Author's note:Hello everyone! This is last minute, but I've decided to change the schedule a bit. The chapters will still come out on Sun, Wed, and fridays, but I'll be experimenting with the time slots. And again, I thank you all for reading my novel. I ask of you that should you like it, follow, review, or rate as it goes a long way for me as not only does it show me that you enjoy it, that my writing is worth your time, but it does for others, too.

One last note: We've made it to the second half of the novel! Yay!

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The coach passed through the city without delay. Once they arrived at the Olach district, the once vibrant, verdant hues abruptly disappeared, now replaced with browns and smog from the factories lining the streets.

Why is this place and Corrcho lacking in the green aesthetic? Cyrus wondered, his gaze lingering on the gloomy faces of passersby.

But when he turned to ask Lord Dílis, the man had his eyes closed, seemingly avoiding the scene outside. Sometimes, it was best to remain silent for the ride. Only once they neared the city's edge and the forest began did The Steward reopen his gaze.

"We're here."

The next moment, the coach diverted from the cobblestone into unpaved dirt. It drove inwards into the forest until arriving before a long house constructed from smooth graystone. And Cyrus was to disembark last. Once outside, he took in the sights around him, his gaze lingering on the towering smoking chimneys before shifting his attention to the conspicuously large entrance.

Not bad. Cyrus nodded, taking a deep breath to enjoy the fresh air. I can see myself living in a place like this. And just who lives here?

Meteor. How would a fighter's style be with a name like that? And it would be a lie if Cyrus said he didn't feel a bit excited about meeting someone classed as a meteor.

Yet once at the door, the trio and birds stopped before a sign.

"Closed for the day," Lord Dílis remarked, rubbing his chin in thought.

"Should we come back some other day?" Lady Dílis asked while keeping an eye on Tuuli. The girl always flies off.

Lord Dílis shook his head. "No, I'm a busy man." He then produced a seed no thicker than a fingernail from his pocket. "And judging from the smoke, Latriaen is inside. Surely, he could spare a moment or two."

Slowly, he placed the seed inside the keyhole. But nary a moment's breath came when the handle began to jostle. Then out came a key of pure wood, to which Lord Dílis turned without hesitation.

"Father, what are you doing?!" Lady Dílis exclaimed, a rose hue climbing up her face. "Y-you're acting like a ruffian!"

"Come now, Flower. You need to learn to think outside the box when using your powers," her father said without a hint of shame. "How else will you grow into a beautiful tree? Now, come inside. It's rude to leave the door open."

Lady Dílis turned mortified once she witnessed her father stride inside as if entering his own home. She dared not gauge Cyrus' no doubt scornful reaction and instead gritted her teeth before following suit after whistling a 'stay' command to the birds.

Nice trick, Cyrus thought, soon following her.

He paused at the sight before him. Before Cyrus, there was a modest display front crafted from stone—even the furniture. Thankfully, the gray drab and rock only highlighted the cold steel on top of the displays and stands.

Each weapon, whether a swift rapier or blunt hammer, bore a simple design without a sign of the ostentatious, yet shone with the sigils and runes connected by liquid mana. Beside them were armor sets, ranging from full plates to leather sets, all prioritizing function over form. Moreover, the more highlighted pieces featured brightly glowing sigils of glowing red or gray, shaped together with mana to instill the image of a bear's head—no doubt the artisan's signature.

And beyond the counter was an open doorway covered by a beaded curtain.

"Now, we wait for Latriaen to greet us," Lord Dílis remarked casually, much to his daughter's dismay.

Minutes flew by. Curious and entranced by the displays around him, Cyrus traced a finger on the cold and smooth stone as he walked around the shop.

I want to hold one and feel the weight. Cyrus' gaze lingered on a tall saber that shimmered with blue runes and frost. But probably not since we're breaking and entering.

Oh, but what's this? Cyrus found himself drawn to a silvery spear. It stood taller than the other weapons, and while it bore a simple design, the fiery runes lining its point's surface blazed with a red intensity, overcoming its dull and gray surroundings. These glyphs. They stood in stark contrast to Cyrus' own runes. Maybe if he could have a better loo—"A tořpóu would find themselves with broken hands, bound, and displayed in the heart of my village for all to witness if ever caught stealing."

A deep and accented voice that resonated from behind the beaded curtains. Out from the curtains, a towering figure emerged. He stood near at an impressive two meters dressed in a blacksmith's apron covered in black soot. But Cyrus hardly noticed it, for what drew his attention was the man's deep sage skin tone.

And his eyes? Far too bright. Those who stare too deep would have a fiery red seared into their corneas. Black and thick as hemp rope, his hair styled in dreadlocks that fell past his broad shoulders.

What's more was his square face. He had similar ears to Lady Dílis, but nothing could draw attention away from the two lower tusks, capped with metal casings protruding from his jaw.

This was Latriaen, The Meteor.

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

"Get out," he demanded, pointing with a thick arm covered in red-inked tattoos depicting forest animals such as bears and elk that seemed to come alive with his every movement.

"Ah, Latriaen, my good man," Lord Dílis nonchalantly interjected, stepping before Cyrus. "It's excellent that you're here. Now let's discuss matters—I've secured a lucrative deal that may be of some interest to you."

Wait. What? Lord Dílis' words had cast a heavy shadow on both Lilie and Cyrus. Had he not mentioned Cyrus' apprenticeship earlier to the arcanesmith before now? Was the Lord Dílis improvising as he went along?

Oh no, they both thought in unison.

Latriaen paid Cyrus no further attention, and he turned his fiery gaze toward The Dúndraíocht.

"You're Lordship," he began, lowering his head despite lacking in reverence one had come to expect in Avalorn. "For what do I owe the city's lord for him to break into my home?

Lord Dílis smiled in response. He then moved with the casual grace of someone meeting an old friend. Once he stood beside the silent Cyrus, he gestured toward the young man as if he were showcasing a rare breed of animal to the towering green arcanesmith.

"Cyrus here is a newly-born mage." Lord Dílis smiled grandly at Latriaen like a salesman. "And I wish to commission you as his instructor." His words and tone suggested as if it were a trifle, something to be started and finished in an afternoon outing. "He's a pyromancer and has taken a liking to spears." A pause. "Just like you!"

Cyrus trembled once Latriaen's palpable gaze swept over him. It was as if he were hit with an intense ocean wave with almost enough force to drop him on his back.

"I refuse."

An awkward silence swept over the room. However, Lord Dílis appeared not bothered by it. His friendly smile never left, and he even nodded in understanding. And yet, his following words painted another story.

"Little Flower, Cyrus, please step out of the shop while I have a private word with Latriaen."

It was casual. Calm eve. Yet, the air grew heavy. With it, the temperature seemed to rise.

Are we in danger? Cyrus thought as he slowly made his way to the exit alongside Lady Dílis.

In truth, he kind of wanted to see a fight between the two. That way, not only would he witness a grand spectacle, but there would also be a point of reference for Lord Dílis' power. With this in mind, Cyrus closed the door slowly, eyeing the silent confrontation between the two powerful magi. And yet, it was as if Lord Dílis towered over the tall, green man.

"Okay, hopefully there isn't a fight." Lady Dílis sucked in a cold breath.

"What..." Cyrus paused, staring at the entrance. "What is he?"

"Latriaen is an Ork. His people lived in the mountains in the far north and rarely interacted with the outside world."

An Ork? Another connection to my homeworld? Cyrus thought. "If orks rarely react with others, then why is Latriaen all the way down here in the south?"

Oh how Cyrus would have loved to visit one of their communities. What would they share? What stories did they told?

Lady Dílis shrugged. "Three years ago, he simply appeared inside the city with nothing more than my father's recommendation for citizenship." Her gaze searched the skies for the canaries, tone shifting into shame. "Avalorn... is wary of outsiders, even more so of fog folk. But thanks to my father's word and his skill as an arcanesmith, Latriaen is rather respected among the... more clever residents." She sighed in relief when she caught sight of Bird and Tuuli flying around the longhouse.

Cyrus hummed. Good to know.

If people mistrusted those outside Avalorn, it was all the more reason to keep his identity a secret. But why did people mistrust fog folk or outsiders? Was it simple xenophobia—the area began to tremble, and the two nearly stumbled onto the ground.

"What's going on?" Cyrus spoke out, holding onto the longhouse's wall. Was it warming up?

"I don't kno—" Lady Dílis cut herself once she recognized the temperature rising. "Run!"

She abruptly pulled Cyrus with her while whistling an 'escape' command to the canaries. There was no time for words. The two sprinted for meters on end until they separated from the rising heat and localized earthquake. Shocked and terrified, the two faced the longhouse, stepping even further backward. It began to quake even harder, and steam began to bellow from the sizzling air. Thankfully, the two canaries managed to escape and flew above them.

"What the hell is going on?" Cyrus watched as more air distorted around the longhouse. Was Latriaen battling it out with Lord Dílis? A fight between magi? Meanwhile, Lady Dílis remained silent. There was a moment of pause as the two simply stood there. They waited until the quaking quelled.

And not a moment too soon, Lord Dílis casually stepped out without a single sign of harm. The man even had the gall to smile at the two.

"What are you two standing there for?" he asked, waving them over. "You all were never in any real harm."

"Father, are you okay?" Lady Dílis quickly strode over with Cyrus slowly trailing behind. "What happened?"

"I've sealed the deal with Latriaen." Lord Dílis turned to Cyrus. "Congratulations, Cyrus. You have a new master."

The two were taken aback. But Lady Dílis quickly recovered and congratulated, too. Now, she didn't need to worry about Cyrus being left behind.

But Cyrus remained silent, his gaze lingering on the longhouse. Was that supposed to be good news? Just moments before, the place had nearly gone up in flames!

"That's amazing." Cyrus sheepishly smiled. "When will I start?"

Lord Dílis began his stride toward the awaiting coach in the far distance. "In thirty days, actually. More than enough time for you to reach both life and fire apprenticeship." He gestured for his daughter to follow. "In the meantime, I will personally spar with you in the mornings."

Cyrus' gaze nearly lit ablaze. Is the only grandmaster in Avalorn teaching him how to fight? Whatever he passes on could one day save his life.

He couldn't wait!

"Oh, just a moment, Cyrus." As the group stood before the carriage, Lord Dílis stopped Cyrus from entering the vehicle.

"Yes... Cosan?"

Lord Dílis smiled. "Part of the deal was that you would stay here with Latriaen so he could evaluate your capabilities. Today."

"Wait, what?" Cyrus froze. He had to stay here? Right after being pissed off? There had to be a way out of this. "But I'm a new mage." —His words spat out like bullets— "All I can do is make little sparks come out of my hands!"

Lord Dílis nodded but then shook his head. "I told your mentor this, but he said this was non-negotiable. I am sorry." With a spontaneous and grand smile, he pointed toward the longhouse. "So for now, you will stay here until the evening. And I'll send someone to pick you up."

Lilie, please help. However, she was already hiding inside the coach, avoiding his gaze like the plague. In the end, a dumbfounded Cyrus silently watched the coach depart, taking everyone—including the canaries—toward Avalorn. And as if to rub salt in the wound, Lord Dílis lowered the window and waved him goodbye.

"Have fun! Ta ta!"

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