"S-sir… you didn't tell me to leave!" Dunce stammered, his voice thick with confusion and a hint of resentment. "Didn't you say I have to do everything you say?"
Gorith stalked back into the cabin, pinching the bridge of his nose. He flung open the porthole, gulping the crisp sea air like a man drowning, desperate to wash the lingering stench from his lungs. This idiot boy… this *living contradiction*… was actually managing to fray his nerves. He took another fortifying breath, his voice sharp as he barked towards the tiny head compartment, "Clean yourself up and get out here. Now."
Dunce emerged moments later, clothes hastily tugged back on. He blinked, feeling… different. Lighter. As if a colossal, unseen burden had been ripped away from his shoulders and soul. His mind, usually a foggy swamp, felt startlingly clear, his limbs humming with a newfound, almost electric energy. "S-sir? What was that… thing… you gave me?"
"The Nine Transmutation Elixir," Gorith snapped, waving away the question as if swatting a fly. "Sit." He pointed at the stool bolted to the deck. "Questions first. Then food."
*Food*. The word ignited a primal fire in Dunce's eyes. He scrambled onto the stool, posture stiff, a puppy awaiting a treat. His stomach growled a low, insistent agreement.
"Dunce. Is that your only name? Are you descended from Sundown's people? Or those of Glory?"
Dunce shook his head, bewildered. "No other name. Sundown? Glory?" The names meant nothing beyond faint, dusty echoes in the back alleys of his memory.
Gorith sighed, the sound like dry leaves crackling. "Sundown and Glory. The other great empires beyond our shores. Your black hair and eyes suggest lineage from one or the other."
"I… I don't know, sir. Sundown and Glory… I think I heard of them. But it's fuzzy."
Gorith settled onto his narrow bunk, observing the healthy flush now coloring Dunce's cheeks. "Do you know who your parents are?"
Dunce just stared, eyes empty. "Only… only begging in the streets. Then WatanaLi came. Said he'd feed me. I followed."
"Age?"
Dunce screwed up his face, thinking hard. "Twelve? Or… maybe thirteen?" He gauged height based on WatanaLi's other street kids. Close enough.
Twelve or thirteen. Acceptable. "Date of birth?" The words were out before Gorith could catch them. *Stupid. How could this fool know—*
"Sacred Calendar Year 977, Month 3, Day 21." The answer popped out of Dunce's mouth like a cork from a bottle. He blinked, surprised at himself.
Gorith's eyes narrowed, cold shards of flint. "You claimed you didn't know your age. Explain."
Dunce shrank back. "I… I didn't! It just… popped into my head!"
Gorith's mind raced. Sacred Calendar 988, Month 4… that meant Dunce was barely eleven. *Interesting… and unsettling.* He leaned forward, menace coiling around him. "Lying to me carries a heavy price, boy."
Dunce trembled. "N-no lies!"
"Come here." Gorith gestured sharply.
Reluctantly, Dunce shuffled forward. Gorith's hand clamped onto his shoulder like an iron shackle. Low, guttural syllables rasped from Gorith's throat, and heat – invasive, undeniable – poured into Dunce's body.
It started pleasantly, a warm bath after freezing streets. Then it intensified. Molten lava surged through his veins, incinerating thought and flooding his senses. Little Little Bone groaned under the pressure, joints popping like dry kindling. The agony exploded, tearing a raw scream from Dunce's throat.
"AHHH! Sir! Please! It hurts! Make it stop!"
Gorith frowned in annoyance. A flick of his hand conjured a shimmering bubble of teal light around Dunce, silencing the screams, muffling the crack of protesting bone. The purification spell took time. When Gorith finally withdrew his hand, Dunce slumped, a wet rag doll dripping sweat onto the worn planks.
"Hmph," Gorith grunted, wiping sweat from his own brow. "Surprisingly decent vessel. Little Little Boneand spirit structure adaptable for either Arcana or Martial paths… the Elixir wasn't wasted. Ideal, really. When the time…" He cut himself off sharply, shooting a calculating glance at the semi-conscious boy. "Shame about the mental scarring, though. Even the Elixir couldn't fully dissolve that psychic clot. Doesn't matter for the purpose."
The inferno retreated, leaving Dunce crumpled on the deck, tears carving paths through the grime on his cheeks.
Gorith hauled him upright with rough hands. "Stop sniveling! A test. Not punishment. To gauge your utility." Cold command edged his voice. "*Waters gentle, heed my call, soothe this flesh, restore this thrall.*" Blue light flowed from Gorith's palms, cool as mountain streams, seeping into Dunce's battered form – a basic Water mending, distasteful but necessary to prevent useless terror. He needed Dunce compliant, functional.
Dunce gasped as strength seeped back in, the lingering pain dissolving into numb relief. Gorith's explanation, brutal as it was, took root. It hadn't been torture… had it?
Gorith shoved him back onto the stool and turned away. "Remember, boy. Rockforce is survival. Weakness is prey. Tears are saltwater in an empty belly."
The words resonated oddly in Dunce's foggy mind. Had someone else said something similar? He wiped his face roughly. "Yes, sir. I understand."
Gorith nodded curtly. "Good. Tell me this: What do you crave most? What drives you?"
Dunce licked dry lips. "Bread… warm bread. And… roast chicken legs. Dreams?" He frowned, the concept vast and alien. "I… don't know."
*Perfectly predictable,* Gorith thought bitterly. *Dim-witted convenience.* "Fine. You stay with me. Food is guaranteed. Run…" He let the threat hang heavy in the air. "…and you'll know fire worse than a candle flame."
Dunce didn't seem to register the threat. His eyes brightened. "Food? Why run, sir? But… but?"
"But what?" Gorith snapped, pivoting to face him.
Dunce studied the craggy lines of Gorith's face, recalling the warnings whispered about old age on the streets. "But… when you die… where do I eat?" The memory of Girl's grandmother haunted his simple logic.
Gorith visibly twitched, hands clenching into fists. He wrestled down the homicidal urge. *For the Great Work. Tolerate the idiot.* He forced his voice level, brittle. "Rest assured. You'll be dust in the wind before I breathe my last. Move. Food."
"Good! Sir, you're the best!"
"The best," Gorith muttered darkly, "in ways a pebble like you can't fathom."
**(Scene Transition)**
Two days later, satisfied Dunce had recovered enough, Gorith led him out of Ninuo City. Sunlight poured from a crystal sky, promising Dunce's world was about to tilt.
"Sir? Can we come back?" Dunce asked, glancing back at the dingy city that had been his whole world.
Gorith barely paused. "Perhaps. Opportunities arise. Why? Something holding you there?" Doubt flickered in Gorith's eyes.
Dunce shook his head, perhaps a little too quickly. "No. Nothing." *First lie,* he thought uneasily. The image of Girl haunted him – would she find him again? Gorith provided food, comfort even… better than WatanaLi's scraps. Yet, an instinct deeper than reason prickled: *This man is dangerous.*
**(On the Ship)**
An hour's walk brought them to Ninuo's harbor. The sea – vast, rhythmic, mesmerizing – always stirred something in Dunce. He stopped, transfixed by the distant line where blue met blue.
"Move it! We board *now*." Gorith's voice, strained and impatient, cut through the reverie.
Dunce startled. "Board? Sir, we go on a ship?" Excitement surged. For as long as he could remember, he'd dreamed of being on one of the small fishing boats, riding the waves.
"Yes. Faster than land travel to Warren Province." Gorith waved dismissively.
"YES! A ship! I'm going on a ship!" Dunce bounced, raw energy exploding.
"Silence!" Gorith hissed. "If you want to see that plank, *move*!"
They boarded the towering *Sacrament*. Dunce's jaw dropped. "That's… ours? It's like a mountain!" The dirty hulled fishing boats seemed like toys beside this white-painted behemoth.
"Mountain? Barely sufficient," Gorith grumbled, his gaze shifting uneasily over the open water. "Board." He hustled Dunce towards their top-deck cabin, the sway of the dock already making his stomach twist. *Damned nausea.*
Inside the cramped cabin, Dunce vibrated with excitement, peering out the thick porthole. "It moved! Sir, it moved!"
Gorith grasped Dunce's shoulder firmly, steering him away from the view. "Recall yesterday's instruction?"
Dunce blinked, the spark fading. "I… forgot." Two days of simple alchemical terms had evaporated like spilled water.
"Of course you did." Disgust warred with calculation in Gorith's eyes. "Sit. On the bunk." Dunce obeyed. "Terms can wait. Now, you learn to *feel* the energy. Arcana is not words; it's will meeting the elemental tides swirling *everywhere*." Gorith's hand clamped onto Dunce's shoulder again. "Calm your mind. Feel the current I channel. Tell me what you experience."
"Yes, sir." Dunce squeezed his eyes shut, bracing for pain.
Heat flowed again. Gentle this time. Soothing. A comfortable warmth spreading through his limbs… a pleasant hum that lulled his simple mind… sleep dragged him under.
Gorith, misinterpreting the stillness for deep meditation, pushed harder. His own reserves dipped alarmingly. Pulling back, exhausted, he rasped, "Report. What did you see? Dunce! DAI! You… you worthless little… you fell *asleep*?!" Rage bubbled. His precious energy, *wasted*!
A small sphere of water popped harmlessly but coldly against Dunce's face. He bolted upright, gasping. "Huh? Snow?"
Gorith smacked the back of his head. "*Snow*? I tasked you with concentration! What did you do?!"
Dunce cringed. "Sorry, sir! It… it felt so good… I just… drifted off."
Gorith clenched his fists, the knuckles white. Food was the only reliable leverage. "*What did you see?* And if the answer is 'nothing', boy, your belly stays empty today!"
*Food!* Dunce's brain scrambled. He hadn't seen anything. His dream? Could he make that work?
"I… I felt warm," he stammered, eyes pleading. "Then… fuzzy. Then… kids. Lots of tiny kids." Inspiration struck. "They came to play… each holding a little red… roll? They wanted to give them to me! So many! I tried to give something back… but nothing." He spread empty hands, hoping the lie sounded plausible.
Gorith froze. *Children? Imagined nonsense. But… the little red spheres?* That detail struck like lightning. *Fire elementals drawn with such vivid presence? Unheard of!* His own first lessons involved merely sensing faint embers in the dark. The implications were staggering… and dangerous. A spark of true envy flickered in his chest, quickly drowned by a colder, sharper impulse: *A threat. A potential complication.*
"Demonstrate," Gorith ordered flatly, hiding his turmoil. He raised his hand, intoning words charged with intent. "*Spirits of fire, heed my plea! Grant me your warmth, take form as a sphere and come to me!*" A fist-sized orb of orange flame pulsed to life above his palm, radiating intense heat.
Dunce, confused but eager to please, clumsily mimicked the pose, stumbling over the unfamiliar syllables. "Spirits… please? Grant warmth… take sphere… come!" He screwed his eyes shut in concentration.
The energy surge was immediate. Small, vibrant, elemental. *Fzzt!* A tiny spark, barely a centimeter wide, bloomed in his palm. Stellatled, Dunce yelped – and the nascent flame winked out.
Gorith stared. His own fireball flickered, forgotten. The shock was visceral. *This… impossibility. This uncultivated lump of street trash… summons primal energy?* Memories flashed – his own struggles, months to achieve a mere flicker. A primal stab of murderous resentment cut through him. *Such effortless power… perfect… *too* perfect.* He forced his expression into an impassive mask. His hand snapped closed, extinguishing his own flame. A heavy silence fell, broken only by Dunce's stunned panting and the creak of the ship.
**(Days Later)**
The ship cut through the sparkling waters, journey's end nearing. Gorith remained cabin-bound, waves of nausea battling waves of dark thoughts. Dunce, true to his nature, had spent days relentlessly grinding.
"Report," Gorith commanded, peeling open one bleary eye. Dunce sat cross-legged on his bunk, visibly concentrating. *How many times had he repeated that wretched chant?*
"I remembered!" Dunce blurted, pride momentarily displacing fear. "*Spirits of fire, heed my plea! Grant me your warmth, take form as a sphere and come to me!*" He thrust out his hand, face screwed with effort.
The response was faster now. Stronger. *FWOOP!* A flame the size of a large plum snapped into existence above his palm. This time, Dunce held steady. The warmth wasn't terrifying; it was fascinating. He bent closer, peering into the swirling heart of the orange fire…
*SNAP! HISS!* A lock of black hair dipped into the orb and instantly crisped. Dunce yelped, stumbling backward. The fireball vanished. The acrid stench of burnt hair filled the cabin.
Gorith watched him frantically pat at his smoldering scalp, a grim smile tugging at his lips. "Fire is a savage lover, boy. It obeys commands… but respect the leash. You found that limit firsthand." He gestured towards the door. "Air out this stink."
Dunce rubbed his scorched fringe, shame warring with newfound awe. "Sorry, sir. Still clumsy." But beneath the apology, embers of genuine fascination glowed. This was *power* he could touch.
"Focus on control now," Gorith instructed tersely. "Stabilize. Size. Direction. Ignite a candle wick, not your skull."
Dunce nodded fiercely. "Yes, sir." He retreated to his bunk, palms facing each other, whispering the chant. A small, steady flame kindled between them. He willed it slowly into orbit around his thumb. *If sir dies…* The traitorous thought surfaced. *… at least I can keep warm.*
**(At the Ship's Rail)**
Later, with Gorith's reluctant permission, Dunce crept out onto the narrow cabin deck corridor. Leaning on the worn teak railing, he soaked in the sun. Sea air tasted of salt and vastness.
A black speck danced on the horizon. Fast. Coming head-on.
"Huh?" Dunce squinted. The speck grew rapidly. Another ship? Sleeker, darker than the *Sacrament*. Black sails unfurled like the wings of a giant crow. Painted stark white upon them: a grinning skull, crossed bones underneath. Why so different?
Shouts erupted from below decks, sharp, terrified, turning the warm breeze cold.
"PIRATES!"
"By the Gods—the Black Fleet!"
"A BLACK SHIP! RUNNING US DOWN!"
Panic ignited faster than Dunce's flames. The sleek, dark predator sliced through the water, closing in with terrifying speed. Dunce clutched the railing, the bone-deep fear of the hunted freezing his newfound warmth. The promise of power suddenly felt like a fragile candle flame against a rising storm.