The three of them finally left the training valley just as the sun began to dip below the horizon, oranges and yellow fire blazing the sky. Fyodor and Kyra were their usual perky selves, chatting animatedly about names and places that Grant didn’t recognise. Grant, on the other hand, was a sooty, sweaty, wrung out mess. He plodded along a few steps behind the other two, forcing his dragging feet forward one step at a time, hearing names like ‘Provos’ and ‘The Hall’ being thrown around ahead of him. At any other time, Grant would have been eagerly listening to their conversation in an attempt to absorb as much information as possible, but in his current state the words just went in one ear and straight out the other without his brain getting involved.
They had spent the entire day pushing him to his absolute limits, beyond anything Grant had experienced before. After his ease at imbuing himself, and confident that his vast wealth of power could assist him, Grant had expected that learning to manipulate his Source to perform other feats of magic would be simple. But his hubris had soon been undermined as, over the next hour, he had struggled over and over and over again just to make that miniscule damned pebble float. He had quickly realised that his excess power was completely useless when it came to shaping that power to his purposes - if anything, it slowed him down. The initial resistance his power had shown to being manipulated was amplified even more when he was trying to use it for something other than its natural desire - fire, in his case. Forcing the power out with the intent of manipulating a different aspect of the world around him was an immensely difficult task, and Grant had occasionally taken a break from his efforts to throw out blasts of flame, not just at the dummy, but at Fyodor’s urging, the stone wall and nearby river as well. Fyodor told him this was an excellent way to learn to respect the destructive potential of his power, and to learn how much damage he could do in a real battle. Whatever the reason, Grant had certainly grown more comfortable with his fire powers as the day wore on - though in some ways, this just heightened his frustration at his failure with the pebble.
Eventually, he had managed it. Sending his power down his arm, he had envisioned it swirling around the pebble, surrounding it, and slowly, slowly, sent it wobbling into the air, stopping at shoulder height and remaining there. The whole ordeal had been a phenomenally challenging feat of cerebral gymnastics that had left him feeling more mentally drained than any exam he’d ever sat - and that was just the beginning of his trials. The surge of triumph he had felt at his victory was immediately quashed when he attempted the day's next task - to make another pebble do the same, while maintaining his grip on the first. Once again, he had thought this must be a simple matter - after all, if he could force one little rock to move with his will, surely he could manage a second. But this task had proven even more unfeasible than the first. Eventually, after hours trying to do so with all his might, with no success - at one point worrying he was going to burst a blood vessel he was straining and focusing so hard - Fyodor had finally revealed the entire challenge was a test.
It turned out that his initial instinct, to use his power to manipulate the pebble as though it was an extension of his body, was fatally flawed. Approaching the task the way Grant had was doomed, as controlling tendrils of power like that became harder and harder the more thoughts you were trying to enforce at once. “Your Source is not just a tool,” Fyodor had explained after a few hours, as Grant gulped down an entire pitcher of river water, “something for you to use as you would any other mundane instrument. The key to true mastery of your power is not to shape it according to your will, but to use that power to shape the world to your will. Do not try and ‘lift’ the rocks. You must envision a world where the rocks have been lifted, and use your power and force of will to turn that vision into a reality.”
Even with this explanation it had taken a long time, and, he suspected, one or two very subtle mental nudges from Ki before he had begun to grasp the concept. Eventually, he had managed to make both pebbles float, and soon was sending more pebbles whizzing through the air, sending thin streams of water arcing overhead, and eventually tearing the practice dummy to shreds with dozens of tiny flaming meteorites. It had become exponentially easier as the day was winding to a close, as though whatever resistance reality, or maybe his Source, had shown at first had been gradually worn down as his mind had grown used to flexing its new muscles. An apt analogy, he thought to himself, given how sore I feel. But the end result was, despite being mentally and physically exhausted, he was beyond ecstatic at what he had accomplished. He knew he had a long way to go, and he still wasn’t entirely comfortable with the level of power he contained - throughout all the days exercises he had limited himself to what he had begun to think of as his ‘decoy source’, and the thought of what he could accomplish with the full scope of his power was still daunting - but he was reasonably sure he could prevent any dramatic outbursts. He was also looking forward to having some time to practise in his house - he had subtly dropped some questions about other applications of magic, such as permanent enchantments and even telepathy throughout the day, and Fyodor had given him enough information that he felt confident he could enact some kind of mental shield on himself as Ki had requested - though the method he had in mind to accomplish this was novel, and he couldn’t wait to see if it could be done.
The three of them continued their trek back towards Sanctuary, the first few buildings appearing on the horizon just as the last traces of sunset faded from the sky. Fyodor had conjured a swarm of bright blue will-o’-the-wisps that flew around them, occasionally darting forward to illuminate and forewarn of obstacles, tree roots and the like. As Grant trudged behind Fyodor and Kyra, still barely listening to their conversation, which seemed to have shifted to something involving ‘introspective metaphysical examinations’ - words far too long for him to process at the moment - his thoughts returned to the final part of the lesson, just before they had begun their trek home. The last few minutes of the lesson had been an explanation of what to expect tomorrow, when Fyodor and Kyra would begin to instruct him in physical combat. While he had protested, saying that surely his powers were sufficient, if he ever even needed to fight, they had insisted both that combat was a certainty at some point in his future, and that learning to fight with a weapon opened up far too many opportunities to pass up - especially as he learned more about how to create complex, permanent enchantments, and eventually be able to craft a personalised, imbued weapon to complement his abilities. They had explained that he would be able to create a weapon that could function as a kind of mini-Source, basically pre-programmed with certain aptitudes, that would be capable of incredible feats of magic without requiring any use of his own Source, vastly increasing how much power would be available to him in combat. It was this notion that had captured Grant’s imagination so strongly, and where his thoughts now dwelled as they began to enter the valley where his new hometown lay. The notion of forging and enchanting a personal masterpiece of a weapon made the video game and RPG-obsessed portion of his brain salivate with the potential it unlocked. With his Source being so much larger than the others, he was sure that being able to create a weapon like that opened up incredible avenues of opportunity, and may in fact be the key to defeating the mysterious ‘enemy’ that Ki had mentioned. He wondered for a second why Ki hadn’t mentioned it, before realising that maybe he had, in his now locked-away memories. Either way, and despite his utter exhaustion, he was practically humming with excitement at what tomorrow would bring.
Night had finished blanketing the sky by the time they arrived, and large, spherical balls of light hovered at regular intervals throughout the town, casting a warm yellow hue. Grant was certain by this point that were it not for his improved stamina and endurance, he would have dropped dead minutes into their walk home, but Fyodor and Kyra assured him that he felt that way simply because he was still new to drawing upon his Source, and that by the end of the week he would have fully acclimated to his circumstances and have essentially unlimited stamina. For now, however, he was absolutely starved.
Maya’s was more packed than it had been during his previous visits. At least twenty people were packed into the room, and there was a constant stream of conversation, backed by gentle acoustic music. As he looked around, seeing the laughing, smiling faces, Grant felt like he was in a normal restaurant, and for just a second he could imagine that he was back on Earth, enjoying a meal out with friends, living a simple, uncomplicated, normal life. The illusion was shattered, however, when a trio of plates laden with delicious-looking meals floated by, unsupported by anyone, and placed themselves on a table, and the remaining shards were swept away when he saw that the background music was coming from a set of instruments in a far corner that were playing themselves.
“You did good today, Grant,” Fyodor said, clapping him on the shoulder. “I shall see you tomorrow, same time. I have instructed Kyra to set you up with an alarm, until you are able to set your own. Sleep well, comrade.”
He strode towards a table in the far corner, occupied by Suriya and an unfamiliar man. Grant followed Kyra to the same table they had eaten at that morning. Lei, Tamiko and Bernhard were sitting there, nursing steaming clay cups.
“Lookie here, it’s the two young’uns,” Lei said, grinning up at them. “How was your first day?”
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Grant looked at Lei, then looked down. His clothes were covered with ash, dirt and soot, remnants of the numerous fires he had summoned throughout the day. His clothes clung to his skin, the scent of stale sweat noticeable even to him, and he was sure that his face must have looked as haggard as he felt. He looked back up at Lei and raised an eyebrow in response.
Lei laughed. “Fair enough. Don’t worry, we all remember having to stretch our wings when we arrived. It gets easier. I’m also guessing that Kyra here,” he gave Kyra a little whap on the arm, “neglected to mention that all the clothes made by Bernie are self-cleaning and self-repairing?”
Grant stared at him, then looked at Kyra. “Are you serious?” he asked incredulously. “You’ve been letting me stink up the place and look like a complete idiot on my first day here?”
Everyone at the table laughed, and Grant swore he even heard a few of the nearby patrons chuckling along as well.
“Sorry Grant,” Kyra apologised. “It’s a bit of a tradition here. They did the same thing to me when I arrived. But, it’s not actually just a hazing ritual - it’s also a bit of a test to see how skilled you are at detecting magic around you. Some people, once they’ve learned how to connect and use their Source a little, realise that what they’re wearing is enchanted.”
Grant sighed. Unbeknownst to the others, he could tell perfectly well that what he was wearing was magical. Throughout the day he had learned to quell his second sight, as he had taken to calling it, but he had seen early on that almost everything in town had some kind of power flowing through it - the buildings, the paths, the clothes, even the furniture. Luckily, it was easy enough for him to cover himself. “Well I mean, I did kind of assume that everything had some kind of magic, given that they were made by a literal magical tailor, but I thought that if they had something like that it would have happened automatically and stopped me getting dirty in the first place. But I guess that’s not the case?”
Kyra shook her head. “Nope. And yes, you’re right, it’s less about realising they’re magic, and more about realising how their magic interacts with yours. I realise you’re tired and probably sick of lessons, but here’s the final one for today: the vast majority of magical items that you can make can’t hold enough power to always be active. For whatever reason, weapons are the exception - and don’t think too hard about what constitutes ‘a weapon’. No-one has been able to figure out how or why our powers are so picky, but they are. A sword, yeah, easy, you can pump one of those full of power. A baseball bat? Can’t hold more than a drop.” Grant opened his mouth to interrupt, mind racing at the implications that Sources could distinguish between a weapon and a tool, but Kyra raised a hand and kept talking. “Like I said, don’t think about it too hard. Not today, at least. Save all your questions for next week, when Suriya shows you the Hall.” Something in her voice made the word ‘hall’ have a particular emphasis. “Anyway, the point is that while your clothes are enchanted, they don’t have any power to run that enchantment by themselves. You need to provide that to them. Don’t,” she said quickly, as Grant began to close his eyes, “try to activate them here! You’ll just dump a load of disgusting filth onto Maya’s nice, shiny floor. And again, before you ask, yes, the floor is enchanted to be self-cleaning too - but it’s still just rude. Go outside and come back once you’re presentable.”
Grant obeyed, stepping out onto the street, the din of the restaurant fading behind him as the door swung shut. Closing his eyes briefly, he grabbed a tiny portion of his Source. It evaded him momentarily, still attempting to resist usage, but he was practised enough by this point and soon had it at his command. He opened his eyes and concentrated on his clothing, willing his eyes to adjust and reveal the magical spectrum to his sight. Slowly, the tableau of threads and veins of energy that weaved through the world appeared, including a subtle but unmistakable glow coming from his clothes. I wonder… Grant thought, cocking his head to the side. He examined the shifting pattern closely, comparing it to the other magical traces he could see. Maybe there’s a way for me to actually use this ability to tell what a specific spell does, he wondered. Maybe if I look closely as I… He pushed some of his power into his clothing.
He flinched as the power within him reacted with the enchantments contained in the clothes, the light within flaring brilliantly and shifting colour to a slightly lighter hue. The soot, sweat and accumulated filth of the day began to move, some of it vanishing into thin air, while some of the more significant stains shifted and began to congeal before sliding to the ground, pooling on the cobblestones beneath his feet. He stared intently, trying to memorise how the enchantment moved now that it was active, how sections of it pulsed and undulated with his Source. The movement only lasted a few moments, as the last of the dirt vanished and the bright light faded back to its normal, subtle movement. Well, that was… disappointingly uninformative. I guess at least I can tell if an enchantment is active. That's a plus.
He stepped back inside the restaurant, cleaner and more presentable, but still utterly exhausted. He slowly made his way over to the table, upon which were two new, piping hot dishes of some kind of stew. His mouth immediately started salivating and his stomach rumbled embarrassingly loudly, drawing a laugh from those seated.
“Yeah, trust me, you’re going to be this hungry every night this week,” said Bernhard as Grant sat down and began ravenously devouring the meal.
The conversation turned away from Grant as he ate, listening to the discussion with a bit more focus than he had earlier in the day. There were plenty of fascinating, if alien, topics discussed, from references to ‘the herd’s market day’ to Bukola’s planned visit to the gryphons tomorrow, which Grant paid particular attention to, given that it was tangentially related to him. Interestingly, Lei, Tamiko and Bernhard didn’t seem to know that the gryphons had seemingly targeted Grant, just that they had attacked him and Kyra on their journey. Grant glanced sideways at Kyra when he realised this omitted detail, and she gave him a miniscule shake of the head. Grant thought this over for a moment before mentally shrugging and continuing his meal. The less I stick out, the better.
The moon continued its journey across the sky as the night wore on. Grant and Kyra had long finished their meals, and now sipped from matching clay cups, filled to the brim with some kind of tea that Grant had never had before. Quite tasty, though.
Grant glanced up as the door swung open, and gulped nervously as Bukola entered. He paused in the doorway for a moment, eyes flicking left and right, taking in the room. Most of the other patrons had left by this point, with only two tables still occupied - one by Grant and Kyra’s group, the other by Fyodor, Suriya and the unknown man. Bukola’s eyes locked onto Grant, and a faint scowl formed on his face. Grant quickly lowered his eyes, taking a deep drink from his cup, hoping that Bukola left him alone. The other man made Grant incredibly nervous, even without their brief confrontation yesterday. Something about his attitude, his gaze, made Grant feel like he was somehow less than a person in his eyes. Grant still hadn’t forgotten the malicious glee that Bukola had displayed at the prospect of visiting the gryphons and forcing them to relinquish information. Despite the verbal beatdown Bukola had delivered justifying his hatred, Grant somehow felt that those words were a cover, and that Bukola was the kind of person that would take any excuse he could to inflict pain and suffering on anyone who inconvenienced him. The way his eyes had burned, the malevolence in his voice as he had talked about the friends he had lost… Grant shivered slightly, hoping that no-one noticed. Bukola turned his back on their table, striding across the room to Fyodor’s table, leaning over and talking in a low voice.
“Got on Bukola’s bad side, did you?” Tamiko asked, smirking at Grant.
“Does he have a good side?” Grant muttered quietly, finishing the last of his drink.
Lei laid a hand on Grant’s shoulder, his eyes serious. “I know he can be scary,” he said quietly, “but he is fiercely loyal, and a good man. He’s… grown worse, the last few decades. A while back, something went wrong when he was exploring an unknown door. He was captured and held for a few days. We got him back, as quickly as we could, but… they hurt him. Badly. Please, don’t judge him too harshly. Give it some time, and he will die for you as willingly as he would for any of us.”
Grant took in a deep breath, processing this. That explains the hatred in his voice, he thought. I can’t imagine I would have much love for… what did he call them? Monstrosities? If a group of them had tortured me for days.
Grant looked at Lei and nodded, smiling slightly in apology. “Sorry,” he said back just as quietly. “I… I hadn’t considered that things like that could happen here. I suppose it’s important to remember that we’re not gods. And that things can still go wrong.”
Lei squeezed his shoulder slightly. “We don’t talk about it much,” he said, glancing over at Bukola.
The conversation turned to lighter subjects for a while, before Grant’s exhaustion finally came crashing down on him. Kyra leaned over and held a hand over his wrist for a second, and light flared. “An alarm,” she explained in response to his questioning look. Grant nodded his thanks and bid the others farewell, heading back to his new house. He avoided Bukola’s eyes on the way out.
He had enough energy to shed his clothes this time, crawling under the covers and yawning widely. Okay then, he thought to Ki, let’s chat.