"W-wait... what?" Cyrus stuttered, his gaze fixed on the flaming sentinel.

A chill ran down his spine. Was Latriaen really about to torch this place down to the ground?

"A lesson." His teacher nodded, his searing gaze burning even brighter. "You see, Boy, you should well learn that you're not weak against the elements. So long as your affinity to the elements outmatches your foes, then all can be swept away under your might."

Cyrus understood the logic, but... why did it feel like this was just an excuse to burn the place down? And why were they moving farther away from the pond?

Latriaen continued, his hand stretching outward expectantly. "Now, give me the bird."

"Bird? Cyrus was taken aback. "Why?"

Latriaen snorted. "So I can hold onto it. When the flames come, I don't want to be responsible for its stupidity."

"Now, hold on..." Cyrus patted his inner pocket. "Bird is... in here. If I trap him inside, it should be fine, right?"

"Suit yourself. Just make sure that it doesn't escape." Latriaen turned toward his crimson light. It grew brighter and brighter, coalescing into a grand fireball the length of half a meter. "Brace yourself."

"Wai—" Before Cyrus could react, the fireball shot forward into the black abyss with lightning momentum. What came next was a blinding, fiery red that covered his vision and body. And though the pain of immolation never came, the feeling of being inside an explosion nearly caused Cyrus' heart to detonate.

The bright, orange flames blew outwards. And one by one, the rotten houses toppled and crashed with thunderous cacophony. Their stones crumbled, and their rotten wood charred and ashed.

The raging inferno roared, but it soon began to shift. They channeled a torrent of purpose into the air. Just as quickly as they expanded, thay swiftly sucked inward into Latriaen's fiery eyes. And when Cyrus opened his eyes, nothing was left of his old nightmare except a charred hovel. Was it cathartic? He didn't know.

Slowly, his attention then turned to his teacher, whose gaze shone like twin stars.

How does he do that? Cyrus wondered, shielding his eyes from the blazing light. Is holding it cheaper than lighting my own fires?

But his thoughts stilled once his gaze landed on the target of the fireball attack. He was shocked. Hell, even his teacher remained silent, brows tightly knit together.

The crater Cyrus expected wasn't there. No, the ink pond remained perfectly fine despite the scorch marks surrounding the seemingly fine land. Even the tree was untouched.

"Interesting." Latriaen was the first to recover. "Such powerful affinity."

He moved before its edge and knelt down. As Latriaen studied the abyss before him, he raised a finger. Then, a concentrated beam of pure flame shot forward into the inky black. Five seconds passed. Then ten. Fifteen.

Yet the pool's surface did not pity Cyrus' teacher with even a ripple—still and silent. Even when Cyrus was sure such an attack would effortlessly incinerate dozens of people in a single effort.

The two remained silent as Latriaen stared unblinkingly into the pond. His fiery gaze reflected a hint of solemnness as his attacks continued to strike the water.

"So, is it some kind of rare treasure?" Cyrus tentatively asked, finally letting go of his inner coat pocket.

Latriaen paused and briefly contemplated. "Yes—a significant find. Should we report it to the city, they would reward us with something almost equal value."

"Oh." Cyrus' shoulders slackened. "Could Lord Dílis extract this on his own?"

Latriaen hesitated; his gaze remained locked on the black pool before him. "I doubt the affinity here is on the same level as Lord Dílis'. The Dúndraíocht is... powerful, to say the least. More than the one in Stàilinn. But he won't do it himself. There are extractors for this sort of work—big metal, magitek devices."

Oh? So, they could benefit from this? The idea brought a smile to Cyrus' face. He moved before the inky mass and looked into its dark depths.

There should be crystals in there. Who knows what sort of insights they contain—Damn it. I should have been a dark mage.

These crystals could have brought his theoretical dark powers to a new level. A shame that it wasn't meant to be. In any case, there were questions he needed to ask.

"Teacher," he began, retrieving the three dolls from his pouch. "What do make of these? I think one of them represents Lásgrias."

Latriaen barely glanced at the dolls before refocusing on the black pond, still attempting to discern its secrets.

"Lásgrias is the Goddess of Flames," he said, voice to a near growl. "I've dealt with the one who preaches here. An itch of a woman who doesn't take no for an answer. As for the pointy one, I think it's of Aos Forathaire, the Mother of the Sanctuary."

Sensing his teacher had more to share, Cyrus pressed on. "Sanctuary, as in protection? They're not one of the gods of Avalorn."

Stolen from its rightful place, this narrative is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

"Don't be misled by the name. She is the elven goddess of the forest and the only deity the elves worship."

Elves? Like Lilie?

Cyrus examined the green doll. With its long, faded green shades and protruding twigs and branches, he hazarded a guess it was a goddess of a forest. But that didn't necessarily represent an elven deity—that would be too clichéd.

"How do you know it's Aos and not the Goddess Daratala? I've heard she once ruled the lands where Avalorn now stands."

Latriaen snorted, smoke puffing from his nostrils. "Because Aos Forathaire is the last forest goddess alive and no one sane would worship a dead god."

Cyrus inspected the doll again. 'Is the last forest god... alive?' How many were there before? He hadn't delved much into the topic of gods—not since the incident.

"The last one. For how long?"

"How should I know?" Latriaen said, his voice tinged with restrained emotion. "There's no point in researching useless beings and their zealots who offer nothing but fake promises."

Don't sound any more obvious... Cyrus casually nodded at his mentor's words. There was no reason to press for details. Not that the Ork would offer them.

"Then do you know where she's being worshipped?" At the sight of Latriaen's shaking head, he revealed the headless doll with the gold ring on her chest. "What about this one?"

Latriaen glanced at it briefly. "No clue."

"Fair enough," Cyrus said, his gaze tracing a finger on the religious symbol. "I guess I have a reason to return to my local library."

His plans quickly shifted. First, he had to decide whether to tell Lord Dílis that he had returned to this place or, better yet, find out if the city lord was lying to him. Hopefully, he could convince his teacher to hold back his tongue somehow, should The Dúndraíocht come to visit once they returned.

Then, there were these 'clues' in the shape of dolls. Should Cyrus ignore them? Would he be punished for it? His mood soured as he tightly clutched the headless doll, his gaze flickering.

"Boy," Latriaen's deep and gruff voice cut through Cyrus' thoughts, pulling him back to reality. He fixed to watch the Ork stand up. "The wraith you spoke of earlier. Did you find any trace of it?"

Yes, but not in the sense Latriaen was speaking of.

"No." Cyrus shook his head. "And trust me, I checked all over the place. I think it left the village."

Latriaen nodded. He then looked around the charred remains of the hamlet before shifting his focus to the forest that encircled the area.

"Then it's time for you to go on the hunt. And we're not leaving until I see it dead on the ground."

Cyrus wasn't impressed by the hyperbole. Rather, he focused his energies on thinking of a way to lie out of this. But wait, wasn't this a good thing? It would give him a chance to visit the cave.

So, Cyrus brandished his spear with his chest puffed out, feigning the utmost bravado he could muster. "Yeah? All right—Let's do this. I want some payback!"

Latriaen's fiery gaze softened with what almost appeared to be appreciation. "Good. Remember the challenges you faced and sweep them away with your flames." He then drifted into thought. I shall wait here. Should you not find it, return here, and we'll come up with a plan." He then gestured toward the forest. Now go and bring back its head."

"Yes, Teacher!" Cyrus bowed, making a show of his excitement.

After dropping his pack near the pool, Cyrus left the village and entered the forest. Once out of sight, his mask faded.

There was a cave waiting for him. A cave that once was the birthplace of his arrival, heralded by the corpse of another. And now was the time to return.

***

Latriaen

Latriaen watched his 'student' disappear into nothingness, his silhouette hidden by the fog. The scene reminded him of his first dangerous hunt when he had been ready to face the slithering children of the Avanyu in the great lakes of Tiyonibaa. Their mother was larger than any boat his people had ever constructed and could coil its long body on the shrouded lake bottom. Most would never notice when that coil would harpoon itself towards them.

Such a task was daunting. Latriaen remembered the bubbling water around him as he charged through the currents, spear in hand as if he were a fish.

"He's come a long way from the man who hesitated to kill the Vodnik," he murmured.

Was there a hint of pride in his voice? But that didn't matter right now because there was a more pressing matter before him. Two, in fact.

Latriaen knelt again and stared intensely into the abyssal waters before him. If he had been correct in his conclusion, then such a concentration of darkness affinity wouldn't have been so... tame.

Now, it was time for a test. Latriaen quickly left and returned with a freshly cut log, tossing it into the dark 'waters.' There was nothing at first. But a sudden shift brought his gaze to flare up. Snakes of dark liquid slithered upwards and burrowed deep into the bark. Not a moment later, the log unraveled and crumbled into blackened ash before succumbing to the dark surface.

"At least the power of a grandmaster," he murmured.

He looked at his surroundings again, confused. This place should be covered in darkness and shadows. More importantly, Cyrus had not been horribly mutated by just being around the dark liquid.

Nothing had.

Latriaen himself would have noticed the dark influence of the place and would have stopped Cyrus' lead at a certain point as well. But there's nothing. Speaking of nothing, there was no life here. Just silence.

The local creatures would adapt, with their offspring born with the essence of darkness and developing umbral kinetic powers and magics. These creatures would then hunt widely enough to catch the attention of wayfarer patrols. And eventually, the news would reach him.

Strange. None of this made sense. This village should not exist, and yet it does. Living beings should naturally avoid this place by virtue of their life domain. But even he didn't notice.

"There was no warning before we left," he muttered, his gaze twinkling like stars.

This meant no one had discovered this place despite it being so close to Avalorn. Years upon years of hidden danger nearby—never once spotted by a patrol nor revealed by creatures or the environment. The chances of such an event were slim to none, even in a dreg like Avalorn.

"Now… what is that feeling over ther? Latriaen said, turning toward the direction of Avalorn.

He hummed in thought. Cyrus had caught him earlier, but he quickly brushed it off. Now that the boy was sent on a distraction, Latriaen could investigate what he had sensed earlier.

Now was the time to move. The air began to simmer and steam around Latriaen as he headed toward the source of such incredible affinity.

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