Sellen let out a soft laugh at Lucian's words.
"Hehe… my disciple, then listen well. Our lineage is not without prestige."
"Oh? And what do you an by that?" Lucian tilted his head, curious.
Beneath her glintstone mask, Sellen lifted her gaze slightly, as though recalling sothing far away. "In the Academy of Raya Lucaria, there were once two sorcerers worthy of the title Master. The highest teachers of the Academy: one nad Lusat, the other Azur."
"Every instructor and classroom within the Academy today—everything they know—is but the faintest echo of what those two discovered."
"Master Azur was the founder of Karolos Conspectus. He… was also my first teacher."
Her tone softened. "So, as you claid just now—see that you do not bring disgrace upon my teaching. Do not sha the heritage of our school."
Though her expression was hidden beneath the witch's glintstone crown, behind it flickered a complex emotion.
That crown masked a mory: of her happiest years at the Academy, days filled not with isolation and exile, but with learning, laughter, and light.
From the mont she first entered the Academy, Sellen had displayed astonishing talent. She swiftly rose above the other apprentices. When her foundation was complete, she was taken as a disciple by none other than Master Azur himself.
His teaching was legendarily strict—his very na synonymous with rigor. Yet Sellen's gift was undeniable, and she passed each trial he set before her.
Beyond lessons, however, Azur was a kind man—so long as one did not disturb his research. Even before Sellen was well known, he allowed her to accompany him to symposia, provoking jealousy from other tutors. Yet none dared to object, for Azur's authority was absolute.
Thus she soared past her peers, diving headlong into higher mysteries. Soon she beca fad as a prodigy, a genius whose na rang throughout the Academy, welcod into every classroom and every circle of debate. Her rise was like that of a heroine from a tale.
In those days, Master Azur often stood behind her, shielding her from opposition. His influence shaped her character more than she realized.
Thanks to Azur, she even studied for a ti under Lusat.
But the golden days did not last.
In ti, both Lusat and Azur gazed upon their own Prival Glintstone Sorcery—the "origin" of their paths. And everything changed.
None knew what they saw in the distant stars. But all knew what ca after: the two beca terrifyingly powerful. Where once they had been revered, now they were feared. Their sorcery consud all who opposed them.
Yet such power bore a price. Their flesh warped, glintstone erupting across their bodies. Their minds grew silent and still, their thoughts cold and inhuman, like unfeeling crystal.
The Academy seized the chance to brand them heretics. Both masters were exiled, confined to distant prisons. The Prival Current itself was declared forbidden—its practitioners condemned.
And the two masters accepted this quietly. Too quietly.
Sellen only learned of her master's exile that very morning, when it was already decided. She had rushed to confront him.
"Why?" she had demanded. "With such strength, why bow to the Academy's decree?"
But Azur only reached out, and for the last ti, placed his hand upon her head. Then he set upon her brow the Witch's Glintstone Crown, a mark of recognition.
"Sellen," he told her, voice calm as stone, "to argue with the common rabble is aningless. No matter where we are, rember what it is we seekers of the Prival Current pursue."
"The road ahead is yours to walk. My dearest child of the stars…"
"And one last thing—congratulations. You have graduated from the Academy's strictest teacher."
With that, Azur turned away, walking off under guard. The glintstone corruption had already begun to claim his body.
His back receding into the distance was an image Sellen would never forget.
That was the mont she swore: one day, she too would gaze upon her own Origin. She would reclaim the glory of the Prival Current.
The Academy, bound by Carian royalty, had betrayed the true path. It was they who had turned against the stars.
To restore the Prival Current—that was her calling.
So she donned the witch's crown, resolute and unyielding, vowing to protect all that her lineage had sought.
When she returned from the mory, Sellen sighed softly to herself. Ah. No matter how often the vessel is replaced, the soul and its mories weigh heavily still.
"Forgive ," she said aloud, "I was thinking of my teacher. I was… distracted."
"Let us begin your lessons." She shifted the subject, her tone brusque, hiding the lancholy of her reverie.
To Lucian, it was clear her bond with Azur had been profound. That such deep affection still lingered—and yet, one day, she herself would choose to rge with her masters, becoming a sorcerer's sphere, in pursuit of the Origin.
He could only wonder: with what resolve had she made that choice?
The vow of the Prival Sorcerers—to seek the origin of glintstone, to pierce the stars—was less an oath than a curse.
Perhaps, Lucian thought, it is better she never learns the whereabouts of Lusat and Azur. If I can, I will find another way to aid her pursuit of the Origin.
He knew at least so basics of astronomy. Perhaps, soday, they would be useful.
The lessons began.
"Glintstone sorcery," Sellen said, "Our powers draw upon the powers embedded in glintstone,
but what is the nature of such power?"
"Glintstone is the amber of the cosmos,
golden amber contains the remnants of ancient life and houses its vitality,
while Glintstone contains residual life."
"And thus, the vitality of the stars."
"It should not be forgotten that glintstone sorcery is the study of the stars and the life therein.
A fact lost on most sorcerers, these days..."
As Azur's disciple, her understanding was vast. She poured it out freely, teaching him not just the common sorceries of the Academy, but all she knew.
With his intelligence and the foundations he had learned from Master Thops, Lucian progressed quickly.
When the written words proved too difficult, Sellen would bring him into the open chamber outside, staff in hand, to demonstrate the flow of sorcery herself. She corrected him by touch, adjusting the angle of his grip, the motion of his arm.
"My disciple," she said sternly, "the gesture is crucial. The smallest difference may change the spell's outco. Most sorcerers ignore this. But you must not. Rember it well."
Her strictness was no bluff. Every detail, every motion—she demanded perfection.
And under her sharp guidance, Lucian's grasp of sorcery advanced rapidly.
Where Thops had given him solid foundations, Sellen polished them, exposing flaws he had never noticed. To her, sorcery was precision, exactness—every line drawn to perfection.
The lessons stretched long into the day. Lucian's mind brimd with knowledge, his spirit strained nearly to breaking. This was unlike any incantation or skill; sorcery demanded relentless study.
Finally, Sellen halted him. "Enough. You've studied long enough. Rest a while, and let us talk."
Her tone softened. "I too am curious about you. As master and disciple, ought I not know sothing of your story?"
Grateful for the reprieve, Lucian nodded. "Very well, Teacher. What would you ask?"
She rested her chin on her hand. "Since coming to Stormveil, I've heard your na on many lips—the Storm King, Lucian. That is you, isn't it?"
Lucian did not hide it. "Yes. I slew Godrick the Grafted, seized his Great Rune, and reclaid Stormveil Castle."
Sellen inclined her head. His words matched all she had heard. Such a na was not likely to belong to another.
"I see. To think I would one day beco the teacher of a king…" she said with a quiet laugh.
Lucian continued, "If you wish, you could co with to Stormveil. I would see you housed in comfort, not trapped in this dim cellar."
But Sellen refused. She was the Academy's hunted heretic, her hands already stained with the blood of fellow sorcerers. To appear openly in Stormveil would invite pursuit—and trouble.
Even with Lucian's strength, the Academy's harassnt was insidious: puppets, balloons, distant eyes always watching. It would burden his rule and endanger his people.
"No," she said firmly. "I prefer this solitude. It suits my work."
Then her masked gaze turned back toward him. "Tell —before coming to , you had already studied sorcery elsewhere, had you not? When first we t, you bore no trace of glintstone about you."
Lucian blinked at her sharpness, then nodded. "Yes. I learned the basics under a teacher nad Thops."
Sellen nodded. "A good thing. It saves us ti."
She mused aloud, "I do not know this Thops. But from your foundation, I can see his grasp of basics is excellent. That is rare among sorcerers. Too many leap ahead, dreaming of greatness, but never build a true base. Such people rely learn to wield spells—not to understand them."
Encouraged, Lucian shared Thops' ongoing research with her.
Sellen listened in silence, calculating as he spoke. At last she said, "His approach is… unusual. But not without rit. I cannot say whether he will succeed—his path is far from mine. But I find no flaw in his reasoning."
"If he does succeed, his na will endure in the history of sorcery. If he fails, even then, he will be worthy of respect. For he still rembers what it ans to be a sorcerer: to seek, always."
Though their paths diverged, her respect was clear.
Lucian was faintly disappointed—he had hoped she might aid Thops' research directly. If the theory of barriers could be realized, even common soldiers could wield protective fields. That alone would revolutionize his armies.
But for now, he could only wait on Thops' progress. At least, Sellen's critiques of his foundations might aid him in return.
Perhaps I should also seek out Brother Corhyn… or even Master Goldmask, Lucian thought. Their Golden Order principles may hold insights that could help.
For now, though, he returned his focus to Sellen's lessons. The bond between master and disciple was only just beginning.
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