Lady Dílis shook her head.

"Forget I said anything," she whispered, leading deeper into the tunnel. "It's better if you didn't know. People tend to... change after they learn. They grow paranoid."

Cyrus frowned, his words tinged with raw emotion. "Paranoid? Dílis, I just killed a woman!" He clenched his fists to the point they paled and cracked. "Have you?!"

Lady Dílis froze still at his question. And it took her a while to respond, her voice soft and hesitant. "No, I haven't."

Cyrus sighed. Why was he bothering with her? She wasn't going to answer despite what had happened to him. All the more to train and study in the hopes of leaving this shitty place.

"Let's just head back," he eventually said evenly. "I need some time to relax and focus on my training."

Forward they went. The two remained in tense silence until they reached a small staircase leading upwards. The scent of earthen air and old dust filled their nostrils the higher they climbed until they reached a tiny room made of granite, barely able to fit Cyrus and the Half-Elf.

"We'll take a coach waiting nearby," Lady Dílis said, her pale fingers pressing against the stone door.

A moment later, light and fresh air spilled inside, and after a second's pause to shield their gaze, the two found themselves standing before a world of tombstones and faded statues of angelic beings.

A cemetery? Cyrus turned around and discovered that the room they had exited was nothing but a decoy mausoleum wrapped in vines and overgrowth. Interesting secret.

However, it was Bird who caught his attention. It fluttered its wings and took flight, soaring gracefully above the gray slabs of stone and death. If only he could fly as freely.

And for a moment, Cyrus ignored the two around him and closed his eyes, imagining himself among the skies, free and unfettered. What a grand life that would be?

But reality beckoned, and his dreams popped like a bubble once Lady Dílis called for them. Eventually, the two exited the cemetery and arrived at an inconspicuous carriage. Meanwhile, Bird had not joined him, preferring to follow from the air as the two were left again in uneasy silence.

She's making that face again. Cyrus glanced at Lady Dílis' conflicted expression before returning to listening to the coach's wheels clatter along the cobblestone.

But why should he ask? She will only struggle for minutes on end until she gives in to whatever reason is holding her back. And Cyrus was too emotionally drained to care right now. But there was a thought floating in his head.

"How do you manage it?" Cyrus eventually asked, turning to Lady Dílis. "How do you maintain your sanity, knowing that anyone could be a deranged maniac?"

How could anyone handle the idea that your best friend or lover be an Actor? One that could switch personalities at a moment's notice?

In response, the Half-Elf averted her gaze from Cyrus' steel-blues.

"I carefully choose who I care about," Dílis began, her voice soft. "And I try not to dwell on it constantly." She bitterly chuckled. "It becomes... uh. It gets easier over time."

Cyrus hummed. Her approach was diametrically opposite to his. Why waste all that time trusting someone only to be betrayed by them in the end?

And what was their goal? Moving beyond Lord Dílis' tale of 'making monsters,' that entity was trying to please a crowd of something.

"You also shouldn't dwell on it either," Dílis continued, interrupting Cyrus' thoughts. "They want you to be paranoid." She turned her attention to the passing trees among Avalorn's buildings. "Because it's still reaching their goal of stories." She wistfully sighed at the playing children fading into the distance. "My father has recounted tales of scared men escaping city-states and disappearing into the fog, only to return as horrifying wraiths."

"That sounds impossible," Cyrus admitted.

Lilie turned to face him, offering a gentle smile. "I don't think it'll be as challenging for you, Cyrus. So long as you put in the effort, it should be fine." Her gaze searches his as if looking for answers. "Or are you planning to leave everyone at arm's length?"

Her words struck Cyrus like a blow to the chest. Rather than arm's length, he was planning to leave a cardboard cutout of himself for others to speak with while he stood a block away. And even now, Cyrus was tempted to offer a half-hearted reassurance just to ease Dílis' concerns.

However, Cyrus chose to remain silent and stare out the window.

On they went without another word. Upon arriving at the manor, Cyrus bids Lady Dílis farewell despite her attempts to take him out of his shell. After retiring to his room and opening the window for Bird to escape, Cyrus found his camera and library books on top of his desk. And beside them were his stipend crystals in neatly arranged leather pouches.

Except, he paused. Alone in this moment, the weight of his experience nearly brought him crashing down. Eventually, he simply sighed.

Back to it. Cyrus inspected his camera for damage. He opened a pouch filled to the brim with fiery red crystal and cradled it in his hand. It pulsed with warm energy that soon receded as it shrank into infused knowledge welling into his mind. And only once the crystal had entirely disappeared had Cyrus' gaze flickered open. He then opened his palm, and a sudden flame, no larger than a candle's light, flickered upon it, casting a warm glow in the dim room.

The author's narrative has been misappropriated; report any instances of this story on Amazon.

This was the power Cyrus could control. And yet, he thought not of being able to throw fireballs and spit out flames. No, rather, a corpse with charred skin and magma cracked like flesh appeared in his mind.

"I'm a fire mage," Cyrus murmured wearily as he collapsed onto his chair.

Yes, he was. And every one of his opponents will be engulfed in hellish flames. It was sad, really. Cyrus had received one of the world's most lethal weapons to defend himself, but he himself never wished to harm a single person.

Only now, after her death, had Cyrus realized that for the rest of his life, he would smell the scent of burning flesh and hear the agonizing screams of enemies in his wake should conflicts come knocking.

And the thought disturbed him.

It's my only option, too. With folded arms, Cyrus rested his head on the desk.

He sighed again. Even if Cyrus wanted to train his light or somehow awaken his spatial powers, he would have to leave this place in search of a vast reservoir of runic crystals along with a skilled instructor, at the very least. But for now, Cyrus is confined to Avalorn until his power rises to greater peaks. So that night, he dedicated his time to absorbing crystals and crafting new runes.

Time fell like sand. And without Cyrus' notice, ten days slipped by.

This morning, Lady Dílis watched over Cyrus' training session with Yogi. Her brows furrowed at the sight of Cyrus' flawless evasion of the nandi's attack.

It was a good move. There were no issues with it, proving that Cyrus was steadily improving despite his initial struggles. Not to mention, Cyrus had just enough life runes to barely incorporate the passive strength and bolstering enhancements, should he coalesce them onto a single limb.

However, that was all. Unease lingered within the depths of Dílis' emerald gaze as she watched Cyrus dodge another move. Ever since the incident, Cyrus had become more reclusive, focusing almost all of his time on studying and training, to the point that the two had barely interacted.

"What's troubling him?" Dílis murmured to herself. "He hasn't returned to Avalorn since..."

Of course, she knew that he was traumatized by the event, but why hadn't he come to her? Didn't Cyrus remember the promise they made?

A sudden shift in the grass around her drew her attention. They shifted and rustled, soon followed by that voice that never failed to lift her spirits.

"Not everything could be fixed by mere words, Little Flower," Cosan's voice trailed from behind.

She turned around and found the man already a few steps behind her. And there he was. Cosan smiled at his daughter, and she returned one as well. But the tender moment was short-lived as Lilie refocused her attention on the Wayfarer-in-training.

"What should we do?" She sighed, her voice worried.

Cosan shook his head. "I'll handle it. But first, he and I need to head over to Avalorn."

"Is it related to... them?"

Shaking his head, Cosan's smile broadened, replying loud enough for Cyrus to hear. "I have good news to share!"

Great. More 'good news.' Cyrus turned toward the Dílis Family. Inwardly sighing, he then approached them.

"Clear skies, Your Lordship, " Cyrus calmly said, placing a fist on his heart. "Something has happened?"

Lord Dílis nodded, gesturing toward Avalorn with a grand smile. "Go freshen up. Today, you're going to meet your trainer."

Cyrus blinked. Was he happy? Not really. Rather, all he could think about was that thing that wore his face and the charred corpse that once stood before his feet. Nevertheless, Cyrus forced a smile.

"Great, I'll get ready."

And so they embarked after breakfast. With Bird and Tuuli gracefully gliding above the carriage, it entered the city without issue. Meanwhile, Cyrus attempted conversation, but it kept lulling into silence as he drifted back to that day. That night.

While listening to the rhythmic clatter of the wheels against the cobblestone, he found himself silently staring out the window. His gaze remained locked on the hustle and bustle of pedestrians living out their quaint lives. And yet, he couldn't help but think of some of these people as insane Actors, waiting for the right moment to ruin someone's life.

"The man who will be your trainer is called Latriaen," Lord Dílis spoke up, drawing Cyrus' attention.

"Latriaen," Cyrus murmured, rubbing his bearded chin, thankful for the distraction. "And he's a Wayfarer who was recently on patrol?"

"No, he isn't," Lady Dílis interjected, her brows furrowing at her father. "Father, what's going on? Latriaen isn't a Wayfarer or an authorized trainer but one of the arcane blacksmiths throughout the city."

Cyrus arched his brows. An arcane blacksmith? Those guys are one of the few capable of infusing enchantments into weapons and granting them incredible power.

Sensing both of their questioning gazes, Cosan chuckled. "Yes, but he's proficient in spears and pyromancy." Yet it was his following words that caught Cyrus' interest. "Latriaen is also one of the fog folk, so he may carry some special tricks for Cyrus to learn."

Quizzically, Cyrus met Lady Dílis' gaze. "Fog folk?"

She had also regarded her father with puzzlement as she searched for hidden motives in his expression, but found nothing in that subtle, friendly smile he always shared.

"Fog folk is the name we give to those who try to build a community outside the city-states," Lady Dílis began, her tone whimsical. "And somehow, they've survived for hundreds or thousands of years without extinction."

Lord Dílis nodded. "Their lifestyle may seem barbaric, but even the worst of them could outdo any low-tier Wafayrer, let alone regular citizens of the states." He moved his attention to Cyrus. "In addition, I've come to learn that Latriaen's people are excellent fighters. So much so that a profession has been named after them."

Cyrus frowned. Oh, how he wished he could cram the world's knowledge into his mind and be done with it.

"What are professions?"

Lady Dílis smiled at him. "It's a quick way to categorize fighting styles. For example, a mage who uses magical items as the main means of attack is called a technician, while mages who boost their companion's capabilities are supporters."

Oh, how... obvious. Cyrus hummed. "Then what profession is Latriaen?"

Lord Dílis chuckled. With a clenched fist, he stretched out his arm before releasing his fingers outwards as if imitating an explosion. "Meteor."

If you find any errors ( broken links, non-standard content, etc.. ), Please let us know < report chapter > so we can fix it as soon as possible.