Wyll
Sasha had left a while ago, telling Wyll that she had a “problem to solve, and a problem to arrange” before she left. She’d encouraged him to go out and explore around the cottage, but Wyll didn’t feel like going outside. He had things he wanted to do, and though there were no windows he could hear the wind still howling outside. He’d since learned that the reason for the lack of windows was the fact that all three floors of the house were underground, like most dwarven buildings, but despite that he could still hear the walls creak, the door rattle, the trees outside pulling against the earth…
Wyll realised that he’d been starting at the wall for a while now, listening to the sounds. That wouldn’t do - he had a window here where he was unsupervised, and he wanted to make the most of it. He didn’t kid himself, he knew Sasha or Fyron had countless methods of watching his every move, but this was the best chance he had. He went back down to the room he awoke in and sat cross-legged on the bed, cupping his hands in front of him as he thought back to that night in the alley. The blur of energy and movement as the world spun around him. The zone at the epicenter, safe from all harm. The buzzing in his veins of his mana coming alive, and the tender connection to something greater to help fill in the gaps between intent and result.
He opened his eyes and found a miniature vortex swirling between his palms. It was close enough to brush against his skin, but didn’t harm him. Nothing could, now. It was beautiful, in a way. Like every colour of paint mixed into one. He knew that in his hands was mana at its purest. Pure chaos, pure power. All those drills learning how to shape fire seemed like such a waste, so inefficient. Wyll remembered how Fyron had slain an enemy to humanity with such ease while smoking on his pipe the other night, and Wyll was filled with a sudden gall that he had accepted Fyron’s ideas of not using this gift to fix the world. Wyll could be a hero, a saviour, a benevolent being of incredible power.
Wyll let the vortex fade away. He knew that he wasn’t there yet. He wasn’t so foolish to think that after one success he’d mastered the art of wild magic. He needed to practice, especially other things than the vortex. He looked around the room, wondering what else to try, when a thought occurred to him. He closed his eyes and thought about Cas. He pictured his pale blond curls, bright green eyes, the tattoo of some obscure band on the inside of his bicep. He pictured his uniform, black and neatly pressed, since that’s what he was likely to be wearing out in the Scarlet Woods. He found thoughts popping into his head unbidden, and knew it was the Universe helping the working along. The neatly-pressed uniform became crumpled and splattered with mud, his curls had been shaved into a neat buzz-cut, a bandage appeared on his brow. Suddenly the image became so clear that it was like he was standing right in front of him, and Cas’ neutral expression turned to one of surprise.
“Wyll?”
“It worked! Heya Cas!”
“What the actual hell? I mean, hi, good to see you, but what the hell is this?” Cas sputtered, looking around. “I can see you, but I can see the camp too. It’s like your face is overlaid on top of my vision. Are you doing this?”
“Uh, yeah. This is my first time trying it out. It was honestly a lot easier than I thought.”
“Wait, this isn’t like a Horizon thing or something?”
“Nope, all me!”
“Well, shit. This is amazing. I didn’t even know there was a spell like this. Is this what they’re teaching the new recruits now?”
“Oh, um, not really. Can we just move past that bit? I missed you.”
“Sorry, sorry, I missed you too. It’s good to see your face again, even if it is kinda floating over my vision. How have you been? You look wiped.”
“It’s been a bit of a week. I got out of hospital, but I started with this new tutor who’s been a huge help in getting me back on track. I think that I’ll be flying up the ranks soon.”
Cas laughed. His laugh was Wyll’s favourite thing about him. “That’s awesome, I’m glad you’re feeling so confident. I was really worried about you, y’know? Asked my platoon sergeant permission to leave to come see you, but we were about two weeks deep into enemy territory by then and he said you’d be fixed up before I even got on a broom. I probably made your family sick of me with all the messages I passed on to them.”
“Sorry I couldn’t call sooner. As I said - hectic week. How’s the fight?”
“It’s rough out here. No fatalities, but new injuries every day. Lemme tell you, it’s a nightmare setting up camp when the actual grass is fighting you. I knelt down for a second on one of our hikes and got pricked in about 50 places by some random weeds. We have to burn down a whole clearing before we can set up tents and wards. Still not seen an elf yet, but some of the scouts swear they found tracks of one of their mobile homes. We’re assuming they’re not going too far from their ruins, so trying to triangulate a location from the tracks.”
“Sounds like you’re holding on, though?” Wyll let it be a question.
“Well, I gotta hold on until you get out here. Your leave ends in a couple days, right? I think they’re bringing your batch of recruits to us soon.”
Wyll felt a pang of guilt. He had completely forgotten about his promise to join up with Cas once he’d finished training. So much had happened, it seemed so unimportant. But maybe, just maybe, this was the chance he had been looking for. A chance to test his new skills out on the field, refine them to true perfection.
“I’ll be there.” Wyll said, more determined than ever.
Cas’ face beamed, then flickered.
“Think this spell is running out of juice. I’ll talk to you later, okay?”
“Nice to see y--- n’t call tomo-- batt--- ight?”
Wyll tried to keep the spell going, but felt his extremities start to go numb. He dropped the spell, and was back in the bedroom drenched in sweat. He had whole-body pins and needles, and flopped back against the headboard. He grimaced. This isn't enough. Fyron could make a call like that for years. Where does he get his mana from? Wyll made a private resolution to buy as many mana crystals as he could afford once he got back to the city, then collapsed into an exhausted sleep on the bed.
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---
As with many things Fyron did, his teleportation seemed effortless. Wyll watched intently to try and figure out some kind of trick or technique he hadn’t taught yet, but all he saw was Fyron asking if he was ready and then they were both suddenly in the old warehouse, Arryn and Medea sitting nearby. They both looked their usual selves, but with Arryn wearing an old hoodie instead of his usual work clothes and Medea using one giant metal gauntlet as a chair. They both stood as Wyll arrived and rushed over, checking over and asking how he’d been.
“I spent all damned day walking around looking for you.” said Medea, pouting. “If I’d known you were relaxing in Fyron’s holiday home I would have spent my day in the workshop.”
“I’m glad you’re okay.” said Arryn. “We were worried.” Wyll detected a note of something strange in his voice. It sounded like he was carefully choosing his words, but watching Wyll intently.
Fyron laughed. “How nice it is to see my students care for eachother so much. I’m sorry for the lack of communication after the other night, but I thought it would be best if he had a bit of a breather after what happened.”
“I’m still trying to figure out what happened, to be honest.” said Arryn, casting a quick glance over to Wyll.
“Well, the bad news is that you killed some people. Five people, specifically, and the Peacekeepers and now Brimstone are looking for the culprits.”
Arryn went pale. “F-five…”
Wyll put a hand on his shoulder. “It was all me, don’t stress. You didn’t do anything wrong there.”
Arryn furrowed his brow and looked at him. “Right…”
“The good news,” Fyron continued cheerily “Is I think we’ve discovered your specialisms.”
“What do you mean?”
Fyron clapped his hands, and some chairs and a table appeared with a lectern at one end.
“Take a seat! This is the last bit of theory I’ll be teaching you.”
Once everyone was seated, Fyron began speaking in a professorly tone.
“Everyone has a specialism, even if they don’t know it yet, when it comes to raw magic. If you ask ten Wild Mages to destroy a target, chances are each will be destroyed in different ways. Some may throw projectiles, some may tear it apart, some may burn it, and so on. This indicates a specialism, which is the kind of magic you can use with the most effect and efficiency. You aren’t limited to it, of course, but for the greatest effects it would be hard to work outside of your specialism without a lot of tricks and mana. The Universe has accepted that ‘this person is good at this kind of thing’, and facilitates that kind of magic being easier for them. After all, it makes sense that a pyromancer would be good at pyromancy, right?”
Fyron began to pace around the table as he spoke. He was enjoying this.
“Now, your specialisation is based on your intrinsic views of what magic is, life experiences, effects of outside forces, yadda yadda. Many people try to force a certain specialisation and rarely succeed. Take Medea here, for example.”
He put his hands on Medea’s shoulders, and a giant metal hand gently pushed him away. He continued without missing a beat.
“Medea has mostly seen her magic as a way to move things, namely her hands. As such, she’s more inclined towards that kind of magic and telekinesis. It could have been that she was more of a fabricator, from her crafting background, or an enhancer, from her boxing, but telekinesis is what seems to have stuck.”
“You saw me throw that dumpster, didn’t you?” she grumbled.
Fyron continued without answering. “Now Wyll here, with his unfortunate run-in with magic, saw it as a dangerous and wild thing. As a result, he’s more inclined towards destructive magic. I imagine he would find the opposite kinds of spellcraft, such as healing or creating, very difficult.”
“But I didn’t really do anything,” said Arryn. “Do you know what mine could be too?”
“Of course. Yours may be the most interesting of all. As someone who saw magic as beyond his reach for so long, and held such doubts about your ability to use it at all, you’ve developed a fascinating specialism in antimagic.”
“What? As in, my power is that I have no power?”
“No, no, not at all. Your power is that nobody has power. To be honest, you’re the one I’d least like to take on in a fight. If you learned to harness those skills, I’d just be a mundane old man.”
Arryn seemed to think about that for a moment. Fyron returned to his podium and pulled from behind it three familiar objects - a glass bottle half-filled with water, a wax candle, and a shiny red apple.
“Oh those are the things you brought on our first session, right?” Wyll asked.
Fyron looked a bit bashful. “Well, yes. I may have been a bit ahead of myself then, but you should be ready for this now. Consider this your homework. Medea has a fight to prepare for, Wyll has training to get back to, and Arryn I believe is trying to find the right time to share that he’s being shipped off to the Scarlet Woods with Horizon’s little expedition there. We’ll take a couple days off for the lessons to sink in, and give you a chance to practice your skills out in the world.”
“Wha- how did you?” Arryn looked flustered, but Fyron only let out a loud laugh. “Actually, never mind. It’s true… I was going to see if Ron could just teleport me back for the lessons.”
“Hmm, I wouldn’t normally mind, but Horizon is very good at detecting ports in their vicinity. Especially that deep in enemy territory. Besides, I have a few things I need to sort out too. Once you’re set up in the Woods, I’ll find a way to sneak you back for a bit each night.”
Wyll chafed a bit at that. He didn’t like hearing the limitations of this power. Why didn’t Fyron just act without caring if he’s detected? What could they even do? He crossed his arms, and noticed that Medea also looked somewhat pissed off. Nothing new for her, but it seems something Fyron said has crossed her the wrong way too.
“Anyway, your tasks are as follows: Medea, I want you to peel this apple without touching it, then pull out the seeds without breaking it open.” he said, tossing Medea the apple, who caught it in the air and floated it down without using her big metal hand. Has she always been able to do that?
“Arryn, I want you to light this candle and extinguish it from 10 paces away. It goes without saying that a draft or raindrop doing the job won’t count…” he gave a wry smile as he passed the candle across the table.
“And Wyll, I want you to empty this bottle without opening or breaking it.” he passed the bottle over, and Wyll noticed that there was no cap or cork, just solid glass covering the hole at the top. Wyll had to wonder how he got the water in there in the first place.
“Do your best with these assignments. They may seem hard at first but I…”
Fyron’s voice faded to the back of Wyll’s mind as he focused on the bottle in his hand. He began to think of the rushing, coursing power of the raw magic he held in his hands, and willed the vortex to appear again. He heard the howling of wind outside once more, and the water in the bottle began to bubble and churn as a smaller whorl of raw mana appeared in the center of the bottle. The bottle hummed with vibration, and then the water level began to recede, being drawn into the swirling light like it was flowing down a plughole. Within moments, the bottle was empty.
He looked up, and found Arryn and Medea standing on the far side of the warehouse. Medea with her giant hand held above her in a fist, Arryn standing in front of her with a fearful look in his eyes. Fyron was still where he was originally standing, looking uncharacteristically serious. There was a tense moment, silence hanging in the air, before the smile slowly started to seep back into Fyron’s face.
“Well then. I suppose I’ll have to find you another task.”