As evening came to pass, Cyrus rested on his cot, staring out the window. A dark cover of clouds rolled across the sky overhead, threatening to unleash a heavy torrent. With each gust, the window shutters snapped back, clapping against the wall. Down in the market, the thin trees swayed, their leaves rustling in the wind,
"Cyrus, come here. I believe I may have found something," Myrel called. The old man hunched over his desk, the wrinkles beside his eyes outlined by a flickering candle. He was flipping through the pages of an old weathered book, written in runes, with pictures drawn out of distant lands and foreign people.
"What is it?" Cyrus asked. He made his way around Sylven, who was dusting the top of the shelves from a rickety ladder.
As he approached Myrel, the old man spun the book around, and shoved it into his hands. The yellow pages reeked of mildew, and the charcoal was smudged, but beneath it all was a beautiful woman, with feathered ears, and smooth skin.
"Should I know who this is?" Cyrus asked, frowning.
"You're looking at one of the Ashfolk, who reside in the mountains separating us from the western lands. The book itself was the journal of a wizard who lived over a thousand years ago," Sylven said, climbing down. He shoved the dust rag into his pocket, and peeked over Cyrus's shoulder, scanning the page. "It looks like a record of their day to day lives."
Cyrus handed the book back to Myrel with a frown. "Who are the Ashfolk?"
"One of the seven races of this land, and the ones who pride themselves the most on their knowledge," Myrel said, his eyes brimming with excitement. "So little information is known about them, I had almost forgotten about this book. You might know them by a different name, though. The Altier."
Cyrus glanced back at the photo of the feather-eared woman. "So these are the people I'm supposed to be looking for? But why? What do they have to do with me?"
"I'm not certain, but maybe it has something to do with this," Myrel said, tapping a series of scribbles on the page. "It speaks of a place known as Amuriel, or the living forest. I've never heard of it before, but maybe the Ashfolk know more. Perhaps that's why the woman you heard asked you to find them."
Cyrus ran his fingers through his amber hair. "This… seems like a lot. Where exactly do the Altier live?"
"We know they reside somewhere within the Arkenthell mountain range, but this journal speaks of a doorway set inside a dormant volcano," Myrel said. He unfurled a map across the desk, and pointed towards a section left vaguely detailed. "Few men have been able to journey through the mountains, and make it out alive, so there's not much information about the area, but it should be somewhere around here."
Sylven pointed towards a small kingdom marked on the opposite side of the map. "We're right here, by the way. It'd take you at least three months to reach the mountains by foot."
Cyrus furrowed his brow. "Is there a way to get there sooner?"
"I'm trying to find out. I have a few more records to sift through, which might help narrow down their location. For now, I simply wanted to show you what I had found. Oh! Hold on, there was also something I wanted to give you," Myrel said. He spun around, and dug through the draws of the desk. A moment later, he retrieved a small dusty chest, and handed it to Cyrus. "This is an artifact my master forged for me while I trained. I stumbled across it while searching, and thought it may be of use to you."
Cyrus opened the box, revealing a bronze bracelet, embellished with light blue runes.
"What does it do?" Cyrus asked. The cold metal tingled in his palm, and the bronze gleamed in the candle light as the runes glowed faintly in the dim room.
"Put it on," Myrel said, grinning. Sylven watched from the side, with a hint of a grin.
Tilting his head, Cyrus slid the bracelet over his hand, and held it up. A bit of a gap remained between his skin and the bronze, and the bracelet threatened to slip off as he lowered his hand.
"Is there a way to tighten it?" Cyrus asked, sliding the bracelet back up.
"Hold on," Myrel said, grabbing his wrist.
Cyrus held still as the old man tapped his nail against the bronze, causing the glyphs to pulse faintly. He jumped as the metal swirled across his skin, tightening until it fit comfortably. He studied it carefully, flipping his hand back and forth.
"You said this will be of use to me? How?" Cyrus asked.
"The runes affect the flow of aether, similar to how a beaver's dam slows the flow of a river," Myrel said. His eyes softened. "It's meant to keep you from losing control. I want you to wear it from now on, until you feel comfortable casting."
"Master, would you be able to add a second row of runes to the bracelet?" Sylven asked, grabbing a sheet of parchment, and scribbling out a line of glyphs. "These ones, to be precise."
Myrel studied the page and frowned. "This is an incantation to alter the color of hair? Is there a problem with his hair?"
"It stands out as it is," Sylven said. "I'm afraid it'll draw too much attention at the moment. If he wishes to leave, he'll need to hide his identity."
"If it's not rude to ask, what color is your hair now?"
"A golden reddish color, I suppose," Cyrus said, tugging on a few locks of his hair. "If I had to describe it, I'd say it resembles the sticky strands of resin from a tree, before they harden into amber."
Myrel rubbed his beard. "Hmm. That is a unique color. If you don't mind, Cyrus. The bracelet?"
Cyrus slipped the band off, and handed it back to Myrel. The old wizard studied it, then muttered a few foreign words.
"Cerinth lavoid."
Cyrus shielded his eyes as a bright light enveloped the bracelet. As it faded, two more runes were carved into the bronze.
"There. That should do it. Try it now," Myrel said, handing the bracelet back. Cyrus fitted it back onto his wrist, and shook his hand.
"Did it work?"
"See for yourself," Sylven said. He grabbed a mirror off the shelf, and passed it to Cyrus.
In his reflection, he found his hair to be a dull brown color, lightly covering his still green eyes. Cyrus brushed his hair to the side and nodded. "Magic certainly has its uses. Now I won't have to-"
Cyrus trailed off, and pushed his hair further back. A small bump rose from above his temple, green in color. Tilting his head to the side, he spotted a similar bump above the other temple. Both were hard to the touch, like a small stone.
'That's odd. Did I hit my head when I passed out?' Cyrus wondered. Noticing Myrel and Sylven watching him, he dropped his hair. "Thank you. This will definitely help."
"I'm glad to hear it," Myrel said. "Let me know if you need anything else changed, and I'll see what I can do."
"I will."
Myrel gave a slight nod, and returned to his desk, while Sylven headed towards the stairs. He paused at the railing, and glanced back at Cyrus.
"I was about to start supper. Would you like to help?"
"I can't remember the last time I cooked, so I'm not certain I'll be able to do much," Cyrus said. He arched his brow. "Are you sure you still want my help?"
"It'll be fine," Sylven said. He grinned. "It can't be any harder than what you did this morning."
…
The following morning, Cyrus stood in the observatory, with sweat dripping from his brow. A meter tall flower grew from the table, its blue and golden petals as large as his palm. Gritting his teeth, he severed his connection to his aether, and the flower stopped growing.
"That was much better," Sylven said. He scribbled something down in Myrel's journal, then glanced at the bronze band on Cyrus's wrist. "How's that working for you?"
Cyrus adjusted the band. "It feels like there's something pressing against my mind. It grows tighter the longer I use my magic."
"Sounds like it's working then," Sylven said. "Master Myrel will be glad to hear it."
Cyrus glanced down the corridor. The old man still sat at his desk, sorting through the books one by one. Dark circles lined the skin beneath his eyes, and a half eaten bowl of porridge sat to his left.
"Doesn't he get tired? He's been there all night," Cyrus said.
"It's difficult to get him to rest when he becomes like this. He becomes consumed by his research, drowning everything out," Sylven said. He snapped the journal shut. "Anyway, I think you've gotten the basics of growing plants down. Why don't we try something different?"
"Like what?" Cyrus asked.
Sylven scratched his chin. "There are a few simple spells I can think of. Lighting a candle on fire. Turning water into ice. Summoning a breeze. Any of those sound interesting?"