For advance/early chapters : pa treon.com/Ritesh_Jadhav0869
Aidan awoke to the gentle scent of sandalwood and old parchment. His eyes, bleary and slow to focus, scanned the ancient-looking room. Intricate mandalas were carved into the dark wooden beams overhead. The only light came from the soft, flickering flame of an oil lamp and the hazy sun filtering through a latticed window. It felt as if he had been transported back to some long-forgotten dynasty. He pushed himself up, his mind still foggy, grappling with the lingering phantoms of his multiversal journey. He felt a dull psychic ache behind his eyes, a hangover from witnessing infinity. Then, he noticed something sticky at the corner of his mouth.
He reached up and wiped it away with the back of his hand, looking at the small, glistening patch of drool with disgust.
"Tch," he muttered, rubbing his hands dry on the rough-spun woolen blanket. "Would it kill someone to wipe a guy's mouth before tossing him onto a bed?"
Just as he sat up, still groggy, the heavy wooden door burst open.
"Perhaps you should find a girlfriend who is willing to take care of you properly," a stern, familiar voice commented.
"Morning, Master No-De," Aidan said weakly, his voice still thick with sleep. He felt as though he'd just gone ten rounds with fate itself, and fate had cheated.
"It's Mordo," the man corrected with a long, suffering sigh.
"Right. I assume you've prepared food?" Aidan asked, a sudden, ravenous hunger gnawing at his stomach. His body was starved for energy after the immense psychic expenditure.
"I will take you to wash up first. Then, we eat," Mordo replied, his tone resigned. He had never encountered a student this young, this… irreverent. Not in Kamar-Taj. Patience, he reminded himself. The Ancient One had insisted on it.
"Thank you, Master No-De."
"Mordo!"
In the Great Hall, which served as their dining area, Aidan devoured his food like a starving beast. The other sorcerers-in-training glanced over, their expressions a mixture of amusement and puzzlement at his sheer enthusiasm. He paid them no mind. In front of him was a large, steaming bowl of a rich, savory broth, filled with hand-pulled noodles, tender chunks of spiced meat, and exotic mountain vegetables. It was the most delicious thing he had tasted in three years. His chopsticks were a blur, the noodles vanishing from the bowl without pause.
"You actually serve a proper noodle soup here?" Aidan said between massive mouthfuls, his eyes sparkling with satisfaction. "This tastes incredible. Whoever cooked this must be a master."
"Haha, yes. Wong was the chef today," Mordo said with a strained chuckle, watching Aidan with a kind of clinical fascination. Even amidst the informal meal, Mordo himself sat perfectly upright, his every movement measured and precise.
"More noodles!" Aidan said bluntly, slapping his now-empty bowl down in front of Mordo.
Mordo's lips twitched. That was the fifth bowl. The bowls at Kamar-Taj were not small. Even fully grown, battle-hardened sorcerers usually topped out at three. "You can't possibly want more?"
"It's been ages since I've had anything like this," Aidan explained. "The food in the U.S., outside of certain neighborhoods, is… weird. The ingredients, the cultural habits, I guess."
"No problem, kid," a new voice said, warm and deep. A plump, middle-aged man with a kind face set down another steaming plate of food beside them. It was Wong. "You're still growing, after all. How old are you, anyway?"
"Eighteen, I think," Aidan said, gratefully accepting the food. "Yeah, I should be eighteen by now." He realized with a jolt how quickly two subjective years in the lab and one in the field had passed.
"Still so young," Wong mused, studying him. "What brings someone like you here to learn magic? You don't seem… broken." He was puzzled. Most who found their way to Kamar-Taj were desperate souls—spiritually lost, physically beyond the help of modern medicine, all drawn by the last glimmer of hope for healing. Aidan was different. He radiated ambition, not desperation.
"He met an Asgardian," Mordo explained, setting down his own utensils. "That's how he learned of us. The Ancient One has accepted him as a disciple. Our junior brother."
"Huh," Wong grunted, glancing at Aidan, who was still inhaling his food. "Looks like the kid's got talent."
"Maybe too much," Mordo murmured under his breath.
After the meal, Aidan followed Mordo to the dish-washing area. "We're sorcerers," Aidan muttered, squirting a generous amount of soap onto a stack of plates. "We can bend reality and traverse dimensions, but we're still doing dishes by hand?"
"Even as sorcerers, we are still human. Mundane chores ground us. They keep us tethered to this reality," Mordo replied with the faint hint of a smile. He didn't seem to mind the work.
"I could have my AI teleport in a sonic dishwasher, you know," Aidan offered.
"The people here are not overly fond of machines," Mordo said with a slight shake of his head.
"You have WiFi, though."
"Entertainment is not banned. We are not cavemen."
"Do you guys watch dancing girls online?" Aidan asked with a sly grin.
Mordo paused his scrubbing, glanced at him, and for a moment, an almost imperceptible blush rose on his cheeks. "…Sometimes," he muttered.
"Do they… show a little skin?"
Mordo didn't answer. He grabbed the cleaned plates and walked off.
"Wait! I haven't rinsed this one yet!" Aidan called out, quickly finishing the last plate and jogging after him.
Once the dishes were put away, they parted ways. Aidan returned to the main hall. The Ancient One was already there, seated cross-legged on a cushion, her eyes closed in meditation. The vast room was silent save for the gentle flicker of candlelight. Aidan mirrored her position, sitting across from her.
"Tell me," she said, her eyes opening slowly. "What do you understand of magic?"
Aidan thought for a moment, gathering the vast repository of knowledge he had acquired. Then, he began to speak, his voice calm and clear. "Magic, in essence, is a metaphysical force that transcends the established limits of physical science. It is used to warp reality, manipulate consciousness, and channel elemental and dimensional forces. It is rooted in the soul and shaped by the will of the user."
He continued, "It can be categorized—natural magic, planetary magic, ritualistic magic—but they all share a single, foundational principle: they draw energy from a source beyond the self. It isn't inherently good or evil, nor is it confined to simple elements like fire or water. Its nature depends entirely on where your power comes from—be it the benevolent natural dimensions, powerful planetary sources, or even realities based on pure belief."
As he spoke, Aidan instinctively traced a faint rune in the air. A simple, shimmering mandala of golden light formed between them, sending a gentle, warm breeze through the hall, causing the candles to flicker in unison. "To me," he concluded, "magic is a branch of mystical philosophy. It is a system of symbols, mathematics, and, above all, intent."
The Ancient One looked at him, her expression one of mild, genuine astonishment. She had underestimated him. He has never been taught, yet he speaks of the foundational principles as if he has read the Book of Cagliostro, she thought. His affinity is more than a talent. It is an innate understanding of the universe's source code.
"You have clearly studied the mystic arts on your own," she said.
"I have," Aidan nodded. "And I have learned that whether magic becomes a force for light or darkness depends solely on the heart of the one who wields it."
"Then my teaching may be easier than I expected," she smiled faintly.
"This is all theoretical," he admitted. "I've never had real, practical training. That is why I came here."
"Even so, you are already well ahead." She began her deeper instruction. "Mystic incantations have existed since the dawn of civilization," she explained. "The ancients called them spells. You, with your background, can think of them as code—programs for reality itself."
She carved glowing, intricate symbols into the air with her fingers. A large orange magic circle bloomed before them, an impossible design of interlocking square and circular patterns. "We gather energy, as you said, from other dimensions in the multiverse. Then, we speak the code, shape the energy with our will." The glowing glyphs stirred the air, rustling Aidan's hair. His eyes gleamed with wonder. "With this, we forge shields, summon blades, and bend the world to our command."
"You must have encountered conceptual entities from these other dimensions," he said, his eyes fixed on the runes.
"Some are benevolent, like the Vishanti, from whom our magic first originated," she replied carefully. "And some… are not." She did not mention the Dark Dimension.
As her lecture came to an end, Aidan asked eagerly, "When can I begin learning magic?"
"Not today," the Ancient One said gently. "Your spirit is still recovering from your journey through the multiverse. You must rest. Tomorrow, Mordo will begin your training."
Aidan nodded. "No problem."
The Ancient One spent the rest of the afternoon teaching him about the taboos of their order, the rules of magic, and the proper, respectful usage of its power. She was guiding him carefully, gently. The fate of this world, and perhaps countless others, she mused, would depend on how well they could teach a boy with the power of a god how to be a man.