Discarded things, when sharpened properly, cut the deepest.
That was quite a fine line.
Very villainous.
I almost considered writing it down sowhere, perhaps on a plaque. Then I imagined my mother reading it, smiling that terrifyingly elegant smile of hers, and saying sothing dreadful like,
"How poetic, my son. Are you finally admitting that you have a tender heart?"
Hence, I discarded the idea imdiately.
So words were ant to remain thoughts. It was safer that way.
After returning from the Chapel of Saint Orwen, the estate entered a state of quiet activity.
There was no chaos. Never chaos. Chaos was what lesser households did when trouble knocked on their doors.
The Elysian Estate operated like a sharp blade being drawn from its sheath: silent, smooth, and deeply concerning for whoever stood on the wrong side of it.
The chapel’s ledgers were brought into my study.
The priest, Father Caldus, had been transported to one of our secure holding rooms beneath the estate. Not the main cellar, of course. That would be insulting.
My rare and expensive wine deserved peace and quiet. Prisoners had no business being in the sa room as them.
He was instead taken to the old stone room under the eastern wing, the one built during my grandfather’s era for situations requiring privacy, reinforced walls, and screams that had to be confined within four walls and away from innocent ears.
I did not go to interrogate him imdiately. Contrary to popular heroic nonsense, imdiate questioning was often inefficient.
People freshly captured were either too frightened, too stubborn, or too busy congratulating themselves for staying silent. It was better to let them sit with the knowledge that no one was coming.
Fear aged well in closed rooms.
The ledgers, however, were less dramatic and far more useful.
I liked useful things.
William stood beside my desk while Bernard arranged the records into categories. Abi lounged near the window, apparently pretending to observe the garden while very clearly listening to everything. Spiro sat at the smaller table near the bookshelves, working on the note he intended to send Mil.
He had rewritten it four tis already.
It was adorable but also alarming.
No child should treat a greeting note as if he drafting a treaty between rival kingdoms.
"Father," Spiro said at last.
"Yes?"
"Is this... good enough?"
He held up the paper with both hands. I gestured for him to bring it over. He walked carefully to my desk and passed it to with an expression far too serious for the contents of a child’s note.
I read it.
Mil,
I heard you are safe now. I am glad. Father said maps are useful and that you like them. I also think they are useful. When you feel better, I can show you one.
You do not have to be afraid of Father. He only looks scary sotis, but he is not scary to children.
Spiro Altan Konstantin
I stared at the line.
He looks scary sotis, but he is not scary to children.
Abi choked and Bernard’s shoulders stiffened.
William suddenly found the ledgers very fascinating to organize.
I looked at Spiro. He looked back, uneasy.
"Is it bad, Father?" he asked.
"No."
"Then is it good?"
"It is... honest."
He frowned faintly. "Is honest good?"
"Sotis it is."
"But not always?"
"Spiro, honesty is like a knife. It is useful when handled properly. But it can get ssy when waved around by fools."
Spiro nodded as if I had just given him a sacred principle. Perhaps it ca off like that to a child like him.
"Should I change the scary part then?"
"No need."
Abi broke. He laughed so hard he slid halfway down the window seat. He should have made himself useful and slid all the way down to the ground, preferably with great impact.
Anyhow, I ignored him with the dignity of a man whose household had betrayed him through correspondence.
"Mil may find it reassuring," I added.
Spiro smiled. "Okay. Then I will keep it."
"Good."
He took the paper back, folded it carefully, and sealed it with a small blue ribbon William had given him. He hesitated before returning to his table.
"Father."
"Yes?"
"Can I learn why Mil and the others were chosen?"
The room quieted.
Spiro held the folded note close to his chest. His expression was not rely curious. It was guarded, intent, and almost painfully familiar.
It was obvious that he was not asking out of childish nosiness.
He wanted to understand the cage that he had escaped.
I could refuse. In fact, it would even be the most appropriate thing to do. He was young, recovering, and already carried too much.
But... ignorance was not safety. Not for soone like him. Not for a child that still has enemies the want to reclaim, dissect, use, or silence him.
And if he was to have his own people one day, he also needed to understand why those people had been targeted.
I thought I could tell him part of it. Not all at once, just enough.
"Co here," I said.
He obeyed imdiately. I would correct that later too.
I pointed to the chair beside my desk. "Sit."
His eyes widened. "Here?"
"Did I stutter?"
"No, Father."
He climbed onto the chair and sat upright, hands folded on his lap. The posture was too formal again, but I let it pass for now.
"William," I said.
The old butler understood without needing the full instruction. He brought over a clean sheet of paper and placed it before , then set a pen beside it.
"If you wish to understand why those children were chosen," I began, "you must first understand how power is asured in this world.
Ah. An audience. How troubleso.
Fortunately, I was an excellent lecturer in my past life. Students had once paid absurd tuition fees to listen to discuss dead civilizations, archaeological context, and why stealing artifacts from excavation sites deserved public shaming. Teaching a child about mana and aura should not be difficult.
Probably.
"There are three broad foundations of power among mortals," I said, drawing three lines on the paper. "Body, mana, and aura."
Spiro leaned closer.
"Ordinary physical strength cos first. Everyone has a body, unless we are speaking of certain spirits, ghosts, or your Uncle Abi’s previous smoky inconvenience."
Abi raised a hand. "Hey! I object to being used as an educational example."
"Your objection is noted and ignored. You are the best example there is, your rights are therefore vetoed."
Spiro giggled, then quickly pressed his lips together. I pretended not to notice.
"Body training is simple in concept. Strength, speed, endurance, flexibility, senses. A farr who works the fields every day can be stronger than a lazy noble who owns three swords and has never swung one properly. This is the lowest and most universal form of power."
I wrote Body.
"Mana is different. Those who can sense and use mana are called the Children of Mana, or magicians in common speech. Mana is both external and internal. It exists in the world, flows through living things, and responds to those who awaken the ability to shape it."
Spiro nodded slowly. "Like spells?"
"Yes. But not only spells. At the first stage, a magician senses mana. Then they form their first mana circle. That circle stabilizes their mana and awakens their elental foundation."
I drew a circle.
"Common elents include fire, water, earth, and air. Variations such as ice, lightning, tal, and plant are rarer. Unique elents like space, ti, light, or shadow are extrely rare. You’ve probably seen your uncle Abi manipulate space. It is a similar concept, albeit with differences. Transcendent beings are a league of their own, after all. I do know a magician who has the elent of space. Maybe, you’ll be able to see her use it one day. "
Abi smiled faintly. "Hah. She uses it less beautifully than I do."
"Most natural disasters are less dramatic than you though."
"Thank you."
"That was not praise."
"I accept it as such anyway."
Spiro looked between us, then whispered,
"So, it was space that Uncle Abi uses?"
"Your Uncle Abi abuses space," I corrected. "There is a difference. And that’s not the only thing he abuses."
Abi placed a hand over his heart. "You’re so cruel."
"I’m only being accurate. Your feelings are out of the equation."
I returned to the lesson.
"Magicians increase their strength by forming more mana circles. The more circles, the greater their capacity, control, and spell complexity. However, mana users tend to rely on distance, preparation, and technique. Close their casting window, disrupt their flow, and many beco far less frightening."
"Not all?" Spiro asked.
"Not all. Never assu such a thing. There are battle mages who can turn a room into a furnace before a swordsman takes a second step. There are healers who can reverse death’s handshake if fast enough. There are spatial magicians who can turn the battlefield itself into a trap. Power depends on talent, training, creativity, and cruelty."
"Is cruelty necessary?"
"No, not really. But it is always effective."
William cleared his throat faintly.
I anded, "But discipline is still better."
Spiro nodded solemnly.
Good.
That should satisfy William. For now.
"The third foundation is aura." I wrote the word with deliberate care. "Aura is not mana. It does not bend the world from outside. It refines the self from within. Aura wielders awaken the force of life through body, will, instinct, and combat. The stronger the aura, the more one surpasses ordinary physical limits."
I drew a line through the word Body and connected it to Aura.
"At the early stages, aura reinforces the body. Stronger strikes. Faster movent. Tougher bones. Sharper senses. At higher stages, aura forms an external field. This field can pressure enemies, cut through magic, strengthen weapons, and protect the wielder."
Spiro’s eyes widened. "Like the griffins’ protective field during sandstorms?"
User Comments
0 comments from readers