∼ Arcane Domination ∼

Chapter - 043

‹ Artorian Lucius ›

"Chaotic, yet moving with uniform purpose. As uninterpretable as existence itself, yet it is the basest form of energy. Observe the winds of mana. How they flow. How they act. Do not try to make sense of it, just empty your mind and let no thoughts enter. Simply... perceive."

As the strands and currents of arcane light flickered every which way, their flow somehow both erratic and calm, Artorian felt the voice of his uncle slowly fade as his mind was enamored with the mana that swirled in the darkness all around him.

Though he had no control over the flows of mana, he still affected them, acting as a beacon as they were attracted and bound to the influence of his mind's presence.

That was the most fundamental aspect of a mage. For magic could never be fully controlled or dominated. It could only ever be manipulated gradually, guiding them along the paths we need them to go.

It was a slow and steady process, as he tried to meld his mind with the flow. But as time drew on and torrents of mana eluded his every plea and gesture, frustration found Artorian. This progress, so unbearingly tedious and sedate, was an endless source of vexation to the youth.

"Useless". That is the only word he had to describe himself as of recent days, and ineptitude to corral his own mana did little to help on that festering notion.

His inability to protect the kingdom sworn to him. The helplessness he felt as Amelia almost became a casualty of his own incompetence. His growth, that moved at a slug's pace compared to what he needed to accomplish before the next choosing of the sovereign. The unceasing penalties put on his training for his "own safety", as told by his mother.

He had yet to even call upon his magic after long awakening his [Mind's Sea]. The massive talent that had been prophesied by innumerable magi and archmages, laying dormant, just waiting for his call. But they continued to coddle him.

Do they not see that they are smothering his potential?

He was supposed to be the bastion of mankind. The Sword of the Light. A monarch above all monarchs.

This would not do.

If he did not grow. The accursed King Mortius would swoop in and steal his legacy. Right. Under. His. Nose. While he could do nothing but watch from the sideline like the helpless whelp he was. While his kingdom and land would be driven into the ground by that man's greed, corruption, and wickedness. The kingdom and land for which his father had fought, died, and sacrificed everything. Could he really, let that happen? Let his father's legacy slip through his hands merely because he was too afraid? Too weak? Too spineless?

Deep within Artorian, a flame was sparked into a roar, of an intensity enough to burn away all uncertainties, hesitations, and indecision.

Was he truly going to cover and beg before these streams of mana? In the hopes that they might hear his pitiful pleas and grant him the use of a little bit of his own power? Was he going to be the slave to his own magic, or it to him?

Artorian's mind surged, like an indomitable fist. Stretching out to grab a mana strand and strangling it, the strand writhing like a snake caught by a predator. As Artorian's eyes burned, and the fire within him was inflamed by the fury of his conviction, the mana strand could only whine and struggle.

"A... Ar.... A..." In his focus, a distant sound faintly echoed heard in his mind.

But he did not pay attention.

The mana strand had almost submitted. To him. Power beyond his wildest imagination, right in his grasp.

Pain and anger was the only thing Artorian felt at that moment. But suddenly, he was pulled from his [Mind's Sea] as someone else's mana entered and ejected him.

"Artorian! Get hold of your emotions! Artorian!" Gideon yelled, shaking him. It was finally then Artorian realized the state of his surroundings. For almost ten feet in every direction, the marbled flooring was shattered and crushed under the maelstrom of mana that whipped around with little to no reason or rhyme. Artorian was the eye of this storm, Gideon crouched before him with cuts on his rugged face and multiple gashes along the cloth of his white robes and face from the rubble that swirled wildly alongside the maelstrom.

But even as Artorian realized this, he came to realize something else. He could not stop the maelstrom! It was only getting stronger and stronger. Panic set in, and he tried desperately to release the mana strand that was still grasped firmly by the fire within his pit. He could feel the storm of mana nearing some conclusion point, compressing to the point that nothing in the vicinity would survive such a mana eruption.

"Artorian listen to my voice, calm down. Just - calm." Gideon said, his voice no longer hurried but firm and steady as it usually was. It was almost hypnotic how the calm of his voice broke through the chaos of everything.

Listening to his uncle's always reliable voice, he managed to finally stop worsening the problem, calming down and easing the anger - the fire within him dying now without the fuel of his sour emotions.

The maelstrom died down slowly, and both of them got off with only some scratches and bruises from loose debris. Artorian couldn't help but feel shame as he looked at his uncle, Gideon Altorus Lucius. The Burning Light, and the Eternal Flame of Lucia. He was a tall man, shorter than Val, but taller than most.

Unlike his surrogate uncle, Gideon was not as handsome nor as shadowy. But just as menacing. A strong jaw, cold white eyes like Artorian's, a straight nose, and a mane of silver hair. Despite Gideon's bright white clothes, from his long-sleeved white gloves to his simple robe - he was often the most feared of all the royals, purely by his rugged features and serious face alongside a firm frame and unwavering stare. But more than anything, it was because he was an archmage of fire beyond compare.

Inspecting Artorian briefly, Gideon waved off the healers and priests that were already storming out to tend to the prince.

Gideon grunted. "As I've told you many times, Artorian. If you broadcast your mind's inner emotions directly into the flow of chaos, they magnify, twist, and change, coming back to wreak havoc. Pure mana can affect your mind as readily as demonic or angelic mana can. It is still fundamentally a product of the chaos gods. So shield your mind."

Though Gideon's words were not harsh, they lashed at Artorian as he knew the standards of which Gideon had. Artorain felt nothing but shame and guilt.

Stolen from its original source, this story is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

As Gideon saw his nephew's downcast expression, he sighed heavily. "It is especially paramount with the mana and talent you possess. No mortal or inexperienced mind can handle that kind of power you have within your reservoir, and that is why we must take it slow. Artorian, listen. We are not trying to coddle you. But you must understand that jumping on a sword will not teach you how to wield one."

Artorian sniffed, averting his eyes. "But how am I supposed to catch up? To contend with the monster that the Crimson King is? For every day that moves by where I do nothing but meditate and swing my sword, the further away the Sovereign's Seat seems to be. The gap between me and him is only grow-"

"Closing." Gideon interrupted.

Frowning, Artorian didn't understand.

"You might not see the improvement, but you underestimate yourself Artorian. But that is not all. Once you finally grasp your magical potential, the power you can attain will be much greater than what your father could've ever accomplished. It will take time, and at certain periods, your growth will be slow. At other times, it will be faster than what is imaginable. Growth is not linear, it never was."

"Still... am I not supposed to be taking chances? It is not as if we have the luxury to lose the seat. The threats to Argon are far from forgotten, and with father gone, it's only a matter of time before Argon is plunged into another war for survival. If the Crimson King truly takes the seat... I'm not sure what will happen."

Staring at Artorian, Gideon just stood there for a few moments before he began lightly tugging at his glove with his fingers. Surprised, Artorian wasn't sure what he was doing, but he knew for a fact that Gideon had never been seen without his famous gloves on.

Artorian had always thought it was because Gideon's never one to let down his guard and those exact gloves were in fact powerful magical artefacts granted to him by the current Archmagus of Arcanum herself. But when he fully pulled off his gloves, Artorian's eyes widened in shock.

His hands, arms, and wrists were a horrible sight of burnt and unrecognizable skin and flesh. It looked as if Gideon had put his entire arms into a forge and just let them cook.

"Wh-what happened? Did another mage do this?" Artorian blurted out, as scarring was rarely a sight you'd see on any royals, especially those of Lucia who had unrestricted access to the healing of the Blessed of Virtue and the Red Cloaks themselves.

But what was he asking? Gideon was one of the most powerful offensive mages in all of Argon, if not the most powerful. There should be no one who could harm him as such. But then why? Why did he have those horrible burns?

Gideon looked at his arms with some melancholy. "I did this to myself,"

Artorian was startled, at a loss for words.

Gideon didn't wait for the prince to collect himself. "I was young, an aspiring acolyte. I was bestowed with a decent talent by the Judges Above, but for my station as a royal descendant of Lucia, it was far from enough to compete with real talent. The only true driving factor I had to become the mage I was today, was my determination and stubbornness."

He sighed heavily, decades worth of hardship in that one simple exhale. "In direct violation of my mentors' instructions, I trained in secret outside of Arcanum. Ever testing my limits and going beyond them with reckless fervor. It worked for the most part, and I was lucky not to die each time I did. So I grew even bolder, until... I tried to dominate the flows of mana."

Realization dawning Artorian, he couldn't help but shudder. "I managed to conquer forth a new magic I've yet to learn. But in the process, I nearly died and got these in return." He raised his hands to show their scarred and disfigured texture.

"At the time," He continued. "There were no healers of sufficient skill that could heal such serious mana burns. So the scars remained and grew permanent. It is true that a mage's whole life is the mana around them, but remember; mana is no friend of yours and will always end up harming you worse than your enemies if you proceed to handle it with reckless abandon."

"But if you hadn't pushed yourself, you wouldn't be the mage you are today, right?" Artorian countered.

Gideon shook his head. "If I hadn't done this to myself, I might've reached even higher in my lifetime. I spent two years mana-crippled after that incident, where I could barely conjure a fireball while I was a second-year acolyte. I was a humiliation of my station and a shame to our family. It was only with five years of slow and steady progress that my potential exploded into what I was truly capable of."

"Your grandmother and your father helped keep it a secret - the current Archmagus is one of the only others who know about this. And now you do too. It is one of two great regrets I have in my life."

Noting that he said; "one of two" Artorian's curiosity was roused, but he did not pry. It was not the time.

"Growth is not linear," Gideon emphasized as Artorian said nothing.

Turning late on the day, Gideon continued the lecture despite the accident, lecturing Artorian on why and how he should interact with the arcane so he would not commit the same mistakes as Gideon.

Walking down the hall, his mind an exhausted haze from the whole day of magic training and emotions fraught after the incident, Artorian almost stumbled into Val as he had been keeping his eyes on the ground, deep in thought.

"Well, it seems like somebody's gone sour," Val's friendly voice said. "I heard you got into a little mishap earlier today?"

"Urgh, don't remind me of it." Artorian groaned. "I can't bear to stand thinking of how Gideon looked at me."

Tilting his head as Artorian averted his eyes, Val sighed. "Gideon is a serious man, and he takes your safety more seriously beyond everything else. But you can't blame him."

"I know, that's why I couldn't stand it. I don't think I can feel worse than when I disappoint him."

"Well, then don't," Val said simply.

Artorian just scoffed, even though he knew Val was right. It had been his own fault and impatience that had gotten the better of himself.

"Anyway, I've come to see you before you went off to pass out," Val said, bringing back a little joviality into the conversation.

"Oh?" Artorian mused, looking up at Val who suddenly stood with a black cloak in one hand and a ring in the other.

Surprised as Artorian knew he definitely didn't have something in his hands moments before, he asked the mysterious uncle. "What's this?"

"Two gifts, from me. After the trouble with the assassins, I've managed to get my hands on one of their artifacts as a... souvenir." He lifted up the black cloak.

It was then Artorian remembered the assassin wearing similar cloaks. Brows raised, Artorian was curious. "Is that one of the magical instruments they used to break the wards?"

"No, I couldn't get my hands on that," He chuckled, though his eyes definitely said he had tried. "But they used it to sneak into the city and past the royal guards' notice. It's a cloak of invisibility. Old magic, very valuable."

Very curious, he knew only the archmagi of varied specialization had access to the kind of magic. The only kind that could even be remotely close to being considered true invisibility. So yes, valuable it was.

Before Artorian could even accept or reject the gift, Val had thrown it to him, making the young prince catch.

"And this," He held the ring forward. "is a gift I've gotten made personally for you."

Hesitantly taking the ring, Artorian inspected the black material. It was shaped of some unknown and strange black material, with just a hollow disc in its top where there would usually be engravings. It looked rather inconspicuous, and Artorian had no idea what use it had. He couldn't even feel any magic emanating from it. It was almost like it was purely dead material. Which was quite strange as everything in this world had at least some mana residing within.

"Try putting it on and directing a little mana into your finger, and it will siphon the mana. Very simple." Val encouraged with a glint in his eyes.

As Artorian did so, the only real thing he was able to do with his mana, he watched as golden specks of some kind of fine dust came out of the ring's hollow disc to form a small arrow that pointed directly at Val.

"It will always point in my direction, no matter where I am. Then, you can always find me if you need me." He explained. "When you are able to use your magic properly, then you can also infuse mana directly into the ring which will notify me anywhere in the world. Just do this, and I'll come running."

Looking at both items, Artorian smiled, his melancholy from the long day fading.

"Thank you, Val." He said. Before the shadowy man could react, Artorian had hugged him, shocking the older man who for the first time in Artorian's life seemed genuinely surprised and at a loss. "I never did thank you for saving me and Amelia,"

Val was hesitant at first, looking around if there were any servants or guards that saw them. But he eventually let it dissipate, ruffling the young prince's hair. "Of course, Arty. Trust me, I'd never let you die like that," Val muttered, his voice unreadable.