A few more weeks had slipped by since Viktor and Arelos sat at the Outrider's Den, shaping their plans with the urgency of uncertain times. Despite the biting cold of winter, they'd managed to adapt, clinging to measured routines that kept them afloat in the unpredictability of Lycona’s tumultuous reality.
Arelos had dedicated much of his free time exploring the vastness of the library, his search for relevant resources consuming him with a fervor that mirrored his earlier academic pursuits. Yet, frustration began to weave its threads through Arelos’s determination, and his expressions hinted at vexation—a shadow of the obstacles he continued to encounter in his search for anything that might assist Viktor’s magical development.
Viktor, on the other hand, had divided his days between seeking work and taking on whatever odd jobs he could find—cleaning stalls, carrying goods, or assisting merchants in small tasks. Though he accepted even the humblest of tasks without complaint, the lack of steady opportunities gnawed at him, a constant reminder of the tenuous grip they held on survival. When the work was done or the opportunities too scarce, he'd retreat to the attic, pouring his focus into practicing his telekinetic abilities until exhaustion finally overtook him.
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The afternoon sun had dipped low, casting long shadows into the attic where Viktor sat, his focus absorbed by a sequence of coins he practiced levitating in varying patterns. Three coins hovered before him, arranged in a row at eye level, his concentration unwavering.
A creak of floorboards announced Arelos’s return, his arrival bearing the weight of knowledge accumulated through hours spent buried in pages. Viktor greeted him with a weary yet hopeful smile, his practice momentarily suspended. “Any luck in your excursions today?” Viktor inquired, hopeful for a breakthrough.
Arelos sighed heavily, the sound carrying the depth of his growing frustration as he shrugged off his cloak. “I’ve read through everything I could find, Viktor,” he confessed, his voice laced with defeat. “But there wasn’t much on telekinesis, not anything that goes beyond what you've told me already. Most references to it are skimmed over, mentioned as a mere parlor trick or just a method to test for latent magical potential.”
Viktor frowned, feeling the weight of Arelos’s words settle uneasily in his mind. “That can't be it,” Viktor murmured, brow furrowed as if willing hidden secrets to reveal themselves by determination alone. “Surely, there must be more to it.”
Arelos leaned against the wall, studying Viktor with careful eyes. “It's not that it doesn’t exist, but it’s not developed further. Mages develop advanced spells and techniques—things the academy teaches, things that require guidance and resources.”
“Outside of an academy,” Arelos continued, his tone critical yet reflective, “that talent is often ignored. It’s just not seen as relevant to develop by oneself. Those with real potential are meant to be in the academy, where training and magic are intertwined.”
Viktor absorbed this somber reflection, feeling the cold bite deeper as doubt began to creep in. He couldn’t deny the truth in Arelos’s observations—the progress he had made, though hard-earned, seemed small and fragile compared to the larger expectations he carried for himself.
The air between them thickened with unspoken thoughts, Arelos watching Viktor for any signs of the storm brewing behind his eyes. "Look," Arelos said finally, trying to inject a gentle reassurance into a quickly dimming situation. "Even if telekinesis isn’t an advanced skill, what you’re doing is still incredible. I mean, look around," he gestured at the coins still hanging in the air.
“But what good is it?” Viktor burst out, tossing his hands in frustration, the coins clinking to the ground with the force of his exasperation. “What good is a little trick? All this effort, all this time—if it means nothing, then it’s...” his voice trailed off, unable to articulate the void where unyielding hope had resided.
Arelos hesitated, unsure how to combat Viktor’s despair, but his conviction stood steady. “You’re wrong,” he said firmly, determination flaring within his eyes. “Not everyone can do what you do. Maybe it’s not the kind of magic that makes the stories, but it’s still a talent. And every talent has a purpose—we just have to find it.”
Viktor glanced sideways toward him, his thoughts caught within a struggle he felt incapable of resolving. Part of him craved to believe in his friend’s perspective, but the uncertainty still loomed overwhelming, threatening to drown what courage remained.
The silence between them lingered, punctuated only by the occasional sound of night settling in. Outside, the wind had risen, howling against the eaves as if echoing the inner turmoil Viktor felt.
Arelos finally broke the silence, his tone measured and pragmatic. “You’re thinking too narrowly, Viktor,” he said. “A skill is only limited by how it’s used. If you keep working at it, you’ll figure out where it fits."
Viktor sighed deeply, releasing the tension coiled within his chest. “I just wish it didn’t feel quite so... limited,” he conceded quietly.
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A bit of time passes before Viktor once more sighs, the weight of their earlier conversation still lingering in the small space of the attic. He leans back, supported by the cool wall, eyes tracing the irregular patterns within the wooden beams above as his mind drifts.
After a moment, he straightens abruptly, a faint grin tugging at the corners of his lips. “You know,” he began, his tone lighter but edged with self-awareness, “I’ve been working on something new. It feels kind of pointless after what we just talked about, but…” He paused, meeting Arelos’s gaze with a flicker of determination. “At the very least, it’ll be worth it to see your reaction.”
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Arelos, intrigued despite the bleak tones of their earlier conversation, perks up slightly. “Alright, then,” he encourages, anticipation lacing his voice as he leans forward, “let’s see what you’ve got.”
Viktor retrieves a coin from his pocket, its familiar weight pressed against his skin briefly before he passes it into Arelos’s open palm. “Hold it out in front of you, palm up,” Viktor instructs, his voice taking on a slightly mischievous undertone.
Arelos complies, his curiosity sharpening as he extends his hand, palm upright with the cool metal resting securely against his skin. Viktor then turns around, deliberately facing away from Arelos, his back to both the boy and the coin.
For a moment, there’s only the sound of Viktor’s steady breathing, a calm rhythm that syncs subtly with the residual energy in the room. Then, imperceptibly at first, the coin begins to whisper for defiance, contemplating the laws of gravity.
Much to Arelos’s surprise, the coin levitates above his hand, mere inches from his skin, defying expectations. An involuntary sound of appreciation escapes Arelos, capturing his incredulity and amusement.
Hearing the sound of surprise from Arelos, a satisfied grin spreads across Viktor’s face, though it remains hidden from view. He doesn’t turn around immediately, savoring the brief moment of quiet triumph. In that instant, the small attic feels less like a cramped, forgotten corner of the world and more like a place where possibilities, however improbable, might just take shape.
“You learned to do it without looking,” Arelos said, amazement clear in his voice. “How?”
Viktor turned back around, a hint of pride flickering in his expression. “It wasn’t easy,” he admitted. “At first, I’d focus on the coin while I could still see it—get a feel for it, like a thread I could pull on. Then I’d close my eyes and try to keep that thread in my mind, moving it without seeing. Eventually, I got good enough to skip the looking part altogether.”
Arelos tips his head, respect brightening his eyes. “That’s so impressive. Every time I see you do something new, it’s like I’m watching you rewrite yet another law of nature.”
Viktor chuckles, though the sound is thoughtful rather than boisterous. “If only rewriting any of those laws would help us produce coins,” he jokes, a touch wry humor weaving through his words.
However, Arelos’s expression shifts to one of contemplation, threads of ideas quickly twisting together beneath his scrutiny. “Well,” Arelos begins slowly, a spark of intrigue igniting behind his gaze, “you said you’re able to influence things without laying eyes on them, right?”
Viktor nods, curiosity taking root. “Yeah, that’s right.”
Arelos turns, his focus locked onto the large oak door that has stood resolute, ever locked, since he first discovered their attic refuge. He gestures slightly, drawing Viktor’s attention to this silent guardian. “Do you know how locks work?” he asks.
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They both turned their gaze to the imposing wooden door, a silent sentinel weathered by time but still standing as a guardian of mystery. Viktor raised an eyebrow, the corners of his mouth quirking up in a half-smile as he caught on to Arelos's implication.
"You're suggesting I try to unlock this thick door with my abilities?" Viktor questioned, amusement tinged with disbelief.
Arelos nodded, a measure of excitement playing behind his steady expression. "Why not?" he replied with a shrug. "The door's bulk isn't the real issue—it's just the lock we need to figure out."
Viktor hesitated, uncertainty threading through his voice. "I'm not sure I can move something as intricate as a lock. I mean, it’s got pins and springs or whatever. I’m not even sure how a lock works exactly."
Arelos waved off Viktor's concerns with his usual analytical precision. "Remember how you can move multiple objects? I've seen you keep three coins hovering and get them to shift individually. Think about a lock the same way."
Viktor furrowed his brow, considering the difference but listening intently. "I suppose," he allowed cautiously.
Seeing an opening, Arelos began to explain further. "A lock's mechanism comprises pins of varying lengths. When the key is inserted, it lifts each pin to the correct height, allowing the cylinder to turn and unlock."
Viktor absorbed the information, his skepticism mingling with curiosity. "And you know this how?" he inquired, a teasing lilt edging his question.
Arelos paused at the probing look Viktor aimed at him before snorting softly. "Hey, you think I haven't thought about picking a few locks in my time?" he replied, his voice carrying the lighthearted jest. "Heck, I’ve thought about this specific door more than once, wondering what lies beyond."
Viktor chuckled, conceding the point. "Alright, I see your logic," he admitted, meeting Arelos’s earnest gaze. "If we can work out the exact pin positions and manage to turn the lock... it just might work."
Despite his lingering doubts, Viktor agreed to give it a try, curiosity and the thrill of a new challenge sparking his determination. Settling down before the door, he placed a hand gently against its surface, closing his eyes to summon the mental image of its inner mechanics.
Long minutes turned to half an hour as Viktor struggled to sense out the pins within the lock. Frustration clawed at his patience, his concentration wavering despite best intentions. Arelos sat nearby, silently respectful of Viktor's efforts, his own excitement tempered by quiet observation.
Just as Viktor was about to admit defeat, something clicked in his mind—a palpable shift as he suddenly felt the layout within the lock as if the veil of hesitation was temporarily lifted. Three-dimensional shapes solidified into recognition, and he sensed the presence of five pins waiting to be moved.
"I can feel them," Viktor breathed, his voice a low murmur of disbelief. "There are five pins in total. It’s faint, but I can tell where they're supposed to sit."
Encouraged, Arelos leaned closer, his own anticipation mirroring Viktor's focused gaze. "That's incredible, Viktor," he murmured, his words an anchor to the moment's newfound clarity.
But as the minutes ticked past, Viktor's initial progress stalled. Discerning the pin positions was challenging enough, yet coordinating their simultaneous alignment proved all but out of reach. Each effort felt like peering through a narrow, shifting window, one whose boundaries refused to yield to increasing endeavors.
Another hour slipped by, Viktor's energy ebbing away amid the rhythmic pulse of concentration. Arelos remained steadfast, though restlessness began to gnaw at the edges of his patience.
Finally, Viktor broke the quiet. "I think I’ve almost got it," he breathed, determination warring with fatigue. "But I need something to turn the lock."
Arelos's eyes widened at the realization, and he scrambled to his feet, weariness momentarily forgotten. "Something to rotate it," he echoed, scanning the meager collection of their belongings. "Where—"
They had been so focused on the lock itself that neither had given thought to the final step of opening the door. Frantically searching amidst discarded tools and stray gadgets, Arelos muttered under his breath in self-reproach.
At last, a faintly bent nail, its once-straight form rendered into a crude tool by earlier use, caught Arelos's attention, lying half-hidden beneath a pile of scrap. Seizing it triumphantly, Arelos rushed back to Viktor's side, presenting the improvised aid.
Arelos pushes past Viktor, careful not to disrupt his focus. With deliberate precision, he inserts the bent nail into the lock, his hands steady despite the tension thrumming between them.
"Keep the pins aligned," Arelos murmurs, his voice barely above a whisper.
Viktor nods, sweat beading on his brow as he maintains his mental grasp on the lock's delicate internal mechanism. Slowly, agonizingly, Arelos begins to rotate the nail.
A faint metallic click pierces the silence, followed by the slow, eerie groan of the door as it inches open.