Knocking on the door, Blake opened it when Elliott called for him. Looking around the principal’s office, Blake's smile faded as he spotted two people. One he really did want to see. Ronan stood by the desk, leaning against it with his huge muscular arms crossed over his wide chest. He still looked rough, and no smile but his brown eyes were gentle.

Not knowing how to react to the man, Blake’s eyes turned to the woman in the coach, drinking tea while grimacing. She had beautiful ebony skin and long, curly hair that flowed over her bare shoulders. The woman looked to be in her late twenties, dressing gracefully and movement smooth. Her full lips were pouted in an expression of distaste as she put down the tea and turned her dark eyes towards Blake.

Giving him a smile as her eyes inspected him, “Well, Mudda Sic! You Ain’t Gat much color on ya. Yinna spent some time in the sun more, it’s healthy. I’s Denesha Pinder.”

Blake stared at the woman who had gotten up speaking with an accent so thick that he barely heard a word of it. To him, it sounded Jamaican though.

Ronan rolled his eyes. “Auntie Dee, you are doing that on purpose.”

Chuckling the woman snapped her fingers, bringing Blake out of his stupor. “It is always funny seeing white people when they hear Bahamian in its full glory. They look somewhere between dumbstruck and panic.”

“I’m sorry,” Blake said, blushing as he realized how he must have looked.

“No worries, you sound funny to me too,” the woman chuckled. “My name is Denesha, more known by my students as auntie Dee.”

“Ronan is your student?”

“No, he comes from the old world where shifters and magic are separated. In the new world, no such restriction exists. When my sister, Ronan’s mother, fell in love with a grumpy, pale ass brit she moved from the warm islands of Bahamas to- “ Denesha looked around with an apparent shudder, “this grey place. No wonder your food taste like ash. It must be hard to find anything inspiring you to do actual cooking here.”

Listening Blake frowned, looking over at Ronan. He had a darker complexion, but he just looked tanned so Blake had not assumed that he was half Bahamian. Ronan, seemingly noticing his glance, said, “I look like my father.”

“Not quite, you have your mother’s eyes,” Denesha said, walking over to Blake. Turning him around muttering in her thick Bahamian accent again. Touching his white hair, Denesha frowned. “I sense dark magic on him, his skin complexion is so pale. South African?”

“No,” Ronan said briskly.

“No? Then is he from Northern parts of Africa. I heard they have plenty of mixed blood there.”

“No,” Elliott said.

“Then where is he from?”

“A small village here in Brittain,” Elliott answered, each question makes Blake increasingly more confused.

“Then is he of African descend?”

“Does he look like he is?” asked Ronan, being answered by a slap over the head.

“Don’t speak with such disrespect to me, boy,” Denesha said, raising a threatening hand again when he wanted to argue.  “He must have some African blood in him if he wasn’t born on the continent.”

“Why?” Blake finally asked, grabbing onto Coney who jumped past him. The little rabbit didn’t struggle and just allowed Blake to cuddle him, most likely noticing Blake's nervousness.

“Because of your abilities, they can only be received by someone born in Africa or with the blood of someone who was,” Denesha said simply before turning to Elliott, who raised his hand stopping her questions.

“We have already checked as far as we can, he has no African blood or magical blood for that matter. His line is composed of farmers, nothing else.”

Denesha looked puzzled like he had just told her the sky was green, not blue.”Then how was he born with primalcraft?”

“Born with what?”

“Primalcraft,” Ahriman’s voice cut through the question. Blake turned around to see Ahriman sit where Denesha had sat before, now frowning at the woman who was frowning back. Finally breaking eye contact, Ahriman turned to Blake. “It’s what humans have come to call the first kind of magic they could practice. Magic is directly granted by the proximity of what they called the primal source.”

“And what would you call the primal source?”

Ahriman cocked an eyebrow, “Don’t you know?”

“Khaos?” Blake answered slowly, not sure of the answer but Ahriman’s grin widened, telling Blake that he was on the right track. “The first Anterion is the primal source.”

“Yes, humans just don’t know enough to realize it.”

Denesha’s eyes narrowed, “I know more than a pale ass…”

“No, you don’t,” Ronan said quickly, ignoring her glare. “He is not human.”

“I can see that. What is he?”

“The boy’s guardian,” Ahriman said lightly, snatching a scone from the table only to grimace after a bite. The tasteless bread of the brits was apparently not up to the archon’s standard.

“An archon,” Elliott clarified.

Denesha’s eyes widen. “An Old One?”

Blake chuckled but squeaked when Ahriman suddenly stood behind him, pinching his cheeks. “Wipe that smirk off your face, lad.”

“How did he… Why?” Denesha stopped herself, raising her hands in the air in surrender. “It doesn’t matter. Your abilities, seeing spirits, and opening portals are considered primalcraft. I also have the ability to see spirits, which is what I teach it in Bahamas. Ronan called me, telling me about you, and asked me to come. I’m here to instruct you in your gifts, even if I’m not sure how you got them.”

“What are you going to teach me?”

“Much of it, such as summoning, you have already encountered it in sacrificial magic. It was taken from primalcraft after all, but I will teach you how to enter a different world, I think you might have heard of it as Astral Projection, and I will teach you how to use your gifts to navigate the different worlds and create a contract with spirits to get proper guardians,” Denesha petted Coney who huffed.

“I am a proper guardian.”

“You are a proper guide, but not much of a guardian and-“ turning her eyes on Ahriman,”he is too shifty to be proper.”

“He gave me a grimoire with forbidden magic,” Blake said, not afraid to throw Ahriman under the bus for some extra stars from the teacher.

“And create too much problem,” Denesha huffed. “I will teach you about spirits, what to look out for and what to embrace. How to manipulate the spirits and how to use them, all the things that only one with the ability can teach you.”

“I’m still not sure what Primalcraft is, it just sounds like other kinds of magic,” Blake admitted.

“It is,” Ahriman shrugged. “It’s just the first magic that humans encountered.”

“Ignore the fool,” Denesha said. “Primalcraft is unaltered magic. It’s magic that hasn’t been shaped or deluded by humans.”

“It’s overrated,” Ahriman muttered, getting a glare from Denesha as a response.

“The primal source is the mountain, primalcraft is a stone, nature magic is a knife carved from a stone and arcane magic is the building made up by shaped stones.”

“With other words, Primalcraft is just primitive objects while the other crafts are refined tools,” Ahriman said, ignoring Denesha. “I have no idea why some humans are so eager to avoid the developed crafts and instead admire rocks.”

“Because it is our inheritance, we should respect the origin of all magic, not just what it has been shaped into,” Denesha looked ready to strangle Ahriman, her eyes sparkling with anger.

“Well, it sounds marvelous. I’m sure Blake will do great throwing rocks at Nemain while he will be throwing nukes at the poor boy,” Ahriman snapped his fingers, vanishing into a cloud of black smoke. “But at least he will grace him with the origin of all magic.”

“Did the man just run away from an argument?” Denesha said, waving away the smoke.

“Yep,” Blake said, coughing.

“No matter, I will find him. I’m right, he is wrong. Now as that is cleared up,” Denesha opened the door, apparently ready to hunt down the archon without mercy. “I will be seeing you soon. Your teachers is handling your schedule at the moment so I’m guessing you will find out soon when that will be. “

Waving slightly she ran out, her high heels echoing on the floor.

“I feel sorry for Ahriman,” Ronan said.

“Why?”

“Auntie Dee likes him, that means that she will chase him to the ends of the earth. Bahamian women always get what they want.”

“Did this school just get more insane,” muttered Elliott, rubbing his temples like a headache was on the way. Blake did sympathize with the principal and the next Patriarch of the Price Pack. This year will demand a lot of him, and he had a child on the way on top of that. The strain was fully visible under Elliot's eyes, now baggy from the lack of sleep, and he looked ready to fall over.

“Well, I’m going to go now,” Blake said and he took his farewell, while wondering if this year will be filled with fortune or misfortune.