they separated, he’d stuck to Arthur whenever he got the chance. He’d tried getting him to sneak into his personal room to sleep twice, but Gustav’s master was running low on patience. Now he just settled for helping Arthur and Jeanne with their chores whenever he wasn’t doing his own training.

No sooner than having finished a fresh pour outside the main annex, they felt a prod in their heads.

“Run.”

Jeanne and Arthur exchanged exhausted looks with each other as they received the same instructions as they had for weeks. Taking off their sandals they used for day-to-day activities, they wrapped their feet in shoes with thick leather soles for running. As thick as they were, the soles would be replaced within the week. Finishing their preparations, Gustav waved them off and sauntered off to the Earth disciples.

On their run, they passed by the other disciples, doing their morning duties. Specifically, Mikoto and Collin beating the other water disciples with clubs. As their master explained it, Water mana was drawn to senseless violence. So, each day before they would begin to draw in mana, they would crowd around the waterfall bordering the creek and beat each other half to death. After a brief scuffle, the mana would rile itself up from the waterfall and gather around the disciples, although the mana wouldn’t stay for long if there wasn’t a winner. The other disciples had already dropped their clubs in preparation to meditate while Mikoto and Collin squared off. Both of their clubs were mangled soft wood covered in light blemishes of blood, twirling around in their hands as they fought a silent battle of positioning.

The first strike was Mikoto’s—she went straight for the neck, always on the lookout for the killing blow, even during a spar. Collin struggled to match her, trying to deflect her swing, but the slippery surfaces of the wood led them to bouncing. Mikoto stayed on the attack, keeping proper distance all the while. Despite having an obvious advantage in height and reach, Collin struggled to approach her. She held a much more slender, long club and gripped it like one would hold a sword. She batted away any attempt at stopping her all out offensive stance in a practiced display of space control. Collin, growing tired of this one-sided beating, forced his way forward.

Mikoto, in one fluid movement, struck his outstretched knee, and Collin keeled.

Collin dropped his club and offered his hands to the air in surrender. This wasn’t a fight to the death, and he didn’t seem keen on proving himself to bloodthirsty mana. Their fight concluded, He and Mikoto both sat to meditate with the others.

With the victor decided, Water mana settled around them, dyeing the clearing under the waterfall in a deep glimmer of azure. This mana would stay gathered here until sunset, letting the Water disciples intake mana for the majority of the day.

Watching them pull the blue light of mana into themselves was a mesmerizing experience for Arthur. He couldn’t stop his eyes from following the flow that streaked through the air, leaving traces of blue behind it. The process left ice crystals forming in the surrounding water, and their breath became visible as well. He wanted to dip his hands in the water to see if the mana was making the temperature as cold as it appeared, or if it was just a visual byproduct of water mana.

But unlike the other disciples, Arthur and Jeanne would not be intaking mana anytime today. Instead, continuing to run until the sun set. Their bodies, remade now with a second heart, had a far greater capacity for cardiovascular fitness. Yet, they would still run until they puked. Their master, unlike the other six, had no desire to dispense her techniques to vessels unable to hold them. In her eyes, they may as well have not been her disciples at all. More like dogs, she let run outside until they exhausted themselves.

This routine had been ingrained in them since their first meeting, where she had them grovel in front of the entirety of their class. A month had passed, and they continued to run. At first, they had seethed at their luck, watching others learn the basics of magic while they heaved chunks on the ground. Now they were numb to their daily routine. If they had still been on earth, they would’ve been tearing their bodies apart at the seams. But here they could feel their muscles easing into the routine, making each lap faster than the last.

They weren’t the only ones not developing their mana, though. A small group from their class stayed separated from the other disciples sitting in a small grove adjacent to the beach. Arthur recalled many of them had been Death disciples. Looking at them now, they were like husks of who they were on the bus here. They refused to train, and they didn’t entertain the idea of going along with anything that Lion had said. He still saw them eating from time to time, so they weren’t a completely lost cause.

“Come to my library, now,” Saga’s voice echoed abruptly in their minds.

The second unique command they’d ever received.

#

They prostrated themselves in front of the library doors. Head on the ground, eyes forward, like a key turning a lock, the door opened. Their master was a stickler for appearances, mostly resulting in an intimate relationship between their foreheads and the ground.

This was their first time in the library, despite their daily route taking them through the entirety of the rest of the island. It was a quaint building carved into the side of one of the cliffs that populated most of the island. Compared to the giant structures decorated with intricate engravings of giants that housed the other facilities, the entrance to the library was unassuming; some would even call it lacking.

Peering inside the library, Arthur saw halls that flowed to what looked like the end of the coast. There wasn’t a hint of the scale of the library from the outside, hiding itself behind a mundane cover.

Arthur and Jeanne scurried through the shelves like mice in a pantry. Everything that decorated the shelves of this library looked ancient and priceless, ranging from stone tablets to books bound by twine filled with parchment. Some glass cases stood between the shelves containing items with functions they couldn’t guess and described by plaques with words they couldn’t read.

As they ventured deeper into the labyrinthine library, they caught a glimpse of the same dull light symbolic of the path of Astral magic. Dozens of small orbs no bigger than pearls floated in a dome with their master at its epicenter. She lifted her spectacles and looked at the two, like she felt their presence entering the dome.

“Let’s not waste time. I give you two permissions to sit and speak.”

They wasted no time on taking her offer. Seating themselves at two of the many posh chairs decorating her small nook of the library. Arthur saw she also had tea prepared, but the only teacup was resting between her fingers.

The tale has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the violation.

“Tell me the gifts you received.”

She sipped on her tea as she sized them up. If Arthur hadn’t known better, he would’ve thought this was the first time she’d ever seen them. Her demeanor exuded genuine curiosity, in contrast to her previous indifference. Though he still wouldn’t test her patience despite the turnaround.

Before Arthur could speak, Jeanne dropped a rock in front of him, and it stayed there, floating.

“I call it poltergeist. It’s like an invisible helper.”

It was a recurring help during their routine. Holding buckets and taking stray straw out of their hair. Arthur had noticed nothing especially powerful about it, or at least Jeanne hadn’t shown him any reason to believe so.

She nodded and looked at Arthur.

“My gift isn’t as straightforward.” Gesturing at his body, Arthur continued, “When I met your god, he didn’t give me a gift. He said he awoke something in my blood.”

Arthur felt something stroke him. Something resembling invisible hands covered his body, making him feel smothered in an instant. Even his insides weren’t spared, with a tightness forming in his chest. This wasn’t Jeanne’s poltergeist. The level of force it could exert was nowhere near this strength he felt now pressing on him and it couldn’t penetrate solid materials as of now. Arthur glared at the likely culprit.

“A cruel joke,” she squinted at him, soaking up her observations. “You’d sooner tear yourself apart with a body like that.”

“What do you mean?”

She closed her eyes for a moment and Arthur felt the pressure on his body lift. He could finally breathe again. Jeanne had a mix of confusion and anxiety plastered onto his face, but sighed in relief when he saw Arthur’s breathing return to its natural rhythm.

“Humans normally are perfect containers for mana. They take in mana faster than sponges take in water, and they can replace it internally after their core takes to their path of mana. To this point, your body fits the mold. But in expelling mana, there’s a drastic distinction. Most humans use mana like a watering can. Your body skips this step entirely, as if you cut a hole in the can’s bottom instead of using the spout. In simple terms, your capacity to expel mana is vastly larger than other humans.” She glowered for a moment and continued, “That can’t be right… Never mind.”

Arthur had known his gift wasn’t all flowers and rainbows. He hadn’t expected it to be an active detriment to himself, though. His master couldn’t be telling him everything, either. The same could be said for him, but he didn’t exactly trust the psychotic alf whose favorite pastime was stepping on humans.

“Your gifts will do. I’d like to stimulate your cores now, but you humans have a glaring magical defect. You’ll be taking on my crest, the same alfish crest wars that wars have been fought over, a privilege few can even dream of.”

She stuck out her arm and a shining emblem of light appeared over the top of her hand. An amalgamation of twisting branches curling around an orb of light. Its writhing tendrils shivered as it continued its twisting around the orb. Cradling it as it were a baby, it gingerly pulled the orb back into her hand.

“I am the high priestess directly under the lord of curtains. To become my true disciples, you’ll need to pay the same price I have.”

Arthur and Jeanne swallowed as they met each other’s gaze. When they first came into the library, they were at most interested in their master’s magic. Now they were completely enthralled. Waiting for weeks, training their bodies day after day, had left them eager to dive into the world of magic. They were like starving beasts with raw meat thrown directly at them.

“An alf’s crest, and by extension their own magic, requires a binding vow. Do you know the price for staring into the depths?” Saga’s eyes reflected an authority etched into her for eons, “Everything, I paid all I could possibly imagine and still it took more. I was born as the seventh daughter of the seventh son. For alfs this event was centuries in the making. Our god gifted me a talent beyond compare, a path of magic paved in a rainbow.”

Looking at her library, Arthur didn’t notice the presence of any other path. Not even the constructions that functioned independently hinted at any path other than Astral to Arthur’s inexperienced eyes. If she was as talented as she said, Arthur thought there should’ve been some sort of indication for it. Surely her light sources could’ve been more efficiently cast with fire mana. She could’ve at least ventilated all the dust plaguing the library with some clever placements of air magic.

“I will follow no other path. I sacrificed all of my potential for magic for a single path forward. I cornered myself into the journey to mastery. The king of magic that overpowers all other mages with pure force, the dynasty of stars, Astral.”

Arthur noticed a slight smirk creep onto the perfect contours on her face. Was she looking down on them, or on the other paths of magic?

“Master, we understand the power of your path, but how do we decide our own vows? Do we have to sacrifice something?” Jeanne nodded vigorously along at Arthur’s question.

“You humans typically only have two ways to decide: give up power or give up the potential for power. Xenos of the setting sun took a vow of silence, while Labryelle of the forgotten deep took a vow of the unsleeping. Humans need a vow heavy enough to crush them, or better yet, cripple them.”

Her advice wasn’t all that useful to Arthur. As he didn’t want to crush nor cripple himself. But it was a step forward. He didn’t know the exact details of vows, but it seemed the heavier the restrictions, the larger the impact. He might not be able to dedicate himself to never walking again, but not using his left hand in combat could be an option.

“Sorry, Master. Do you know if other restrictions could be as powerful? Maybe a vow to never eat meat at night?”

She looked at him as if she expected this line of reasoning before he even brought it to her attention.

“The strongest vow I know is a vow of dedication. I will avenge my poor, poor sister and kill their murderers. I will stop the tyranny of the king who starves us peasants!” Her tone was halfway between mocking and cold. “All the same, in the end, humans exchange their potential for magic for an unnatural connection to the throne. Other Alves are all too eager to snatch up the scraps when they inevitably die after giving everything for this goal.”

Waiting for her to finish, Arthur meets her eyes. She dared him to try the same as the others. He felt it, but his senses told him there was another reason she told them this. Another method to use this crest.

“My disciples need not worry, I offer you another way, a labor. As you surely recall, our lord is in a predicament regarding the daughter of curtains. If you swear on your vows to accomplish this labor, your vow will be strengthened by its intensity. Though, if you fail, you’ll lose your crest entirely.”

On first glance, this was Arthur’s preferred method. Or at least it beat being crippled. He wasn’t sure if a labor was usually as intense as saving a god’s daughter in this world, but back on earth, he’d read as such in all kinds of myths. A single labor in comparison to Hercules’ twelve was a bargain.

“I will warn you all that once you take on this vow, you’ll have ten years at a maximum to complete it. And if my disciples were to happen to fail a labor to our lord, I’d prefer them dead at a minimum, so please do hurry.”

She held a sneer at them, but Arthur struggled to maintain eye contact with his master, and he felt it was becoming a habit. Her tendencies to look down on humans was one part of it. One major part of it. But there was something behind that veil, like a snake lying in wait for the slightest movement. When she saw weakness, she struck without fail.

Arthur and Jeanne didn’t leave time to second guess themselves. They didn’t know if there was going to be another chance to step into the world of magic, and this vow seemed to align with their initial goals, at least. They each set out their hands, mimicking the movement of their master.

“I vow to free the lord of curtains’ daughter.”

Arthur felt a singing feeling on his hand. As if branded with a hot iron, white tendrils appeared on his hand and manifested themselves. Unlike his master’s tendrils that seemed to lovingly cradle whatever it held, his were forcefully lashing out to take its own orb prisoner. In scant a second the tendrils latched onto the new white orb that appeared with Arthur’s vows and dragged it into his hand.

“Good, I can finally anoint you two as proper disciples. I only need to stimulate your cores to accommodate astral mana to circulate your channels. This may take a moment--”

Interrupted, Saga raised her hand to her ear.

“Yes hello?… No, come back later. I’m busy… Now? … Well, did you make enough for both of us? I’ll just flood them. Wait there.”

She turned back to Arthur and Jeanne, indifference plastered on her face.

“Change of plans. My disciples wouldn’t die from the likes of this.”

An intense heat scoured through what felt like Arthur’s veins as his master raised her hand. He collapsed to knees, falling from his chair. Looking to his right, Jeanne was faring no better. His master was already making her way to the entrance as his body broke out in spasms.