Feydan
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Chapter 43 - A Simple Question
🕑 Added 2025-01-27 11:09:24 +0000 UTCRowan and Tremil spent the next half hour talking about the upcoming expedition and what he hoped to achieve before they left. It was a productive conversation, but he found his thoughts occupied by the task he’d been given.
Fighting a peak Orange-Core mage.
The shaman he’d fought in the cave has been a lackluster caster. It barely utilized its second affinity, a hallmark of a newly advanced mage.
That wouldn’t be the case with his next opponent.
This shaman was an apprentice to a Warlock, and while that didn’t inherently make it stronger, it meant the goblin had access to resources, and not to mention tutelage. Its arsenal of spells would be larger, more than likely consisting of at least a few Chants.
Rowan would be lying if he said he wasn’t nervous. Winning wasn’t guaranteed, but he felt up to the task. There was only one way to truly grow stronger, and that was to push yourself past your limits. To test your strength against an opponent that could actually threaten you.
That was why adventurers didn’t spend all of their time in training yards working on their skills. They needed a whetstone to sharpen themselves against, and the apprentice would be Rowan’s.
“Well,” Tremil said, pulling him away from his thoughts. “You’ve come here for a reason. What do you say we get started?”
Standing up, he straightened up his robe, flicking his fingers towards the two glasses.
A small orb of water appeared, filling them up and swirling around the cups. Cleaning them of what little remained of their drink. With a casual flick of the wrist, the water flew out the open window, quickly followed by a surprised yelp.
“Hey!” Huon called out from below. “What was that for!?”
Rowan snorted, a smile tugging at his lips. “Nice aim.”
Tremil shrugged, his serious expression undermined by the mischievous glint in his eyes. “Pure coincidence, I assure you.”
As they made their way outside, Rowan found his eyes wandering to the pictures decorating the walls. They depicted men and women with a definite resemblance to the twins Tremil was mentoring, and the last one confirmed his suspicions.
House Greenstride, he thought to himself. And is that…?
The last picture was of a serious looking man standing next to a much younger Tremil.
He caught him looking, his lips quirking upward. “Back when I still had a full head of hair.”
Rowan chuckled. “You know, there are potions that could help with that.”
They stared at the picture a moment longer, a wistful smile on the mage advisor's face. “We grew up together,” he said after a moment. “There hadn’t been a mage born in my family for generations, and when I Awakened with a Core, House Greenstride took me in.”
Rowan nodded. Theoretically, anyone could become a mage. All you needed to form a Core was raise both Intelligence and Willpower to ten. Which didn’t sound like a lot, but for the newly Awakened, it was four full levels.
Usually, adventurers waited until they hit Gold before going for it. Not only because the stat requirements were much easier to stomach, but because having a Core didn’t automatically make you a mage. You needed gold to buy spell tomes, and connections to find someone willing to teach you.
For those of a common background, it was a daunting prospect.
“Is that why you’re teaching them?”
Tremil didn’t answer right away, taking a moment to think through his response. “Yes and no,” he finally said. “There were other mages more suited for the task in Davenport, but my familiarity with the boys and the upcoming surge made sending them to Litwick an attractive prospect,” he glanced at Rowan. “Baron Greenstride is a steadfast and firm ruler, but the love he holds for his family tempers all of his decisions.”
They stood in silence for another moment before Tremil shook his head. “Look at me, blabbering on,” he chuckled. “Let us go. We’re wasting daylight.”
As they made their way through the hallways, down the stairs and into the massive backyard, they found Huon wiping his head with a towel, a scowl on his face. “I know you did that on purpose,” he muttered, his gaze narrowing when he saw Rowan. “What’s he doing here?”
Tremil didn’t answer immediately. Instead, he flicked his fingers, another orb of water rising from a nearby fountain and drenching him again.
“Hey!” Huon yelped, taking a few steps back. “I just dried off!”
Rowan struggled to keep the amusement off his face, failing miserably and earning a sour look from the boy. That only made him want to laugh more, but he restrained himself.
“Be polite,” Tremil chastised his apprentice. “He’s our guest, and you will treat him as such.”
Huon—looking not all that pleased—grumbled something under his breath, but nevertheless quieted down.
“Come,” Tremil said as he turned his attention to Rowan, ignoring Huon’s sour expression. “Let us see what you’re capable of.”
The prospect of finally getting some answers about [Tailwind] lifted his mood. Rowan had been having more trouble than he’d like to admit, the spell proving strangely resistant to his casting.
“Can I come?” Huon interjected, suddenly looking more interested.
Tremil glanced at Rowan, giving him the option to decline.
“I don’t mind,” he shrugged. “He’ll probably enjoy watching me get knocked flat on my face a few dozen times.”
Huon’s expression twisted into something resembling a smirk. “That sounds like a great way to spend the afternoon.”
Tremil sighed. “Or you could consider training, like your brother,” he said, his tone laced with mild exasperation. “We’ll be going to battle soon, and I’d rather my apprentices spend their time preparing, not spectating.”
The reminder of the looming goblin threat made Huon’s expression falter, his earlier bravado dimming ever so slightly. However, it wasn’t fully extinguished, and he recovered quickly.
“We’re going to be fighting shamans. I was hoping that after you're done teaching him,” he gestured at Rowan, “we could spar.”
Rowan definitely wasn’t opposed to that. The boy didn’t seem to like him all that much, and he understood why. He’d met more than a few nobles who acted that way—though never towards him before. Whatever else Rowan might have been, his family name hadn’t changed. But that didn’t mean he hadn’t seen the behaviour around him.
Huon saw him as a no-name hedge mage intruding on his master's time. Someone older—and presumably weaker—than him. Because if he’d been a noble, he would have surely said something. Right?
“I think that’s a great idea.”
Huon looked at Tremil with an expectant expression, and the older mage slowly nodded.
“Yes!” the boy pumped his fist, immediately straightening up.
Rowan shook his head in amusement.
Huon may have been closer to Yellow than him, but he was still just a kid, probably fifteen years old.
Though I can’t say I won’t enjoy bringing him down a peg or two, Rowan thought to himself.
Fighting another mage would be beneficial to both of them. And when Rowan won, Huon would either like him even less, or the complete opposite. He wouldn’t be surprised with the first, but Rowan was hoping for the second.
They started making their way toward a grove in the garden, passing through the lush backyard surrounded by meticulously kept greenery and well-maintained paths. Rowan marveled at the attention to detail. This wasn’t just a place to live—it was a training ground for mages. A space where they could practice without prying eyes.
Tall trees with glowing red bark radiating Fire mana lined one side of the grove, while another was filled with pale birch whose leaves swayed to an unseen breeze.
Tremil led them towards the latter, his expression thoughtful but focused. They came to a stop in a clearing that was bathed in sunlight, filtered through the gently rustling branches above.
“Alright,” the older man said, turning to face Rowan with a measured, yet serious expression. “Show me.”
Rowan nodded. His issue with [Tailwind] felt like it was coming from something other than his Intent, and having someone knowledgeable guide him through the spell would be a tremendous help.
Rowan took a deep breath. This was something his family would have helped with—something he’d been dreaming of since he was a child. His parents would have mentored him, just like they did the rest of his siblings. And with him being the youngest, Rowan would have had more teachers than he knew what to do with.
[Iron Will] flared, clearing his thoughts. It took a little more focus than usual, but Rowan managed it.
Stepping forward, he closed his eyes and began mentally tracing the circuit. It had taken him a day to learn it, and with his skill active, it had become familiar to him. Well-practiced.
Rowan’s mana moved easily, yielding to his will and following the intricate pathways he’d memorized. But as always, the moment he began to imbue his intent, things went sideways.
Carry me forward. Grant me speed.
He rushed forward before it could fully manifest, pushing every ounce of Dexterity he had to gather speed. He’d already learned his lesson about using it while standing still, and it wasn’t something he’d like to repeat with an audience.
At least not this one.
The wind responded to his call, hitting him square in the back. For a moment, Rowan thought it might work this time. He tried to keep his balance, throwing one leg in front of the other in a furious tempo, willing himself to go faster. Trying to push his body as far as it could go, to keep pace with the magic blowing at his back.
But then, as had happened every other time he’d tried this, the force quickly overwhelmed him, pushing him forward faster than his legs could carry him.
He stumbled, barely managing to throw his weight in time to avoid crashing face-first into the dirt. Rowan managed an awkward roll, grunting as his knees impacted the dirt, tumbling to a stop.
Huon’s laugh echoed across the yard.
Rowan stood up, brushing the dirt from his clothes.
Tremil sent him a sharp look.
“What?” the boy shrugged, crossing his arms over his chest. “That was hilarious.”
The older mage sighed, shaking his head. “Where do you think your spell went wrong?”
“Probably the part where he threw a [Wind Blast] into his back.”
Tremil’s hand moved quicker than Rowan could follow, smacking him upside the head. “Another comment like that, and I’ll have you meditating for a month,” his eyes narrowed. “If you can’t be useful, be quiet.”
Huon looked down, snuffling his feet. “Yes master,” he muttered.
Rowan ignored him, thinking about his answer. “I can’t seem to regulate the power,” he finally said. “It's like I’m opening a valve in my Core, but the flow just doesn't stop.”
Tremil nodded. “A common problem for someone new to the affinity,” he rubbed his chin. “Your intent—what is it?”
Wincing, Rowan hesitated. He knew his Intent wasn’t perfect. It wasn’t even all that good. But it was the only one that had resulted in something stronger than a gentle breeze. “Carry me forward. Grant me speed.”
“That needs refining,” Huon added.
Tremil’s brows furrowed, but the boy quickly continued. “It’s a Murmur, it shouldn’t need two components!”
Rowan nodded. “I know. But I’ve only been learning the spell for two days, and that was the only one that resulted in a useful manifestation.”
Huon looked taken aback, and his mouth moved before his brain. “Bullshit.”
Tremil’s expression grew stormy.
Huon raised his hands. “Wait! I mean…” he stammered, glancing at Rowan. “How… how did you learn the circuit in just two days?” he gulped, his eyes flickering toward Tremil.
Rowan shrugged. “I have a good memory.”
The real answer was that his inherent skill with magic, combined with [Iron Will] made memorizing things almost trivial. It was like his mind found connection faster than he could acknowledge them.
The images in the spell tome blended together when he looked. Giving him a clear vision of where his mana needed to go.
Tremil’s brows furrowed in thought. “I could teach you a better Intent,” he said slowly. “But—”
“I appreciate it, truly,” he cut him off. “But I’d rather not.”
Huon’s eyes widened.
It really was a generous offer. Intent’s were rarely shared, even for lower-ranked spells like [Tailwind]. And to the boy, refusing most likely seemed like a dumb thing to do.
But Rowan wanted his own.
The tomes from the Vault all had Intent’s written on the last page, and if he wanted to take the easy path, Rowan could have done that already.
Tremil’s inclined his head, a smile tugging on his lips. “Very well.”
Suddenly, two chairs appeared in front of them. The mage advisor took a seat, gesturing for Rowan to do the same.
Huh, he glanced at the ring on his finger. I guess I shouldn’t be surprised. He’s a strong mage tutoring two nobles, it makes sense that he has a storage ring.
Rowan sat down across from him while Huon stood off to the side.
He hesitated for a moment before sitting down on the grass, resting his back against a nearby tree.
“There are a few things I’d like to point out,” Tremil began. “The issue is not just your Intent—though as my apprentice so eloquently put it, it could use some refining,” he smiled. “But let us take a moment to step back. Start from the beginning, as it were. Firstly, what spells have you mastered so far?”
“[Gust], [Whisper Step], and [Feather Fall],” Rowan answered.
Tremil nodded, tapping his chin thoughtfully. “An impressive repertoire for the short amount of time you’ve had your affinity,” he said. “And your choice of spells shows wisdom. Most young mages would have gone for [Wind Blast] or [Wind Blade].”
“I needed mobility,” he explained. “I’m fine when it comes to offensive spells, but I’m critically lacking in utility,” Rowan ran a hand through his hair. “Fire is amazing at what it does,” his lips quirked up into a wry smile. “It’s just that what it does isn’t exactly… precise.”
Tremil chuckled. “Not yet,” he pointed out. “Fire grows more controlled once you reach Hymn-level spells, while Wind spells grow in power. It’s an inherent difference between the two affinities, one you need to understand in order to progress along your Path.”
The older mage leaned in. “To start, I am going to ask you a simple question, and I want you to think about your answer deeply.”
He raised his hand, a tightly controlled whirlwind flaring to life in his palm. It swirled around his fingers in a precise pattern, almost mesmerizing in appearance as Tremil spoke, “What exactly is Wind?”
