The others and I hurried and pressed our backs as hard as we could on the wall adjacent to the doorway, assuming the door would have swung open the other way, leaving us untouched.

What kind of technique does the Master use that even I can feel him drawing mana? I thought, feeling the hairs on my arms and neck standing up once again.

The pulse stopped as quickly as it began, allowing a split second of pure silence. As the air became 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, as a violet wave smashed through the door, obliterating it entirely.

Our ears popped from the release, and our 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…? I stopped, trying to piece it all together in my head.

As we recovered from the shockwave, we noticed all of our bedding now redecorated our room like some scary story a parent would tell their child. Overturned bunk beds, mattresses, pillows and sheets were strewn about the room, and the palpable smell of charred piss didn’t help the situation either.

We stumbled back from the doorway, looking back in awe. In all honesty, I don’t think any of us had ever seen such destruction inside the living quarters before, and knew that whatever came next would not be anywhere near a pleasant experience.

We all coughed due to the pungent steam and smoke from the now-charred blankets, making our eyes tear 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. We looked up at him in fear, not knowing what came next. Bernar, his right hand man, stepped in behind him with a noticeable amount of less grace and fluency than the Master; nearly knocking 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 sounds of our heavy breathing and coughing. I caught my brother's eye, but he only shrugged subtly in response. 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, I thought, since I knew the Master had already traced the residual mana back to me.

The boys gazed at each other, bug eyed and shaking nervously. “It was me, Master,” I finally admitted. “I was the one who attempted the spell and lost control of it,” I said with my head bowed, staring at the ground beneath me. The Master gave a small grunt after turning to look at Bernar, who shook his head as 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, I knew I was in for it, shuddering at the thought. “Yes, Master,” I quickly replied. As the Master turned on his toes, I looked over at the others who were just as shocked as I was.

This is how I’m going to die, I tried to transmit with a thin-lipped smile, which earned me a few salutes in response.

I looked at my brother who shot back mixed emotions of awe and shame. I took a step forward, and followed the Master and my brother through the destroyed doorway, avoiding the small splinters in my 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. Our 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 we walked, Bernar shot a glance back at me and sighed inwardly.

I know what I did was wrong, but why do I feel like I’m going to be executed over this? 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? I thought, feeling guilty enough as it was, with my heart beginning to race as we climbed the flight of stairs that lead to the Master's chamber.

There it is. That’s where I’m going to die, I thought as I saw the heavy cedar door that marked the entrance to the chamber.

My mouth was dry and could swallow nothing but a cotton ball of spit. The heavy door creaked open, and I hesitated to go inside. Bernar, however, put a reassuring hand on my shoulder and led me into the room, following closely behind the Master as I caught my brother’s grin out of the corner of my eye.

As soon as we crossed the threshold of the doorway, torches seemed to light themselves in a clockwise circle around the room, revealing the interior in a fantastical fashion.

Did he use mana to light those? A bit dramatic, but still impressive to say the least, I wondered.

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. I noticed 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 me a light shove forward as we walked to the fifth wall, where the Master's desk was.

“Sit down, young Thoma,” the Master said. I shot my older brother another questioning glance, but he simply nodded, and urged me forwards towards the carved, wooden chair before me. 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.

I 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 I read over them. It was at that moment, I realized, that my feelings were mixed, and couldn’t decide whether it was awe or fear of the Master. After all, I had just followed the Master to his chamber to have what I knew to be more than a little midnight chat.

“Do you remember how the synners first came to be?” the Master asked calmly. I slowly shook my head. “I vaguely remember the legend, but no specific details, Master,” I 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?”