Rivers of sweat eagerly met the drenched soil beneath Roland’s heaving form. His steps, though rapid, were becoming ever more uncoordinated. His lungs burned with each breath, but he refused to acknowledge it, locking his gaze on the well ahead. His hands grasped the crank, and with whitened knuckles, he rapidly raised another pail of water. Each rotation of the crank sent screams of ache and fatigue up his arms. After an eternity, the pail reached the top, and he poured it into a barrel next to the well. The water hit the bottom with a hollow splash, filling the barrel barely a tenth of the way.

For a moment, Roland could see his haggard reflection in the surface of the water. He’d been training for most of his life, and he had always believed that Riva’s drills were overly harsh. Now, he would do ten of them in a heartbeat. He attached the pail back to the rope in the well and let it lower, preparing himself to repeat his effort. When the barrel was finally full, he wrapped his arms around it. His grip was precarious, his arms barely reaching the far side of the barrel. It threatened to slip with each step, slowing him down significantly. The weight bore down on his back. His shoulders felt like they were being pulled off his torso. He trundled back the way he came, concentrating on not spilling a single drop of water.

When he reached his starting point he picked up a wooden practice sword and prepared himself. His hands shook, and his fingers struggled to keep a firm grip on the hilt of his practice sword. In his peripheral vision, he noted two farm hands taking the barrel further, and two more carrying a now-empty barrel to the well. This extended perception also warned him of the incoming strike to his right. He ducked and raised his blade, a loud wooden thwack ringing out. The impact sent painful vibrations up his arms, but he silenced the cries of his limbs. This was his opportunity. He tried pressing his attacker back, but his movements were slow and his steps were clumsy. His opponent easily disengaged the block and thrust the tip of his sword into Roland’s chest. He tried his best to divert it, but his arms reacted limply. The blunted end painfully jabbed into his sternum, sending him stumbling and falling backwards.

“Your block was too wide, you left your centre exposed,” Hadrian said, standing casually over Roland. “You have to protect your core at all times. Any mistake you make will get used against you by your enemies. Now get up, go again.”

“I have gone over a dozen times now, Commander,” Roland wheezed. “Surely at this rate, I will dry up the well.”

“Then you will run to the next-nearest one,” Hadrian retorted. “Now get moving!”

Roland bit back the words that begged to be let out. He reminded himself of the incredible honour he had of training directly under the greatest knight in the kingdom. He knew he should be grateful, but at that moment he could only feel a burning desire to see his mentor coughing in the dirt the way Roland was made to do all morning. His self-control was immense, however, so he refused to indulge. Instead, he returned to his feet, doing it as slowly as possible without earning Hadrian’s ire. The well seemed so far away, and every time it just felt farther. In truth, it was no more than a hundred meters, but in Roland’s current state, each of them might have been an entire ocean to cross. All he could do was grit his teeth and run, praying that his legs would not give out as he launched himself forward again.

He was not sure what was driving him at this point. Every fibre of his being was screaming out. His body begged for rest, and his mind swam with visions of warm meals and comfortable beds. His soul spoke louder, however, and it refused to let him rest. It was not a noble desire to improve, or to prove his mettle, or to earn some pride or respect. In the deepest recesses of his soul, he knew that he just did not want to give the Commander the satisfaction of seeing him fail. This pushed him from deep within, masked by his good nature. He gave his all, and before long he was face to face with Hadrian again. This time he did not give his mentor a chance. He immediately charged forward, keeping his practice sword close to his chest until the last moment, when he swung explosively.

Hadrian’s eyes widened ever so slightly, but his surprise did not seem to slow him down. He ducked deftly underneath Roland’s strike and prepared one of his own. Roland could see it coming and quickly shifted his balance to drive his sword down, pinning Hadrian’s blade to the ground. Roland was stunned for a moment, completely in disbelief that his attack worked. It was short-lived, as Hadrian struck him in the stomach with a firmly clenched fist, knocking the wind out of the boy and sending him sprawling to the ground.

“Your attack was slow,” Hadrian said. “You did well with countering, but your pin on my blade was weak, and you spent so long staring at it that you let me land an attack. Your form was sloppy, your technique was juvenile, and if you keep holding back your strength you will die in this dirt before you ever land a blow on me.” Roland tried, but could not gasp out a response. “Now get up, and go again.” His legs moved without his brain ordering them, righting himself. His chest struggled to fill with air, but he paid it no mind, making his way over to the well once again. Shadow was finally beginning to cover the training area as the sun dipped below the castle’s walls. He glanced at it, looking to the higher floors, saying a silent prayer that Aldric was having an easier time of things than he was. Inside a room that had a very clear outlook on the area where Hadrian had forced Roland to ground countless times, Eldrin was quickly losing his patience.

“It is not poisoned, Aldric,” he insisted.

“That’s exactly what someone who poisoned the tea would say,” Aldric shot back, arms crossed as he sat across the table.

“Do you want to trade cups?” Eldrin offered.

“And get tricked into drinking the poisoned cup?” Aldric asked. Eldrin turned around, running his hands through his hair in frustration. Even through his annoyance, a slight smirk tugged at the corners of his mouth. Aldric’s natural distrust, though currently misplaced, would certainly be an asset to him in the future.

“I poured our tea from the same pot,” Eldrin said, turning back and gesturing to the teapot. “But if it will soothe your nerves, I will drink from both cups, so you can be assured neither are poisoned.”

“Perhaps you’ve immunised yourself against the poison,” Aldric suggested. “It would be a good ploy to get me to drink it.”

“Be that as it may, I have no reason to poison you,” Eldrin said, sitting down.

“I am dangerous,” Aldric said. “You said it yourself, you don’t know what is going on with me. You don't know what I am capable of. I don’t even know, and that should scare you as much as it scares me. You could be arrogant enough to think that you could harness my power, but it’s more likely that you had Seraphina lock away my power so you could kill me and clear away the uncertainty.”

“That is strange,” Eldrin said, taking a sip of his tea. “I thought the Saint cleared up that misunderstanding when you and Roland broke into the church last night.” For the first time during the conversation, Aldric was the one on the defensive. Before he could form a retort, Eldrin continued. “As for killing you, I do not need the help of a child, or a trick as cheap as poison. If I felt inclined to, I could wrench the life from your body before you could ever react.”

“Then why don’t you?” Aldric asked, trying to hide the nerves that suddenly formed in his gut.

“I am not in the business of killing children,” Eldrin said with a sigh. “And I want to help you, Aldric. I know you will not believe either of those reasons, however, so let us go with the third. Curiosity.”

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“Curiosity?” Aldric prompted.

“Yes, curiosity,” Eldrin confirmed. “I had never seen anyone use magic the way you did. Truth be told, you should have been dead a very long time ago, but somehow you managed to channel raw mana throughout your body, and not only that, but you turned it into spells without focusing it through your lens. I have scoured all of our texts, but nothing like this has ever happened before. That puts you and me on the forefront of a new discovery.”

“So I am an experiment?” Aldric asked.

“A project,” Eldrin corrected. “You are quite possibly the most powerful sorcerer to ever live. I want to see just how high your limits are. To that end, we share a common goal. To grant you full control over your power.” Aldric finally lowered his guard slightly, and Eldrin fought the urge to jump up and celebrate.

“Do you really think I’m that strong?” Aldric asked. In response, Eldrin extended his hand. Dark purple smoke began drifting down from it. Aldric’s eyes locked onto it as he reflexively pulled back.

“This is a fairly rudimentary indigo spell,” Eldrin explained. “It allows me to extend my perception to anything within this smoke. For most, it is not very useful. Nothing your own eyes can not provide you. For people like us, however, it becomes so much more. By channelling more mana into the spell, more is revealed, things normal eyes could have no hope of perceiving.”

“Normal eyes?” Aldric prompted, his eyes locked on the swirling smoke drifting to the table.

“Look at me,” Eldrin commanded. Aldric looked up and was completely taken aback. Eldrin’s normally brown irises now shined with that same swirling dark purple. “This is a spell I created. It takes clarity and strength far beyond average to achieve, but it lets me see what is normally unseen. This is why I knew you and Roland were special, despite your appearances.”

Aldric leaned back in his chair, his guard collapsing under the mounting hunger to know more. He absentmindedly picked up his cup to take a sip of the tea. It was warm and slightly sweet. The flavours danced on his tongue in tandem with the dancing of his thoughts. He had so many questions, and it was hard to figure out where to start.

“What did you see in us?” he asked, deciding on the most apparent question.

“In Roland, I saw an unbendable soul of untold strength,” Eldrin explained. “With the training that the Commander will inflict on him, he will easily become the strongest warrior on the continent, despite lacking any heat in his kiln.” He paused for a moment, the brown colour returning to his eyes. “In you… I saw fire. It burned in your chest, hotter than anything I have ever witnessed. The flames of hell itself could not hold a candle.”

“How could I possibly control that kind of strength?” Aldric asked. He looked down at his frail body. “I am not strong. I have never been. Even my most gentle spells caused me harm.”

“That brings us to the start of your first lesson,” Eldrin said, standing. Aldric tracked him as he moved through the room. He grabbed a perfectly clear triangular glass prism from a drawer at a desk, then returned to the table. “You seem to be clever, so I am going to hurry us past the basics. First of all, you were using your mana incorrectly. Unfortunately, I did not get a chance to investigate your body before the tournament, so I can not be sure, but I think that something caused your kiln to crack. It could have been an injury or a traumatic event, or perhaps it was just the raw power of your kiln’s mana generation that overwhelmed it. Regardless, it cracked, and through that crack raw, colourless mana was allowed to flow. You then, through a method that you will explain to me in explicit detail, directed that raw mana through your body, colouring it in the process, and casting it out as spells. From what I saw those spells were entirely unrefined, but what you lacked in finesse you more than made up for with power. Does this make sense to you so far?” Aldric nodded.

“Good,” Eldrin continued. “At the tournament you overdid it, and your weakened kiln finally shattered open. This sent incredible amounts of mana rushing through your body, and without escape it burned you. It would have killed you, had the Saint not managed to repair your kiln, which I also plan to thoroughly investigate. When she healed you, she did not just mend your kiln to the way it was before, she fixed the cracks you have lived with all this time too. That, I suspect, is why you can no longer do magic the way you did before.”

“So, I will be able to do magic again one day?” Aldric asked, unable to hide the hint of desperation in his voice.

“Better than you ever could before,” Eldrin said, smirking. He shifted the glass prism in front of him, then pressed his finger against one of the angled sides. A light appeared where his finger made contact, entering the prism and splitting apart, illuminating the table in a spectacular array of colours.

“You’ve captured a rainbow,” Aldric said in awe.

“Not quite,” Eldrin said, chuckling. “This is a tool to help you understand magic. Our current understanding is based on this rainbow, though it is a theory I do not find fully agreeable.”

“Why not?” Aldric prompted.

“Because it can not explain white and black lenses,” Eldrin said, shaking his head. “Almost might be good enough for the Society, but it certainly is not for me.”

“The Society?” Aldric asked.

“A topic for another time,” Eldrin said, brushing off the question. “Look at this rainbow. Our magic splits apart in much the same way. Your kiln produces pure, colourless mana, the same way this spell is making colourless light. Your lens then colours it and focuses it. When it is cast, it is but a single dot among the entire spectrum. Most people have a very narrow range of colour that their lens can cast.” He hovered his fingertip right above the area where orange and yellow met. “I have one of the most colourful lenses currently known. I can cast anything from here to indigo.”

“And what about me?” Aldric asked. “What range can my lens cast?” Eldrin smirked, and slowly slid his finger across the table, to the very edge of the red light. Aldric’s eyes widened as he understood what Eldrin meant. “All of it? Really?”

“All of it,” Eldrin affirmed. “And at the full range of focus and strength too. You really are something remarkable, Aldric, but you should not get too excited. We do not know what the effects of your past use of magic were on your lens. This will be a long and slow process.” Aldric’s excitement died down a little, but for the first time since he arrived at the castle, he found himself able to genuinely smile.

“That purple smoke, you said it was an indigo spell?” Aldric asked, pointing to the far end of the rainbow. Eldrin nodded.

“Yes, and this light spell is-” he began, but stopped when he heard a roaring scream followed closely by a horrid tearing sound. He and Aldric both rushed to the window to investigate what happened in the courtyard below.

Roland was more shocked than anyone. Round after round of failure had worn down his spirit, and the apparent nonchalance and disregard for his wellbeing from the Commander only served to boil his blood more. He’d done all he could to hold back, but when he returned with yet another barrel only to find Hadrian leaning against a tree without a care in the world, his sword not even raised, it finally snapped the endless patience and will within Roland. With a cry that voiced all the frustration he felt, he swung at Hadrian. Every muscle in his body channelled every ounce of strength he had into the swing.

Hadrian only narrowly managed to duck out of the way, and Roland’s practice blade collided with the tree. The blade shattered, and the tree lifted from the ground, its roots ineffective against Roland’s strength. It now leaned precariously, only its deepest roots keeping it from collapsing. Where the sword collided, the trunk was splintered and damaged likely beyond the young tree’s ability to heal. Roland eagerly sucked in air as he struggled to take in the scene before him.

“This is your true strength,” Hadrian said, putting a hand on Roland’s shoulders. “I am sorry for how I treated you today, but I saw no other avenue.”

“I did that?” Roland asked, bewildered by the view in front of him.

“You have spent your entire life burdened with chains,” Hadrian said. “If you follow my training, I will help you unshackle yourself. Uprooting a tree will be the least of your feats.”

“I am sorry about the sword,” Roland said, looking down at the splintering hilt in his hand. Hadrian laughed heartily at this.

“Do not worry, my boy,” he said, taking the hilt and tossing it aside. “It is a small price to pay.” He looked up the castle wall, noting the two new spectators. “Roland, you are going to be the strongest warrior the world has ever seen,” he bellowed loudly. “No fighter or sorcerer will compare!”

“I accept the challenge,” Eldrin muttered, a devious smirk twisting his lips. “Aldric, let us get to work.”