Thoma and the others hurried and pressed their backs as hard as they could on the wall adjacent to the doorway, assuming the door would have swung open the other way, leaving them untouched. What kind of technique does the Master use that even I can feel him drawing mana? The hairs on his arms and neck stood up once again, only this time, it was much more powerful than anything he had experienced thus far.
The pulse stopped as quickly as it began, allowing a split second of pure silence. As the air grew still and its pressure grew, it compressed their bodies as though they had reached the bottom of a lake. The pressure was released, and the resulting sound was that of the largest war-drum being hit by a giant. The pressure bent the door inwards, releasing screws and nails from their positions, and a violet wave smashed through the door, obliterating it entirely.
The boys' ears popped from the release, and their chests felt like they had been trampled by a herd of wild horses, though, at least the flame was gone. It… it extinguished a mana-fire? How the…? Thoma thought. Overturned bunk beds, mattresses, pillows and sheets were strewn about the room. The boys recovered from the shock wave, stumbling away from the doorway, looking back in awe. They had never seen such destruction inside the living quarters before, and knew that whatever came next would not be anywhere near a pleasant experience.
They coughed due to the piss-smelling steam and smoke from the now charred blankets, and their eyes teared up as a result. The Master's silhouette stood in the doorway, backlit by a wall-lamp that caused the figure to flicker. Two pairs of yellow eyes glowed in the frame of the doorway - one pair his, while the other was Bernar’s.
The Master was wearing a loose white shirt that had laces around the chest and neck, with his sleeves rolled up to the middle of his forearm. His gray, cotton pants were tailored perfectly to his height, so as to not drag any of the material on the ground as he walked. He also wore leather-soled slippers that muffled the sound of his footsteps.
He moved forward, and his hands clasped behind his back. He held his head high and straight, like a statue. The young boys looked upon him in fear of what came next. Bernar - his right hand man - stepped in behind him, with a noticeable amount of less grace and fluency than the master, and almost knocked over a cup that had been on a bedside table nearby. He was wearing the same style of clothes as the Master, though they were a little dirtier. The thick, smoky air was filled with the boys' heavy breathing and wheezing. Thoma caught his brother's eye, and his brother shrugged subtly. The Master flinched his right eye at the sound coming from behind him, but decided to not turn around.
“Boys,” the Master's voice rang out. “I understand the common mischief youngsters find themselves in more often than not. However, I would like to know who was the one who attempted the Pyrus spell,” he said.
Ahaha… shit, Thoma thought, as the Master had already traced the residual mana back to him. The boys gazed at each other, bug eyed and shaking nervously. “It was I, Master,” Thoma finally admitted. “I was the one who attempted the spell and lost control of it,” he said with his head bowed, staring at the ground beneath him. The Master gave a small grunt after turning to look at Bernar, who shook his head subtly as he could. The Master raised an eyebrow, then turned and faced the boys once again.
“That was very foolish of you, Thoma, however, I won't give you a lecture here. Follow me to my quarters,” he said. The moment the word “quarters” left his mouth, Thoma knew he was in for it, and shuddered at the thought. “Yes, Master,” Thoma quickly replied. As the Master turned on his toes, Thoma looked over at the boys. He gave them a glance as if to say “This is how I’m going to die.” He looked at his brother who shot back mixed emotions of awe and shame.
Thoma took a step forward, and followed the Master and his brother through the destroyed doorway, avoiding the small splinters in his path. The stone hallway was cold and barely lit, with large corner stones at every angle. Torches made of wood, cloth and liquified troll fat hung on the walls with iron supports, dimly lit the cold corridor. The sound of their footfall was nearly inaudible on the cold stone floor, due to the heel-toe technique they used when they walked. On a real mission, one could walk silently across almost any surface while moving quickly. Their leather-soled shoes aided in silencing their steps, although it didn’t help much to keep the cold from the stone floors from reaching the soles of their feet.
As they walked, Bernar shot a glance back at Thoma - whose head hung heavy - and he sighed inwardly. I know what I did was wrong, but why do I feel like I’m going to be executed over this? Thoma thought. He felt guilty enough as it was, and his heart began to race. The knot in my stomach feels large enough to send the remnants of supper back the way they came, or perhaps toward the other end at this point. Either way, I just have to calm down. I’m sure things will work out… right?
They climbed the flight of stairs that lead to the Master's chamber. There it is. That’s where I’m going to die, he thought as he saw the heavy cedar door that marked the entrance to the chamber. His mouth was dry and could swallow nothing but a cotton ball of spit. The heavy door creaked open, and Thoma hesitated to go inside. Bernar put a hand on his brother’s shoulder,and led him into the room, following the Master. Thoma caught his brother’s grin out of the corner of his eye.
They passed the doorway, and torches seemed to light themselves in a clockwise circle around the room. Did he use mana to light those? Thoma wondered. A bit dramatic, but still impressive to say the least. The room had six walls, four of which had bookcases taller than the average man, all fully loaded with countless books and scrolls. Some were old, dusty, and covered in cobwebs, while others appeared to be newer, or at least more frequently used.
Thoma noted upon a green banded book that was on the third shelf from the ground, near the border of the bookcase itself. It was surrounded by other weathered books, and yet it seemed to have been used recently. Bernar gave him a light shove forward as they walked to the fifth wall, where the Master's desk was.
“Sit down, young Thoma,” the Master said. The young boy shot another glance at his brother, barely turning his head, and and his brother simply nodded, and urged him towards the engraved chair. The maple chair had been hand carved in Hjalfar, far to the North, by an old boat maker who had given it to the Master as a token of his gratitude for slaying the Mother Ochelon of the town.
The ochelons were tall, humanoid creatures, whose thick fur and skin helped keep it alive during the winter months in the Northern Countries. Their sharp claws were excellent for hunting, and they generally resided in deep caves near bodies of water. This posed potentially hazardous conditions for anyone who decided to settle near such a place.
Thoma sat in the carved chair, analyzing the carvings themselves. They told the story of the battle between the Master and the Mother Ochelon in intricate detail. From stances to displaying movement, the carvings had almost appeared to come alive as Thoma read over them. His feelings were mixed, and couldn’t decide whether it was awe or fear of the Master - after all, he had just followed the Master to his chamber to have what he knew to be more than a little midnight chat.
“Do you remember how the synners first came to be?” the Master asked calmly. Thoma slowly shook his head. “I vaguely remember the legend, but no specific details, Master,” he replied. “Then allow me to refresh your memory,” the Master replied. “A little over one thousand years ago, when monsters first slipped through the cracks of the Underworld, the gods descended from the heavens. They came not as angelic beings, but as humble beggars to avoid unwanted attention. The six who descended found themselves close to a town near ruin, with only a few formidable warriors remaining after the monsters had razed it to the ground,” the Master began.
Bernar shuffled. “I had always heard it said that one of the monsters was so heavily encased in mana that it blew into little red chunks after it had been struck by an arrow,” he said. The Master pursed his thin lips and tilted his head towards Bernar. His brow furrowed and his irises went from a strong yellow to a flaming orange for an instant, and Bernar was taken aback.
“Please do not interrupt me while I'm schooling a young pup who just so happens to be your younger brother, Bernar,” the Master said, relieving the sting with a small smile that caused the scar on his right cheek to wrinkle a bit. “Forgive me, Master,” Bernar instantly replied, bowing his head and taking a step backwards.
“Now, where was I?” the Master asked himself. “Ah, yes, the town. So, the gods found themselves at the ruined town, where the remaining survivors found them wandering outside the few standing wall stones. The leader of the warriors went out to meet them in the low grassy field just outside the town. The eldest of the beggars bowed as low as he could to the tall leather-clad warrior, and the man responded by picking him up off the ground. The beggar didn't quite seem to understand what had just happened, after all, what warrior would have a beggar stand as his equal?”
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