As Cyrus struggled to get up, he watched his teacher walk over to the animal carcass and hoist it over his shoulder.

"Let's go back to camp," Latriaen said, striding forward. "Grab some of the mistroot I've shown you and rub them on your wounds."

Yeah, don't ask if I'm okay or anything, Cyrus inwardly complained.

He then spat blood on the dirt. It had felt like his body had been thrown into a wood chipper.

Still, there was no way to move about this. Unless he somehow obtained the experience and memories of a warrior shoved into his head, he will keep having his rump handed to him for months on end.

Cyrus shook his head and closed his eyes. With knit brows, he contemplated the battle. What could he learn from this? Well, for one, he needed some sort of detection ability. Could insight help? Possibly, but it would require experimentation.

And his teacher could hear from far distances... Maybe he could talk about it with Latriaen at camp. He also needed to improve his reaction speed and body conditioning, which is what the fighting is for.

Chirp!

Bird lighted on his head. The fluffy snowball nestled there as if lying in a nest.

Cyrus chuckled and moved to hold Bird in his palms. "Look at you. Trying to brighten my day?"

Wait... brighten? An idea suddenly sparked in his head.

"What would happen if I gave you a runic crystal?"

Bird had carried a light domain in his origin rune. Or was it a light rune? In any case, if Cyrus could absorb it and gain insights, why not Bird? Perhaps there was a spirit beast in training in the little canary.

It wasn't a crazy thought. If Cyrus could absorb it, why not Bird?

"We'll try something out when we get back to camp."

And he quickly did just that. But in his excitement, Cyrus nearly forgot that he hadn't eaten in the past two days. In addition, his game had to be prepared, which meant skinning, hanging, bleeding, and slicing.

Now that his stomach was making itself known, Cyrus impatiently tossed some venison to sizzle in the pan. Only now, he had some free time for Bird.

At his pack, Cyrus pretended to sift through it as he searched through his spatial pouch. He then pulled out a book and two crystals, light and life, and moved to the canary, who was happily pecking at small pieces of dried fruit and seeds.

"Now, let's see what you can do."

He placed them next to Bird, and who would have thought? Nothing happened. The latter blankly pecked at them before losing interest.

"What now?"

Scratching his head at the sight, Cyrus realized he had no clue how to teach an animal to learn magic. Was it a natural instinct or taught? Did they eat the crystals?

Lacking a foundation for his experiment, Cyrus shrugged, turned to more immediate concerns, like his meal, and threw his question onto the 'Ask Lord Dílis when I come back' pile.

Dinner began. And to Cyrus' surprise, Latriaen, too, had venison. Until this date, Cyrus had not once witnessed him enjoy a meal. Was being a master mage so far from being a regular person, like he said, or was it an Ork thing?

Right. Detecting enemies. "Teacher, how do you notice enemies?"

Mid-swallow, Latriaen raised his finger and conjured a flame. "I can feel the heat coming off an object. Which includes living beings." He raised another finger." "Second, as I told you before, I can hear from great distances."

Cyrus hummed in thought. "How do you sense heat?"

"With my eyes." His searing gaze flashed. "Heat radiates energy, and my vision sees it through shades of color."

See the heat? Like a snake?

"Do you use your fire runes to do that?"

His teacher shook his head. "Eventually. But I began with my life runes to do so." Seeing Cyrus' confusion, Latriaen snorted. "Don't be surprised. "Don't be surprised. Life adapts and so do your runes. With training, you can make them do anything."

"So... just keep using my runes to enhance my body?"

"Yes."

Cyrus frowned. "Then, could you tell me the difference between techniques and glamour?"

Another snort. "You don't even know this much? What have learning all this time?"

Everything. Cyrus wanted to answer. From the culture to the names of cities, he had been learning about the Central States, holidays, and history—it would be easier to ask him what he hasn't been studying. Then, that day happened.

In the end, Cyrus remained low in his answer, "I know a bit. But it's been a very busy few months... Believe me, I'm trying my best."

There was no biting retort or snort from the Ork. Latriaen simply stared into Cyrus' gaze. And for once, the young man hadn't turned his gaze from those searing lights. In the end, Latriaen closed his eyes and nodded.

"Fine. Techniques are born from your intent and training. They are your conscious thoughts that turn into action." He held up a finger and lit it on fire. "This is a technique. That ember you throw around? What did you call it—hunger? Whatever. The point is that it's a technique as well. They can be as simple as raising the earth to as complex as shifting into a wolf."

Wait. People can do that?! Cyrus was about to ask more, but his teacher held up his hand.

"I'm not finished, boy. Listen well: An adept's runes are stable enough to leave their body. And then you combine the two."

"That's it? Seems a bit lackluster."

"Use your head. Ever notice the guard's weapons or why your clothes don't catch on fire? It's what you do with them that counts. Enscribe them on paper and make spell scrolls. Enchant them on clothes and armor to protect yourself. Same with mages—chain your runes and tecniques, and you get something bigger, faster, deadlier."

A case of literary theft: this tale is not rightfully on Amazon; if you see it, report the violation.

"'What I do with them.'" Cyrus then remained silent for some time, watching his teacher eat silently. He recalled how Miss Dílis shaped wood and flowers. How she shot an arrow of darkness at him. Then there was Lord Dílis when he created that walking moss carpet of a bear. Just how many runes did he chain together to make life itself? How was that possible?

"Thank you," Cyrus eventually said. "For this. Teaching me. I know that you didn't exactly ask for this. But I'm grateful nonetheless."

It was the truth.

Latriaen paused but ultimately nodded. "It's my job."

They both said nothing more and resumed eating in silence. Once Cyrus cleaned his plates, he sat back down and stared into the campfire. There was so much to learn and so little time to master everything—from fighting skills to controlling his powers. It felt like the world was closing in on him.

There's that gray feeling again.

"Cyrus," Latriaen said, drawing his attention. "A new lesson. You must reach your hand out by the flames and feel the heat covering them. Let your runes feel it, sense it." Cyrus did as such. "Good. With your runes, think of pushing it while channeling your mana. Don't conjure flames and just push."

And so Cyrus did. And what do you know, the flames moved away from his palm.

"Oh." Cyrus blinked. "At least I won't need to worry about being burned while running through fires."

"Or you can save another by opening the way."

"Ah, right. I forgot about that."

Latriaen snorted. Was that a chuckle?

"Well done. But we're not finished here. Now, try pulling it and making the flame yours." He showed an example by pulling a wisp of flame and dancing it across his fingers. "This is harder than pushing because you're making it yours. It might even take a few wee—"

Latriaen's speech was cut short as he watched, incredulous, as Cyrus pulled out a tiny wisp of flame on his first try. It transformed into a small and slightly unstable mess in his grasp.

"Oh, this doesn't seem so hard, and it even saves me mana from creating flames," Cyrus said, practicing shaping it into various polygons... albeit poorly. He grimly chuckled to himself. Maybe I should start forest fires.

Excited, Cyrus kept pulling more and more flames until he noticed Latriaen silently staring at him.

"What's wrong?" he asked, abruptly canceling his flames.

Latriaen's fiery gaze grew a bit brighter as he regarded the young man before him. "At times, you're a complete newbie, and then at others, you pull off this. Even your rate of improvement is startling." He took a deep breath, even appearing hesitant. "Are one of your parents a flame grandmaster?"

Cyrus was taken aback. Grandmaster parents? If only. But no. The man came from a world without... magic. Right? Cyrus decided on a half-truth.

"I'm adopted. But I'm sure the only flames my biological parents could cast are ones over the stove."

Latriaen suddenly turned silent at his answer. It stretched on for some time, and just when Cyrus began to feel awkward, he spoke again.

"Do you miss your parents?"

The question sounded oddly fragile, as if it took Latriaen a great deal of strength to ask. And Cyrus was again taken aback. He had expected more questions about his training, not an inquiry so... personal. But this?

"Not really," he calmly said, telling the truth. "It's hard to miss something that was never a part of your life."

Another silence stretched between them before Latriaen sighed.

"Nevertheless, there's a good chance your parents were strong mages. That could explain why you have such an affinity with the law of light."

"What do you mean?"

He recalled Lord Dílis' comment about bloodlines once upon a time, but dismissed it. Now... he still does.

Latriaen reached into the fire and stoked the flaming logs within.

"A child isn't guaranteed to be born with their parents' domains." he sighed, his searing gaze dimming. "But life isn't so simple for mages. The stronger they are, the closer they are to the element. And it bleeds down to their children. It's why some families only marry specific types of casters. Easier that way to birth fire mages."

Cyrus furrowed his brow at the thought of this. If that were true, then what happened to his world's mana? He wanted to drop the idea there and then. But a small part of his mind thought, what if?

But then there were the strigoi, ancient vampiric creatures once confined to myths and legends. Fae and faries, Elves and Orks. And who knows what else.

Not to mention that orange rune… But Cyrus tossed these thoughts aside without hesitation. What was he thinking? How many times had he told himself not to look too much into it?

With a sigh, Cyrus changed the subject. "What do you mean by 'connection with the law of light?' Are you suggesting that one of my parents could have been a grandmaster light mage?"

Latriaen scrutinized him but looked skeptical. "That's possible. But there's a... greater chance that you were born with light simply because you were born with the fire domain."

Cyrus blink. "What?"

Latriaen sighed and mumbled some unknown words before pulling a stick from the ground. Then, he drew a 'U' in the dirt.

"Look here," he said, pointing to the top left of the 'U,' where he wrote Arcane.

Slowly, he moved downward, adding light, fire, and earth. "These domains are the closest to order, with light being the most aligned with the laws of order."

Then, he continued writing on the other side of the 'U,' listing air, water, and darkness from bottom to top. "As you move from air to darkness, the connection to the arcane domain becomes less defined."

Cyrus' gaze was transfixed on the drawing.

"I see," he muttered. "So by this image, light and darkness are diametrically opposed. Same for water and fire, and earth and air."

Latriaen nodded and pointed at the word fire. "Correct. Now, fire is positioned between light and earth. That means that there is a chance for a fire mage to be born with those domains and vice versa."

"Where's space and life?" Cyrus asked.

Latriaen grunted and drew a circle around the 'U.' "There's your space. And everything within the circle is life."

The image brought a delightful spark to Cyrus' gaze. A mage's purpose is to quantify the mystique, and this helped him see how everything was connected. But wait. There, at the end of the 'U.' It was empty, but that didn't mean it was empty.

"Teacher, is there a law of chaos?"

Latriaen paused, furrowing his brow.

"I don't think so. There's no mention of chaos in my people's teachings or history. Nor have I heard a mage speak of chaos."

Cyrus frowned but found it logical. After all, chaos was the exact opposite of order. And what was order? It meant rules and regulations. How could chaos have structure and sequences?

"But I have heard of the law of time," Latriaen continued, catching Cyrus off guard. "So there is a chance chaos exists."

"The law of time? Why have I never heard of this before? It sounds incredibly powerful!" Cyrus exclaimed, his words tumbling out in a rush.

Why wasn't this in any of the books? Was it some sort of secret? The thought that information was purposely being withheld from him made his blood boil. It reminded him of how Theatrum Umbrea had been kept secret, leading to the incident with Caitríona. Would he have willingly gone anywhere with her if he had known they existed?

Hell no.

Latriaen shook his head. "There's a reason why—no one knows if it exists. Only one lunatic said he was a time mage. But he quickly disappeared after killing a city lord. Said something about 'betraying him in the future.' Absolute lunacy."

"But—"

Latriaen stopped Cyrus there. "No. That's all I know. Go learn about it once you're back in avalorn." He then stood up, heading off to the bucket of water used to wash plates. "Go to bed soon. We're heading to the mountains at dawn."

"We are? Why?"

"To find orichalcum."

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