Lucian returned at last to Stormveil. After taking a moment to sit and catch his breath, he immediately sent a man to the Sorcerer Thops, intending to have him brought to the castle.
Meanwhile, within Stormveil's walls, a building had been cleared for a particular purpose. Inside were rows of small chambers, each with a bed and table, like little apartments. This place Lucian had set aside for sorcerers who had sought refuge beneath his banner.
Thops was not the only one. Other sorcerers too had come, driven out when the Academy of Raya Lucaria sealed its gates—or else wandering scholars who had left long before. They had all once studied in its classrooms, but none bore the privilege of a Glintstone Crown.
In the building's hall, a few of these mages gathered, exchanging words with one another. Though sorcerers were often aloof, each buried in their own study, for those long estranged from the Academy, the fellowship of their peers was precious. Here, they could speak freely, share what little they had discovered, or at least take comfort in knowing they were not alone in their failure.
For many, research had stagnated to nothing. Even the smallest glimmer of progress through such exchanges was welcome.
When Thops finished recording his name at the registry, he wandered the castle for a time before coming at last to the sorcerers' dwelling. From afar, he could see them gathered in the hall, clad in their blue robes—the classic, unmistakable garb of Lucaria.
Two drops of sweat slid down Thops' brow. Facing his peers, he had little to show. His sorceries were paltry, hardly worth mention. Yet in truth, most of those gathered were no better. Some, indeed, were weaker still.
When the others saw him arrive, they broke off their conversation and welcomed him warmly. "Welcome. If all goes as we expect, we shall be companions here in Stormveil. Let us share what we know of sorcery."
"Indeed. Cast out from the Academy, what else is left us but to exchange what little we have?"
Thops forced a laugh. "Ah—yes, of course. Only… I fear my sorceries are rather meager. You may find them disappointing."
The others paid no mind. None among them bore a crown; they knew their own measure well enough. "Think nothing of it. What matters is the exchange itself. Why not set your things in your chamber and rest? Shall we show you the way?"
Thops waved them off quickly, declining the offer. He would find his room on his own. As he went, however, he overheard them whispering in the hall.
"I know that one," said a mage softly. "The bald head is unmistakable. At the Academy, they called him the 'Bluntstone.' He had no talent, yet dabbled in strange theories of his own. In the end, he became something of a curiosity… until he was expelled, much like us."
"Has he discovered anything, I wonder?" The others glanced at each other, then shook their heads. "Surely not. If he had, he would not be here in Stormveil with us."
"As long as he isn't like those foul ones who consorted with the Cuckoo Knights, I care not."
Thops stopped in the corridor, silent. He had not meant to overhear. He clenched his fists. He had come so close to a breakthrough, so close—but during one of his journeys outside, he missed the hour when the Academy gates were sealed, and was locked out forever.
Yet even if he had remained within, without results his dream was doomed. He knew how impossible the task was—especially for one like him, bereft of talent, never granted even a Glintstone Crown. They had mocked him, branded him "Bluntstone." Still, he could not let go of his vision.
The Academy had rotted. Its scholars now were corrupted, allied with the detestable Cuckoo Knights. Thops loathed them. And yet… he longed to return, to set foot once more in that hall of sorcery.
Sighing, he slipped into his chamber. He sat on the bed, turning again and again over his theories in his mind. Each new conception rose and fell, discarded as quickly as it came.
Not long after, the door opened. A Storm Knight stood at the threshold. "Which among you is Sorcerer Thops?" he asked. "The Storm King commands your presence."
The mages were stunned. Thops, summoned by the King himself? Could it be… to drive him out? If Stormveil judged him too weak, then all of them might soon be cast aside.
They went to fetch him, and Thops emerged, pale with anxiety. He had heard the name of the Storm King—one who could strike down even a Demigod. Was he about to be cast out as worthless?
The knight confirmed his name with great deference, and led him away. Thops marveled at the knight's respectful bearing, but assumed it was mere courtesy.
He followed in uneasy silence until they reached a great plaza beside the throne hall. "The Storm King awaits you there," said the knight, bowing before he departed.
Thops swallowed and stepped forward.
And there, against the wall of the plaza, hung a vast dragon's head. Its baleful gaze still seemed to burn with rage from beyond death. The thing was colossal, large enough to swallow a horse whole.
The head of Agheel, slain and taken as Lucian's trophy. Here, mounted in grandeur, it served as both decoration and a symbol of might.
"Impressive, is it not?"
Lucian rose from the throne and descended to meet him. He had deliberately summoned Thops here, rather than seek him in person, to avoid drawing too much attention.
Thops bowed his head. The young Tarnished before him could only be the Storm King of Stormveil. "This… is indeed magnificent," Thops murmured nervously. "But… may I ask why you have summoned me?"
Lucian's gaze fixed on him. "I have brought you here," he said, "because I wish to learn sorcery—from you."
Thops lifted his head in disbelief. "M-me? Surely not. You must be mistaken. I am but an ordinary—no, a most pitiful sorcerer. I was never granted a crown, and at the Academy they mocked me as 'Bluntstone.' I cannot even return there now."
Lucian studied him carefully, then nodded. "No mistake. You are the one I seek."
For Lucian knew the truth. Thops was no Bluntstone, but a hidden gem. His theories, scorned by his peers, would one day form the foundation of a new school of sorcery—sorcery strong enough to bend even divine will. Yet he would die, unfulfilled, slain by envious mediocrities in a decaying Academy.
Lucian would not let that come to pass.
"Others may wield greater power," Lucian continued, "but they have forsaken the mage's true purpose: exploration. Those who turn from that path, no matter their might, are mere hollow men. But you—you still carry the sorcerer's mission in your heart. And that is why you alone are fit to teach a king."
He paused, then added with a small smile; "Nor do I ask only for lessons. I wish to see your research brought to light. If you need resources, I will provide them."
Thops stared, his throat dry. For years he had been mocked, cast aside, forgotten. Now here stood a lord who understood him, who valued the same ideal—the ancient dream of reaching the stars.
His eyes glistened. "If that is your conviction… then I will teach you what I can. My knowledge is only of the fundamentals; beyond that, you must seek greater sorceries yourself."
Lucian inclined his head. "That is enough. A true master keeps ever the heart of a student. If you will have me, I will learn."
Thus Thops, humbled and moved, became the teacher of the Storm King.
They retired to a chamber prepared for study, with tables, chairs, and practice targets. Lucian provided parchment and ink, and Thops began to write out all he knew—Glintstone Pebble, Glintstone Arc, Starlight, and their variations. He explained their workings with care, even lending his staff for Lucian to try.
At first, Lucian failed again and again. But with persistence, he wove theory and practice together, until at last a Glintstone Pebble leapt from the staff in a burst of light.
He had taken his first step into sorcery.
Soon he mastered more—the Arc, the larger Pebbles, and others—hungry to learn, imprinting them swiftly in mind. Thops, astonished, praised his pupil's brilliance.
"You are gifted beyond compare," he said. "Even sorceries reserved for the Academy's elite might not elude you."
Lucian only shook his head. "No master should be without the humility of a learner. I thank you, teacher, for this beginning."
Thops was deeply moved. To have such a lord as his student—one who still cherished the sorcerer's true heart—was more than he had ever hoped.
A knock came at the door. A Storm Knight entered. "My lord, the one you summoned has arrived."
Lucian nodded. "So swiftly?" Then he turned apologetically to Thops. "I must end our lesson here. But if you wish, you may have a chamber of your own prepared."
Thops declined—he would remain with the other mages. Lucian did not press the matter, and bid him farewell.
For outside, at last, the great blacksmith Iji had come to Stormveil.