Three days before, during Isemberd’s pondering of Alard’s plea, he had a vital task to take care of. Gillibert was outside and the mage just finished tending to one of the town’s guardsmen that needed some medicine for sleep.

The mage had a bad headache that day and was postponing the repairs on his attic for a while. He decided to deal with it the very next day, and as he waited for his kettle to finish boiling water for a tea he waved, bringing his staff floating to him.

He grabbed the tool and his hands settled comfortably around the familiar wood. It was a simple-polished object of a proper size perfect to help traverse bad terrain.

Isemberd put the staff over the table and observed the surface of the wood. He focused just enough to make the magic veins that covered it show themselves. Some were failing, losing its glow or straight up broken at some points. He brought a few more utensils floating from his study office, a scroll, ink, and a quill small jewelry.

Organizing two gold earrings and a few coins on top of the paper, he then prepared the ink and turned to his kettle to prepare a herb infusion. He left the tea sitting on his black teapot and went back to his staff.

The tool would usually give him a peculiar emotional response. The magic weapon shared with him some good and bad moments. He levitated the staff and turned it around to observe how the magic markings were behaving.

After identifying every damaged piece, he landed the staff back on the table.

“Master! Magic itch!” Gillibert entered, yelling near him.

Isemberd got jump scared and turned to the owl, that flew in so silently he didn’t notice him.

“This time, it’s me.” He explained, regaining his composure.

“Oh, your staff is glowing!”

The mage nodded.

“It is. Can you see it?”

“Yes! Yellowy, like a candle fire.”

Isemberd gently grabbed the owlet and moved it to a corner of the table, far from the scroll, the gold, and the ink.

“Don’t stay on the way.” He said.

Gillibert hopped to the nearby chair’s backrest.

“What are you doing with the staff, master?”

Isemberd organized the gold inside a polished stone mortar that came flying from his office.

“A repair, I would say.”

He moved to sit in front of his stove, where firewood burned nicely.

“I’ll need absolute silence, all right?”

“Yes master! I’ll be very very quiet.”

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Isemberd sat in lotus position near the fire, with the little mortar between him and the burning wood. His gray gaze lost itself into a deep contemplation of the flame, while his hands this time shaped a different magic sign. It was a triangle made with both hands, all fingertips touching except for his thumbs where the knuckles were touching while the tips of his thumbs were pointing upwards.

Like a little flame inside a triangle.

Slowly, the fire started changing colors, turning into a bright blue. The mage closed his eyes while the flames started creeping out of the stove towards the gold, surrounding it with white and blue flames. The process took a little more than a few moments, and soon the flames were turning back to its normal colors and slithering back to its original place.

The earrings and coins were gone, melted into a thick liquid. He levitated it cautiously towards the table. He grabbed the quill and started to draw shapes on the widespread scroll that reminded him of lightnings.

Furthermore, he then drew two triangles on the edges of it, connecting the lines. He formed the symbol again with his hands and observed the mortar full of gold turn and spread the content over the parchment that erupted in flames. Gillibert got scared and flew away to the top of a cupboard, where he could observe things in safety.

The fire however, started to dance over the scroll without consuming it as the mage forced it to follow his bidding. Slowly, the lightning drawings were covered in gold and Isemberd as muttering something.

From the melted metal, a few droplets started levitating, taking away from the mixture impurities the mage didn’t want. He looked extremely focused, eyes squinting a little, sweat forming on his forehead. He moved the metallic waste back into the mortar and, when satisfied with his work, relaxed his hands, undoing the magic sign.

Taking the paper gently, he pushed it towards the staff that levitated above it to make space. The magic tool started spinning very slowly while the gold floated and glowed in a pretty stream that started mixing itself with the wood.

“Wow! Master! That’s so amazing!” Gillibert chirped.

“Quiet!” the mage retorted.

He kept focused on the procedure until all the gold was now properly applied to the wood staff. When it was over, he left out a tired and long sigh. Isemberd stretched his hands and then grabbed his staff, that glowed faintly to his touch and made some noise, as if it were metal straight out of a forge and into the water.

“Right.” he said. “You can talk now.”

“It is the first time I see Master making such an elaborate spell! That was very very interesting to see!”

The mage hesitated, taking a look at the fiery gold covering his staff.

“Keeping the magic staff in good shape is vital.”

The black owl flew towards him.

“Why Master?”

“I don’t like your interest in magic.” He replied. “But I get it.”

“Master!” Gillibert protested, “How can someone not find magic such an amazing thing?”

Isemberd shook his head and said, ominously:

“There are people and there are people.” He brushed his hand over the scroll and it turned into a thin ash that soon disappeared too. “Let’s just say I have some problems that it helps me deal with.”

“I got it!” Gillibert puffed his chest. “Master, you look tired.”

The mage kept both hands now firmly grabbing the staff, the magic veins of gold glowing and pulsing.

“I’ll be fine. More importantly, if I need to fight now, it would be pretty much impossible for me to be defeated.”

Gillibert widened his eyes.

“Really really?”

“Yes.”

“But Master, I’m sure nothing would want to fight you! You… you… you make an amazing tea!”

Isemberd left out a chuckle.

“I hope so…” He waved his hand and the teapot came floating to the table, while the tools went flying back to their proper places in the study office. Teacups came and Isemberd sat down and poured tea for himself while Gillibert told him his last adventures interacting with the animals in the grove.

All the time the mage seemed more and more tired, as his magic staff glowed with a golden glow, almost as if it had a heart of its own.