"There's that heavy feeling again," Cyrus mumbled, lifting a hand into the air.

He did it. And his shoulders tensed at the thought. Cyrus was outside Avalorn.

And how was he feeling? Well, Cyrus was happy. Excited even, for this meant that all his wishes and wants were more than mere bluster. And as if congratulating him, the fog cloaked his shoulders and head, making him appear as a man born of the mists. But Cyrus felt uncomfortable by the weave and stepped out of the gathering haze.

As he did so, Bird perched itself on his shoulder. The canary pressed close to his person. Its beady gaze searched around the new environment. No longer was it outside the cage called Avalorn. And yet, it shivered.

"Let's move," Latriaen said, breaking the moment. "We've got a long journey ahead, and the last thing we need is to waste time standing around."

So off he led further South. Still, Cyrus did not immediately follow him. No, he shifted his gaze in another direction.

There. Past the trees and beyond the horizon was a plateau. And on that plateau was a hamlet—a missing one. Cyrus hesitated but then shook his head. Now was not the time to think of such places. Or ever. Not after everything that had happened.

With a soft, tired sigh, he followed the Ork and marched along the dirt path, breaking into the pine forest line.

"It'll take us about a week to reach the mountains," Latriaen stated.

Cyrus' inquisitive expression shifted to one of surprise. "A week? Where are we headed?"

"Weren't you listening earlier?" Latriaen answered, glaring back at him. "We're going ore hunting."

A slight frown creased Cyrus' brow, his annoyance hidden within a visage of curiosity. "How exactly will searching for ore help me improve my magic skills?"

"It won't." Latriaen kept moving without pause. "I had a commission way before we met. And I'm going to keep my word." There was a pause between the two. "And no whining. You'll get your training."

A slight sense of weakness washed over Cyrus. His hopes of finding some magical place filled to the brim with fire affinity were dashed there and then. But what should he have expected? It's not like the Ork had to drop life just for him.

Life wasn't like that.

But Cyrus couldn't help against the sinking feeling in his chest. After all, anything unrelated to him was, by default, a waste of time. Don't misunderstand him; under different circumstances, Cyrus would have been thrilled at the prospect of discovering a new metal with magical properties. However, this felt akin to being promised a job promotion only to receive a pizza party from the manager.

Disappointing.

Maybe it won't be so bad, Cyrus thought, trying to find the brighter side.

Ultimately, the trio kept quiet and forged ahead. At least, Latriaen did. Cyrus' gaze remained fixed on everything and nothing at the same time. The lack of conversation or distractions brought his mind into turmoil.

Because she was filling up every corner of his imagination. Those blue eyes and freckles. The small, tender smile that brought others to pause.

That burning corpse lying still in the alleyway.

Stop it. Stop it. Stop it.

With Shoulders hunched and eyes shut tight, Cyrus forced himself to swallow all that building dread and guilt down his throat to contaminate the pit of his stomach.

She's gone.

Only those words managed to alleviate the pain in his chest. Only then was Cyrus able to quietly trail behind his teacher.

Minutes passed. They eventually transitioned from the smooth dirt path into the rugged terrain of brush and wilderness. Hours passed by, and the uncomfortable silence began to settle in. Cyrus had gotten so used to Avalorn's noise pollution that he had almost forgotten how silent a forest could be.

And it was unsettling.

However, that didn't mean it was safe. Unlike Avalorn, predators probably hid in many corners or even in dense pockets of fog, waiting for the right moment to strike.

Although... that could be a good thing? Cyrus thought, glancing at the master mage in front of him. He may showcase some of his skills.

Chirp!

Cyrus halted abruptly as his senses went on full alert. He glanced at Bird, whose gaze remained fixated on the left.

"Teacher," Cyrus whispered urgently. "Bird senses something using mana to the east."

Latriaen halted. Slowly, his searing gaze turned in that direction and remained silently fixated on it for some time.

"Wait here while I check it out," he eventually said, striding forward. "This could serve as your first lesson."

The air around the Ork seemed to solidify with each step. And in a sudden leap, he leaped into the brush with superhuman speed, nearly leaving a shocked Cyrus. In no time, Latriaen had disappeared from his sight.

One minute. Two.

The silence settled, and Cyrus became very aware that he was all alone. Quickly, he moved toward the closest tree and used it for a back cover. Cyrus then brandished his spear and prepared himself. He brushed his unruly hair away from his gaze and scanned his surroundings for the slightest hint of... well... anything.

Steady, Cyrus. You have been training for this...

But the silence remained oppressive. It was only ever broken by the occasional rustle of dead leaves or snapping twigs, which only served to dose Cyrus with shots of adrenaline.

His muscles flexed and clenched. Also, was the fog always this thick? The shroud seemed to encapsulate the area around him, and if something crept from behind, Cyrus wouldn't even notice.

"Bird. Go. Fly off." Cyrus whispered to the canary perched on his shoulder.

But Bird remained inflex—A screech tore through both of their heads.

Bird scattered into the air and flew high as Cyrus readied his spear. His instincts kicked in, and a small ember flickered on his palm. Now, he was ready.

Yet, nothing came as time agonizingly dragged on.

When is Latriaen coming back? Cyrus groused as he stepped away from the tree, the dead leaves and grass rustling and crunching under his weight.

Should he go after him? No, that would be stupid. If anything had taken the Ork down, a master mage, then what good was he? Then, what? Should he head back to Avalorn? At least then, he would be safe. Besides, Latriaen was a lost caus—"Cyrus."

Cyrus shuddered at the gruff voice calling from behind. He wasted no more time and turned, flicking his wrist toward the towering, mist-hidden figure behind him.

And it was a direct hit! The figure was instantly engulfed in flames as Cyrus shot his spear forward. But it was all for naught. The next instant, Cyrus felt a sudden jerk as his spear stopped mid-attack.

That hand was akin to a brick wall. It forced Cyrus to freeze and stare wide-eyed at the oppressive figure. But when the flames flickered out, Cyrus wished it were some lunatic after him. But it wasn't. No, once the smoke floated upwards, a red-blaring Latriaen glared down at him.

There was nothing but silence between the two. Those blazing eyes grew brighter and brighter, holding back a scorching heat that would no doubt incinerate him into ashes if unleashed.

"You undisciplined whelp," Latriaen growled, his voice like a pressuring volcano. "That's the second time."

"Second time?"

But then it hit Cyrus. He had launched flames at the man during the test. Yet Cyrus held back on apologizing.

"Why didn't you say anything earlier?" Cyrus hissed, pulling back his spear and clenching his teeth. "I-I panicked!"

"You should have heard me," Latriaen hissed, nothing but pure restraint holding back the biting roar.

"Heard you? I didn't hear anything," Cyrus retorted, his grip on his spear tightening, his knuckles draining of color.

"Then what are your ears for?" But Latriaen soon sighed. Hot steam bellowing from his nose and mouth. "It's fine. All this proves where you stand. Not fit enough for the power you wield." A pause. "We'll start your training. Now."

Without waiting for Cyrus' reply, he strode over a tree and reached behind it. And to Cyrus' shock, he pulled out and tossed a bizarre-looking humanoid between them as it rolled before them like a sack of potatoes.

"W-what is that?" Cyrus frowned at the sight. He took note of the large, fleshy frills that clung to its neck. Were they gills? And what about its face? It looked like a frog. Moreover, there was that large fish tail sprawled on the ground.

A fishman? Webbed feet and snout... but wait, it was wearing some sort of thin linen. A tribal? Should he take a picture? As Cyrus was scrutinizing this discovery, Latriaen moved before the blue-gray scaled beastman and tapped its forehead with the but of his spear. Thank goodness it was unconscious.

"This is your first test," he said, pointing downwards.

Cyrus frowned at the creature before him. "And that is?"

"Your first test is to kill this Vodnik."

Latriaen's response was calm, almost casual. But those simple words brought Cyrus to a pause.

Kill... it? He didn't respond as he scanned over the beastman. It was wearing clothes, which meant intelligence. And Cyrus was supposed to kill it? Just like that? But what if it had a family? Children?

But there was more. A flicker of an image flashed in his mind—a charred corpse.

No, he couldn't do this. He shouldn't.

"That hesitation will get you killed," Latriaen abruptly spoke, his voice steady. "Will you hesitate when your life is on the line?

Though his words held truth, Cyrus managed to reply, albeit stumblingly. "A-aren't you here just to teach me magic?" He shakily pointed at the fishman. "What does this h-have to do with magic?"

"That's where you're wrong." Latriaen's fiery gaze grew brighter and brighter. "The Dúndraíocht hired me to teach you my ways. And I was raised a hunter, a killer." Cyrus felt himself slightly shrink under that glowing stare. "As a Wayfarer, you will be put into dangerous situations. Will you run at the first sight of blood? Will you leave the others behind? Pathetic."

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Cyrus' will creaked under the pressure of Latriaen's gaze.

"This isn't self-defense; it's needless killing," he suddenly spat out, fixing his frustrated and helpless gaze on the unconscious frogman.

"Wrong again." Latriaen kicked the Vodnik, flipping it on its back. "Had it not taken the bait to jump me while I walking by the river, then none of this would have happened." He snorted, steam bellowing from his nostrils. "What do you think would have happened if I were prey?"

"So, you're just... passing the kill to me?"

"Got a problem with that? Would you rather achieve your first kill when surrounded by enemies and low on mana?" Latriaen crossed his arms. "Face it, boy. You need to prove yourself to me."

Time seemed to have stilled around the two. Cyrus' gaze flickered between the man before him and this Vodnik. His grip on his spear tightened to the point his hands paled underneath the strain.

But in the end, his shoulders slackened. Defeated.

"All right." Cyrus slowly raised his spear. Slowly, breathlessly, he aimed its point at the unconscious creature's head. So long as he aimed for the head. So long as he closed his eyes. Maybe it wouldn't hurt so much.

And so he struck. The spear launched forward without stopping. At leaset, not until he met the steel wall that was his teacher's grip again.

"Wait," Latriaen said, effortlessly yanking the spear from Cyrus, sending the latter into a tumble.

"What?" Recovering, Cyrus felt like he was about to explode from his tense nerves. "You just told me to kill it!"

"Not like this." With a wave of Latriaen's hand, a green rune materialized before them, suspended in midair. "You're going to use your pyromancy."

Cyrus froze. "What?!"

An unsettling feeling churned in his stomach. He knew what was to come, and Cyrus was willing to do anything else to avoid it.

"You heard me. You're a fire mage," Latriaen reminded him. "Be it now or the next time, you will need to use your flames. And you will need to get used to the screams."

But Cyrus wasn't moved by his words. He simply stood there.

Watching the boy still with inaction, Latriaen snorted. "If you can't do this, then we'll have to turn back, and you'll forfeit your chance to become a Wayfarer."

"Wait. What?!" Cyrus was incredulous. "Lord Dílis approved of this?"

"Yes." Latriaen said nothing more as he crossed his arms, his expression implying one that said Make your choice.

There was another pause between the two. Only the sound of Bird's wings flapping hung around the two as they stared each other down. But in the end, Cyrus relented.

"I'll do it," he sighed.

"Then we'll start now." The Ork tossed the spear at Cyrus before abruptly jumping at incredible speeds and appearing before the stunned Bird. After skillfully catching the small canary mid-flight, Latriaen then retreated into the forest. His voice then resonated throughout the area, "You have five seconds."

This was too fast. Cyrus froze as the floating life rune spun at incredible speeds. It moved faster and faster before shooting downwards, slamming into the Vodnik's face.

That's when it began convulsing. Cyrus stepped back as the creature's spasm intensified. Its throat abruptly swelled as it emitted a guttural croak, and then it sat up and stared at its surroundings with those large, glazed fish eyes.

This thing is hideous, Cyrus thought, readying his spear.

Attack the joints and incapacitate them before delivering the final blow. At least, that's what Cyrus should have done if he had been an experienced warrior.

But his movements weren't unnoticed. The Vodnick focused its attention toward him as clarity returned to its eye. With an ear-piercing croak, it lunged at Cyrus' throat.

Yet Cyrus stepped forward to meet its attack, channeling mana into the life runes in his arm, giving him a small strength boost. And he struck true. Blue blood splattered as his spear pierced the scaled hand like a knife through butter. Howling from the pain, the Vodnik's throat suddenly bloated as it sucked in air as the sound of gurgles came from within.

Cyrus frowned at the sight and moved to evade and take cover behind a tree. And he was right to do so. For the next moment, a stream of compressed sludge-like water shot out of the Vodnik's mouth and struck the tree, breaking off chunks of bark and wood.

"Holy shit," Cyrus yelled, cringing at the impact sight. Had that hit him...

But this wasn't the time to lose focus. Cyrus then popped his head out, shocked to find the Vodnik lumbering slowly eastward, its figure blurring amidst the fog. It couldn't, could it? No, it was... It was running away!

Sighing at the sight, Cyrus left his cover and reached into his spatial pouch hidden within his inner coat pocket. A moment later, a revolver emerged. But should he really? Was Cyrus to really do this? If not, then what else?

With reluctant steps, he chased after it. He used the mists and trees as cover to avoid more water attacks. And his caution was justified; as soon as the Vodnik heard twigs snapping, it turned and expanded its throat, blasting another jet of water in his direction.

More and more attacks were aimed at him, each one enough to tear through flesh and shatter bone. But through his focus ability, Cyrus had enough time to predict and evade at the right moments. Yet fighting was not just evading blows. Soon, Cyrus would have to attack himself. So, when he drew near, Cyrus took a deep breath and pulled the trigger.

And he missed terribly.

Of course, Cyrus did. Clicking his teeth, he tried again. Another miss. And yet, despite missing every shot, a large part of him enjoyed the fact that he did. Because every miss was another delay in ending that creature's life. So, he played his part as the awful newbie who sucked at aiming, allowing the Vodnick to draw closer and closer to the river that was its home.

But then Cyrus heard its rushing waters and hesitated.

Should he fail, then that was his chance to become a Wayfarer. It was such a ridiculous notion to have to consider ending the life of another to propel your own. And yet, Cyrus had to do this. Didn't he?

Cyrus made a decision there and then. Shaking his head to dispel his churning thoughts, he gritted his teeth and sprinted to position himself ahead of the fishman. After evading another jet stream of water by hiding behind a tree, Cyrus planted his spear and channeled his mana.

It was now or never.

With a revolver in one hand and a cinder in the other, He stepped out, drawing the Vodnik's attention. Cyrus tossed his hungry ember before activating his focus again.

The Vodnik flopped to the side. It narrowly evaded the ember that crashed onto a tree, immediately engulfing it in a ravenous inferno. The flames spread among the other trees, dying a section in an inferno red. But that didn't matter. None of it did. Cyrus had to finish the job.

So, with a handful of loaded hesitation, he pulled the trigger.

A hit. And one that pierced the creature's abdomen, eliciting another screech. In retaliation, it blasted a stream at the tree Cyrus hid behind. And the miss brought it into a frenzy. The Vodknik shrieked angrily and ran towards Cyrus, not caring for its spilled blood as it jettisoned another attack.

Here it comes, Cyrus thought, steeling his heart.

He stored his revolver inside his hidden pouch as another ember flickered to life within his palm. For a fleeting moment, thoughts of what would come swam in his mind. Did they matter? In the end, Cyrus threw the hungry ember and landed a hit. Despite having pictured what was to be, it did not prepare him for the howling anguish as the flames engulfed it.

Body dyed crimson from the light of the flames, Cyrus froze, watching in horror as the Vodnik frantically tried to extinguish the ever-hungry blaze. It began to flail in its pain-induced insanity, spreading more flames to the forest around them. And Cyrus remained rooted like a deer caught in headlights. His mind tried to urge him to end its suffering, to use his spear and finish it off.

But he just stood there.

Meanwhile, the Vodnik thrashed around and shrieked. In a final, desperate bid to save itself, the Vodnik sucked in a mouthful of hot air in a bid to spray to prepare another water spay, not taking into account the air's reaction to intense heat.

Pop

With a violent explosion, its neck burst like a balloon meeting a needle. There was blood. So much of it. It sprayed in all directions, including on Cyrus and the flames, sizzling on the latter.

And Cyrus still just stood there.

Even when the Vodnik collapsed to the ground and clutched at its ruptured neck, he simply stood there. And when it no longer cried and whimpered, Cyrus just stood there. And finally, when Cyrus was surrounded in the middle of encroaching dancing flames and fog, he simply stood there.

As his gaze remained fixed on the charred, flaming remains, a single thought appeared in his mind: That was too easy.

Closing his eyes, Cyrus allowed himself to ignore the encroaching flames and escape what had just happened. But there was no escape.

"It feels... wrong," Cyrus whispered to himself.

"Take it in, boy." Latriaen's voice cut through the roaring flames. "This is the life of a sparklighter."

Cyrus opened his gaze as a silhouette emerged from the roaring inferno. Latriaen soon stood before him, his form wreathed in fire. Trapped in his grip was Bird, who was squawking in terror and biting at the former in a bid to escape. But little did the canary know that if it had escaped through some gruesome oven, the relentless blaze would have consumed it.

"Did you hear me, boy?" Latriaen gestured at the surrounding inferno. "This is the difference between fire and the other elements. It consumes everything in its path until there is nothing left.

Yet Cyrus didn't respond. Instead, he silently took in the searing heat around himself. And for what he was feeling, the pain was almost fitting.

Meanwhile, the ork silently took Cyrus' measure before ultimately shaking his head disappointingly, his words curt as he gestured to the flames around the two. "We'll start with flame control so this never happens again.

Then, Latriaen took a deep breath as the flames broke from their food and funneled into his mouth until nothing was left save for the devastating aftermath of charred remnants, charcoal, and dirt. With the flames and heat vanished, darkness had begun to settle back into its rightful domain.

"It was sloppy work," Latriaen began, releasing Bird. "But you completed your task."

Cyrus was ever silent. And he remained so as Bird nestled on his shoulder and nuzzled its body on his neck.

He felt so numb to it all.

But whether Latriaen noticed Cyrus' coiling emotions, he didn't say. Instead, he pulled out the small metal case and extended it to Cyrus, offering it to him.

"Consider it a token of your status as my temporary apprentice."

Cyrus blinked in confusion but accepted the case. The stainless steel surface reflected his image back at him with startling clarity.

Maybe I should find a barber, he thought, studying the reflection of a tired man with tousled hair and beard. Such thoughts helped stem against the tide of despair in the back of his mind.

But the thought immediately vanished once Cyrus opened the case. Inside was a single-edge steel-made dagger with an earthen-colored handle. Once he held the blade, Cyrus felt a sudden surge of heat course through his arm.

But there was more. A sensation came from the dagger, a sudden draw for his mana. And so Cyrus fulfilled its wish. The next moment, the blade grew hotter and hotter until it was an incandescent red. Was it able to cut metal as quickly as butter now?

"Thank you," Cyrus murmured, still dazed by the entire experience.

Latriaen snorted. "I don't need your thanks. What I do need is your commitment as my temporary apprentice." His intense gaze bore into the silent Cyrus. "First, you must follow my instructions precisely. Second, never exploit my name for your gain." His glowing stare intensified, forcing Cyrus to look away. "Do you promise?"

All Cyrus did was nod silently. He was too tired for this shit.

"Then let's move on," Latriaen said, seemingly satisfied by the lackluster response. "We'll press forward for another hour before making camp."

Leave? Just like that?

"Wait," Cyrus interjected, gesturing at the charred corpse. "Should we do something about the Vodnik?"

The Ork continued forward without a glance back. "Leave it. The wind will scatter the remains and nourish the forest."

Cyrus nodded. Silently sighing, he glanced one last time at the scorched body before falling into step behind Latriaen. And so they left. What followed was a muted journey as Cyrus contemplated what he had just done. There were a few moments when Bird attempted to cheer him up, but it did little to improve his emotions.

Eventually, the two stopped and set up camp. As the campfire flames flickered to life and the fog receded into the darkness, Cyrus allowed himself a brief moment of respite. Muscles aching, he trudged over to his pack and rifled through it.

"Here it is," Cyrus muttered, pulling out a metal case.

When he lifted the lid, he was met with a weak chill and frosted air. It was a clever contraption resembling a portable icebox for preserving perishables or items requiring cold temperatures. Magic was so convenient, wasn't it? And it only needed a single crystal to last two weeks, to boot. In truth, Cyrus wasn't hungry. Especially considering what happened earlier. But he needed the energy for tomorrow, as he knew his new 'teacher' would force him to walk the entire day with a few breaks in between.

Soon, the sounds of sizzling meat and the aroma of spices filled the campsite. The smell left Cyrus' mouth watering. How long had it been since he'd had meat to eat? Damn you, Lord Dílis.

But should Cyrus offer some to Latriaen? Maybe. At least then, it would appear that he cared. But Cyrus was too tired to pretend right now. All he wanted to do was enjoy his steak and eventually fall asleep. Why bother with anything else?

And what a meal it was. The moment Cyrus took a bite, the steak exploded with flavor, soothing his grumbling stomach and tired soul. Small comforts. However, a grunt from the Ork resting by a tree snapped Cyrus out of his blissful reverie.

"Tomorrow, we shall commence your training," Latriaen began, his gaze resting. "Once you've mastered the basics of hunting, you'll need to rely on the forest for your food. Do you understand?"

Cyrus slowed down his eating and silently nodded. His gaze then shifted onto the crackling fire as his thoughts drifted to the future. And just what would the coming weeks bring?

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