Numb and tired she awoke to find herself alone on the wooden planks of the hayloft. It was the first time in many months she had had a solitary waking. Her moment of grogginess was shaken away by the memory of yesterday afternoon. A pit fell in her stomach. A weight pulling her down. The ladder bore her to the ground floor. Wood and hay was strewn and the ground was still damp. Bent wooden and crooked walls seemed to only keep themselves aloft by sheer circumstance. She ran a hand over the magic-woven walls. It seemed drier and darker than it used to. Images of the Ghost-Willow lingered in her mind, the charred exterior of the holy tree a burden on her memory. Much like then, the wood seemed to have lost its luster. Like a drowned forest, the house was a shell of its former vibrant aura. A reminder that once again lost control. She caught herself reaching for the door to the teahouse. Her daily routine had brought her there, yet she didn’t know what to do once she entered. Frozen she stood with a hand firmly placed on the portal. If nothing else, I will face my judgement. She thought, before she pushed aside the door and entered the almost empty teahouse. Semmis would normally be up and working at this hour who, considering his injuries, would likely be resting. Instead sat a middle-aged man with a long beard, that melded into his olive green robes. The outfit a simple make, made to value comfort over presentation. He looked relaxed and deep in thought, holding a steaming cup in his sleeve. He seemed be older than both her parents, yet younger than the owners. He looked her way as she entered. “Good morning Syndra. I have a proposal for you, if you wouldn’t mind” He patted the pillow by his side. Syndra remained in the doorway. “Are you here to punish me for my crime?” Syndra asked meekly, leaving the doorway ajar. A dry chuckle emanated from the figure. “I suppose you could call it a penalty.” He mused. “No. I come from Fae’lor across the strait, and I have arrived to bring you to my temple. I teach those who possess wild and chaotic magic to better control it, and one need not the sight to see that you are in dire need of guidance.” His stare was tranquil, and made Syndra feel calmer just in his presence, though she would not let down her guard. “What if I don’t want your guidance?” She glared back at him, trying to discern his intention. “If you do not wish to learn, then I cannot teach you.” He retorted. “What makes you think I would want to leave?” “I have already spoken to your parents, and the fine hosts of this establishment. We all agreed that I better equipped to take over teaching.” She huffed at the word teach, but he had called her bluff. “How did you find me?” she challenged Raising one eyebrow he questioned the relevance of her query. “You are not exactly hard to find.” “Who are you?” “There are many answers to that question. I am a hermit. I am a priest. I am simply a teacher, who wishes to pass on the sacred knowledge of my homeland. I wield arcane arts, and I am a madman. I am destitute, or I am enlightened.” He shrugged. “Like you are Syndra, I may be called Konigen.” The girl shifted her weight, digesting the information. “How do I know I can trust you?” With a straightened back, he lifted the teapot, meticulously poured a new cup, and set it on the table. “What do you wish? A display of power? Domination, strength, perhaps balance? How about this: If I can teach you instead to harness your magic, how would you like that?” Syndra nodded slowly. Prompting the older man to turn, fully to face his potential pupil. Taking a deep breath. “Alright. As I am sure you are aware, magic is ever-present. When you breath,” he drew air, filling his lounges. “you fill your body with it, holding it in, and let your body use it to replenish your soul. But you cannot hold it forever.” He breathed out, deflating himself as he did so. “Most magicians learn to draw magic like this, shape it from within, and use it to make learned spell. But you simply do. Involuntary feelings, shifts in internal balance provokes magical responses. Around your soul, magic swirls, it attracts and repels, it behaves with an empathic bond, according to your emotional state.” He turned both hands palm up towards Syndra. “Lay your hands in mine and relax. “Breath in. Breath out. Clear your mind and focus on the cup and only the cup. Find something that brings forth a feeling. Peaceful would be best. I enjoy the sunset, a cool breeze, a well-cooked fish. Attribute this feeling to the object to connect yourself to it. It must be your world. Then lift it into the world you must also realize exists simultaneously.”

Syndra apprehensively stepped forward. Guarded, with her weight on her back foot. She held out her hand and put toward the stranger’s. Partially out of curiosity and partially out of desperation. Tentatively she prodded the palm, a small shock of static travelled through her fingers and up her arm. Not entirely unpleasant, just surprising. She gingerly placed her hand in his. Almost immediately she felt something strange. Like two balls of water, perhaps gelatin, touching but remaining separate. Closing her eyes, she breathed heavily. Deeply. Her heart beat fast. She thought to what would relax her the most. She had no real happy memories to think of. She closed her eyes and ran her thumb across an invisible comb. Letting the thrum of it fill her mind. With each breath, the bristles filled her mind fully. Between breaths, the tea-cup filled her mind. A clearer picture with every breath inhale, a louder thrum with every exhale. She opened her eyes slowly, with a clear connection to the small container. Pulling it up, further and further. The cup shook. Clicking and clinking. It lifted into the air. The man withdrew his hand, and other reservoir closed itself off and disappeared. Panic set in, the calm disturbed. Power surged, uncontrolled, to the fore. Waves crashing on a beach, without pulling back. Her breaths grew sharp and rapid. A crack sounded and small shards and tea rained down upon the two mages. The man quickly drew his long robes to cover himself and Syndra from the rain. He continued: “I came looking for you, and in truth you weren’t exactly hard to find.” He smiled wryly. “I have already spoken with your parents, as well as the keepers of this establishment, and we are all in agreement that the best course of action is to take the wild you possess within, and mold it so that you may control it, lest it controls you.” He paused and took a sip. With a heavy sigh of satisfaction, he leaned back. “Let me know when you’re ready to leave. Worry not, we’ll make a respectable mage of you yet!”. For Syndra there was little deliberation to do. She had little that tied her to this place. That which she had, she either had, or would push away, with such virulent force that it deemed moving her across the inland sea was the only safe option. She hurried out back into the barn which had been her haven for many weeks, scurried up the ladder and grabbed what little artifacts and articles she possessed. Searching through the dimly lit canopy. Consisting mostly of extra clothing and her comb. She shoved it all into a bundle, slung it over her shoulder and descended the ladder to her dark little corner for the last time. She headed back into the teahouse where the man was cleaning the mess made only a moment ago. Her energy was palpable. She hadn’t been excited in any capacity for the longest time, and suddenly she felt invigorated. Like a river whose dam had cracked and threatened to unleash a tidal wave. Every movement he made seemed painfully slow, as she looked to get on with her life, and away from a place she was not wanted. He placed a pouch in her hand. “It is not good manners to ignore gifts” He lectured. “Keep that as a reminder, until the day you understand” A long silence followed. “My name is Konigen by the way. Nice to meet you.”

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Syndra only had a glance at her family through the windows. Their nervous eyes confirming to her that they would rather see her gone. She was only happy to accommodate them. They walked through the morning market, picking up a small crystal and ashen wood, quickly packed into a satchel. Within moments they had gone to the shore. A thin lone vessel pier-tied, six men long, and two wide. Multiple fishermen were sitting in the watercraft, seemingly awaiting the two of them. The elongated flat boat that only sank slightly into the waters, despite the great assortment of food, spices, and trinkets placed upon it. Konigen boarded the ferry. She looked back to the town. She hopped into the boat, almost level with the water. Wobbling slightly, before following Konigen’s example and sat in the boat. The air was still and clear after yesterday’s storm. The traders untied the boat and pushed off toward the western island of Fae’lor’s dawn-lit cliffs rising on the horizon. “See that spot?” Said the old man. “That’s our destination” He pointed toward the distant land, to a white-topped mountain, a third up was a small spot barely rendered visible in the sun. While much of the sheer cliffs lit up in the early light, one small spot remained dark. “From that temple I teach those with wild magic, too difficult to control without proper training.” With that mention, some of the sailors shifted uncomfortably. Distancing themselves from the pair. “The temple is old, and the techniques ancient. Built of Blackstone, it has withstood centuries of elements and magic. I trained and learned there myself, bringing with me the teachings of mine own homelands on Bahrl. Living as a hermit became tiresome, however. So now the school has been opened to more…” Konigen spoke at length of his travels, but Syndra listened with only half an ear. Her mind racing with possible futures. A mage who would travel and wow, a wizened sorceress, and elder. Her mind jumbled with possibilities that, for the first time in her life, looked bright and full of possibilities. They landed after hours in the boat, in a far smaller port. Konigen paid the ferrymen, and they moved through the small townscape. He bought various foods on the way and put it in a small bag he had hidden in his long sleeves. The townscape barely extended beyond the natural harbor. The structures were different from what she was used to. More carved buildings, and the carvings themselves much different from her homestead. She was yanked back to her senses by a call from Konigen. She trotted to his side, and instinctually reached for his hand, grasping his cloak. She quickly let go but noticed he had put a hand toward her. Gingerly she put hers in his, and he gave it small squeeze. They walked out into the shade-cover of the trees.

The road lead toward the side of a mountainside. The road broke off, into a winding path up the bare stony hill. The further up, the darker the stone became. A few bushes and flowers decorated the stones. He knelt by her side and let go of her hand, placing it instead on her shoulder. “Are you ready to go?” She nodded resolutely, having walked for longer and in rougher terrain before. Konigen smiled back and pushed her silver hair behind her ear with his thumb. Rummaging in the depths of his bag for a moment he produced an red apple, and handed it to Syndra. He rose and they began the steep hike up the flank and towards the ominous dark temple higher up the mountain. Syndra took a satisfied bite of it, as the two began traversing the mountain.