While all the others had already gone their respective ways, Santimar found himself walking serenely with the Mages Zaya, Mirir, and Vezad towards the Tower of Tir'Zuno. Its grated entrance was exactly beside the Mages' Hall, connected by a small road leading from the grated entrance to the tower. The adept remembered how this tower was one of the first things that caught his attention when he first came to Tabulém, after a long pilgrimage that was part of his ordination. This was because Tir'Zuno had always been of great interest to him, as was everything related to him. So, as soon as he learned that this tower was in his honor, he always wanted to know more about it. It was said that Tir'Zuno used it as a study space, as well as a personal quarters when he used to rest in Tabulém. Santimar also had a private room for himself within this tower, which now served as a special meditation space for some Mages while awaiting his return. Santimar had once entered the tower's foyer on a previous errand; he had to leave a message from Zagner-Roi with the ferumuis who served as guards of the tower regarding certain enchanted weapons that were to be stored there, but that was the extent of his contact with the tower until now.
However, on this day, his visit would be different. Vezad informed him that they would use a specific room for his training on the meridian floor of the tower. In this room, there was a portal that would be useful to them—that was all he said as they arrived at the tower's entrance.
"As I informed you, it would be opportune for me to be the first to pass knowledge to the adept, as I must go to the continent of Evuria as quickly as possible with my mystical guard, which is already mobilizing as we speak. The reason for this is that that infernal creature truly cannot be left in a mere spectacle, for it has been confirmed that he is at the Arena of the Fierce. I do not wish to disagree with your commands, illustrious Vezad Dhir-Roi; I trust in the capacity of our wise Emerek Dhir-Roi to contact the serene Garak Dhir-Roi. But I fear that his prolonged absence from the temple of Fehuza must have created problems greater than we are yet aware of, and this infernal creature is just a sign of that." Zaya-Roi spoke as they were all inside the tower.
"I understand perfectly, noble Zaya-Roi. I take this opportunity to tell you that I am happy to see you truly willing to teach your secret arts to Santimar; it is a good sign," Vezad replied with a smile on his face.
"It is the least I can do, illustrious Vezad, considering I was the one who almost ruined everything. Moreover, Santimar ended up proving more than he imagines in the shadowy plane; his soul is indeed genuine, and he deserves to know more about the mysteries of life," Zaya-Roi responded vehemently for all to hear.
"Thank you for your words, noble mistress. I hope I am apt to receive them," said Santimar humbly upon hearing his mistress's response.
They then ascended to the indicated floor in the Tower of Tir'Zuno, and before Santimar and Zaya entered, Mirir made as if to say something.
"Come, Mirir, let us meditate together while we wait. It has been some time since we last did so, and this may be the last time for a good while that we can unwind a little… I take the opportunity to tell you that I have acquired some good tobacco from the Purple Land of the Kingdom of Mahakin, your homeland. I know it is one of your favorites," said the Mage-King, placing his arm over Mirir-Roi's shoulder with fraternal intimacy.
"Ah, what a pleasant surprise, Vezad. I was already missing the fragrance of that tobacco; it always reminds me of where I lived when I was as young as a sprout. How many sagas have we lived since then? Indeed, it is advisable to take advantage of this brief moment of waiting…" he replied, smiling at Vezad with a nostalgic air. Then he turned to the adept for a moment before ascending to the floor of the balconies in the tower, which was a bit above the floor where the portal room was located. "Santimar, good luck in your first stage of this training. May Yatar guide your steps. We will see each other next, and I know I will encounter an even more blessed Santimar when we meet again."
"Then I hope this new Santimar is capable of bearing the responsibility given to him. I hope you are right in this, and may Yatar bless us!" the adept said respectfully.
And so, Vezad and Mirir disappeared up the stairs leading to another floor in the tower. Santimar could hear them conversing attentively about each other's new ponderings. He liked knowing there was such a sense of camaraderie in his Order; he could no longer imagine himself anywhere else, belonging to any other group.
"Noble Santimar, it is better to concentrate here now, for what I am going to teach you is not so easy to absorb… even though you have already proven your worth," said Zaya-Roi in a tone that now seemed like that of a mother teaching her child how to behave. "Moreover, despite the seven days offered to you for training, I can only give you this single day to achieve your goal with me."
"Yes, venerable mistress… let's proceed." Santimar expressed a conviction he was not accustomed to; perhaps what had arisen within him during his presence in the shadowy plane was still acting on his impetus—or so it seemed.
Mistress Zaya made a slight gesture with her hand, and the door to the room opened. For a moment, Santimar thought it was the same thing Mirir-Roi had done at the gate of the Mages' Hall, but he soon realized it was not. The mistress used telekinesis, whereas the gate of the Mages' Hall had merely reacted with the help of magical sensors to the movement of Mirir's arm. Inside the room, a bluish light emanated from the corners, and in the center, there was a silver arch placed on small steps, with nothing in the middle. Zaya then made another gesture to close the door and asked Santimar to stand back a little. Then she approached the arch and uttered some words from the chants of Tir'Zuno.
"In a secret place, the moonlight hovers, to enchant my affection with its touch!"
Santimar already expected what would happen there, but even so, his eyes filled with enthusiasm as he witnessed what ensued. In the center of the silver arch, a circle of bluish glowing energy appeared as if from the air itself, and this circle grew until its edges touched the silver circle that completely surrounded it. When it was fully open, Santimar could see a beautiful place on the other side of the portal: a garden hidden in a great forest, illuminated by a starry sky. The mistress then entered the portal, and Santimar followed without hesitation. When they crossed, the adept could see in more detail what was on that side. He marveled at an immense full moon shining above a gazebo of lustrous wood with a subtly orange, six-pointed roof, located in the center of the garden he had noticed when on the room's side. Between them and the gazebo was a small path of pebble stones that reached a pedestal behind them, from which the portal they had come through opened.
"This… is the Secret Garden of Enchanted Sighs. It is in a small world very close to some paradise that has not yet come my time to go to… Here, the connection with the principle of magic is much clearer, facilitating its absorption by our spiritual essence," Zaya said with an enchanted air; even though she was familiar with that place, she never truly got used to it. "Come, let's go to the gazebo; it is there that I will teach you what is my part."
As they walked slowly, for both seemed to want to enjoy that small piece of paradise to the fullest, Santimar observed that there were several fireflies around, glowing with different soft colors. It was an unparalleled soothing sensation he felt there; it seemed like he was dreaming. Perhaps such a place was indeed a product of the world of dreams.
When they reached the entrance steps of the gazebo, Santimar noticed an artifact unknown to him in the middle of this small structure. The floor of the gazebo was largely covered with a vast, velvety, circular carpet of ocean blue, and the mentioned artifact rested on a small stone table at the center of this carpet. It was metallic, made of a metal similar to bronze in its tone. In the central part of the artifact, there was a disk slightly tilted backward, of considerable size with several smaller circles inside it. The disk itself looked like a navigator's compass of some kind, with several apparently astronomical symbols inserted all over its surface—or so Santimar assumed upon briefly studying it. There was also what seemed to be a pendulum hanging from an almost invisible thread, resting a little above this central disk, with the help of a rod that rose from the back of the artifact.
"This arcane artifact, unique among us, is an Astrolabe of the Mages. The astrolabe itself is this disk that rests on this base, which feeds it, and its function is to navigate the soul of whoever seeks to learn to manipulate the fabric of reality, while the pendulum serves to facilitate the necessary astral journey through a hypnotic trance. Its final result can be grand… or disastrous, depending on the intention of whoever uses it. Therefore, be aware of the risk you will run when under the dominion of this artifact," explained Zaya-Roi, perceiving that Santimar was trying to unravel the purpose of this unprecedented artifact inside the gazebo.
"I understand, mistress. It is indeed a very powerful instrument, and with that, it also ends up becoming dangerous. I hope I am apt for its use… and I must say that this place is… spectacular… Could you explain to me how Tir'Zuno found a place like this?" The adept could not contain his eagerness to unravel the mysteries of life, and his innocent curiosity seemed truly stimulated as he beheld that place for the first time.
"Herein lies a mystery… No one knows when Tir'Zuno appeared among us. Some say he was always present in Ewahara; others say Yatar brought him directly to our world. But who knows, after all? Perhaps only Tir'Zuno himself," she said, trying to remember when she first saw Tir'Zuno Sahirim-Alek in person. "My own theory is that Tir'Zuno became like a stellar traveler since time immemorial, and when he came here, he decided to assist in the progress of our civilization. I have wondered for some time if he regrets that… considering what happened with Verundium, no longer Dhir-Roi, whom we now know as Irtimox."
Santimar felt honored to see the mistress in such a sincere state before him; perhaps it was an effect of that place, which did not seem to allow any kind of mask, for better or worse. He also felt it was opportune to offer his own point of view on what the mistress confessed, and so he did.
"I understand you, mistress, but if your grace permits me, I see no fault in Tir'Zuno for the failures and deviations of Verundium… accidental or not, he risked himself far beyond what was prudent, especially for a Mage-King, and the consequences of wrong choices can result in disaster, no matter how advanced a society may be, or how revealed the secrets of the universe are. Each one is responsible for their own actions, and I do not speak of the moment he lost possession of his own consciousness, but of when he chose curiosity over caution. And I am sure Tir'Zuno knows this better than I, wherever he may be…" After speaking, he observed Zaya and found her staring seriously into his eyes. He felt a bit embarrassed and quickly wanted to retract. "Erm… I beg your pardon if I dared to teach you something; after all, I am just beginning on this journey where you are leagues ahead of me, my illustrious mistress."
"…You need not apologize, Santimar. What I was observing was more the fact that you already knew that Irtimox was called Verundium. It seems Vezad Dhir-Roi was indeed convinced that you were the chosen one for some time, which I now understand why, for I too could not help but recognize this innate wisdom of yours, which brings me honor to have you here as my disciple, even if only for a brief moment… I confess I underestimated your inexperience, and that Emerek Dhir-Roi was right after all; experience is useless without wisdom." Zaya-Roi looked at the sky for a moment, reflecting, then closed her eyes and took a deep breath. "This place has a subtle way of making us listen to our hearts, but let us return to what we came to do, or our world will not survive, and it still interests us, so let us make haste," she said finally with a sudden rhyme; it seemed inspiration also flowed better in that place.
The mistress then turned to the magical astrolabe and recited another chant, but this time it seemed to be in a different language that only she between the two seemed to know. So, were there other chants from other origins that also worked with the Order's artifacts? Or was this artifact indeed one of those created by the Order? Santimar began to understand why Zaya-Roi was known for being enigmatic, and this is what Santimar heard:
"B'NaP SHeH G'aOeH B'D'aQ D'QuOSHT'aA"
The astrolabe, which until then did not seem to offer much beyond its intricate design—which could very well serve as beautiful decoration in any environment—began to spin, at first slowly, but gradually gaining speed in its rotation. Meanwhile, the shining pendulum above it also began to oscillate slowly from side to side, in the rhythm of a deep breath. Santimar also noticed that the Mages' Astrolabe as a whole ceased to have the bronze tone and took on a vividly golden coloration that emanated soft golden rays of light from itself.
"Santimar… sit in front of the astrolabe," said the mistress, stepping out of the way.
The adept obeyed promptly, sitting facing the astrolabe in a meditation position. The artifact had its disk harmoniously positioned at the center of a also round base, and it spun parallel to Santimar's position; the pendulum was at the height of the adept's eyes.
"Focus your gaze on the center of the disk behind the pendulum… breathe deeply and say 'B'D'aQ' three times… which means 'show' in a distant language," instructed Zaya-Roi, who was now standing in the corner of the carpet observing the adept. "Remember that from here on, it is the artifact that will control what happens to you, and I will not have access to what occurs as was the case with the shadowy plane. So, no matter what happens… do not disappear."
Santimar thought for a moment about the mistress's warning and then nodded to her. He turned once more to the Mages' Astrolabe and concentrated, taking a deep breath to synchronize with the pendulum before him and began to evoke those arcane words three times.
"B'D'aQ…" he said the first time and felt his body numbed.
"B'D'aQ…" he said the second time and no longer seemed to hear anything around him.
"… B'D'aQ…" When he said it the third time, he saw his spirit leave his body.
In this incorporeal state, he noticed he was no longer in the gazebo but floating well above that garden, closer even to the sky than to the ground. He also noticed that the shining pendulum that had made him enter a trance now floated in front of him in undulations, approaching Santimar's spirit and returning to its starting point repeatedly, implying that the adept should follow this small shining sphere in that starry sky.
Santimar then focused on moving his spirit and realized it was not so difficult to do so. For a moment, he wanted to have fun flying through that splendid sky, but within seconds he remembered what the mistress had said: that they must focus; there was no time to waste. So he returned to following the floating pendulum, which, as Santimar followed it, headed towards the great moon that illuminated them softly.
As Santimar followed the shining pendulum, he looked down and saw the garden becoming increasingly distant, and with it the planet where such a secret pearl was located, while the moon became larger in front of him, to the point that he could no longer see its edges. Astral travels might not be physically tangible, but precisely because of that, there were no difficulties of feeling cold or lack of oxygen at high altitudes, nor the risk of dying from a fall. Santimar therefore felt in a state of unparalleled security, especially since his body was protected by one of the most skilled mistresses of the Order. The only thing on his mind at that moment was to reach the end of this mysterious test.
The immensity of white sand of that moon finally reached Santimar's ethereal feet. He realized the moon was truly white, not just from the light reflected on it; its sand was as clear as snow itself, and it felt much softer and more malleable than its icy counterpart. Everything so far had been truly fascinating for the adept, who almost no longer felt the weight he had felt earlier that day.
Then, in that vastness from where Santimar could no longer see the planet he had come from, a figure appeared before him: a man, but his skin shone like crystal, dressed in an equally shining garment that seemed made of pure light. Santimar could not see the face of that man, but he felt that his presence was entirely benign, almost holy, or perhaps it was. The adept noticed that the pendulum that had brought him there rested on the hand of this unknown figure.
"Welcome, I know you must have many questions, but only one can I answer now. So tell me, what will your question be?" With a velvety voice that sounded more like the echo of space itself than a human voice, that figure addressed Santimar as one who already knew perfectly well what the adept had come for. He understood how the adept sought deep within to unravel the mysteries that composed reality itself, but at the same time, he seemed to demand absolute focus from him.
Santimar did not want to speak without thinking. He realized that the slightest inattention on his part, with poorly chosen words that might lead to a question that sounded absurd or even useless, would make him waste a unique chance that would never come again. The adept felt he had in his hands the opportunity to open a direct channel to the source of magic, and he felt the question had to be related to that. So he did not want to waste this chance in any way.
"My question is this… what is the secret that makes the word creator and the matter creation?" Santimar hesitated a little but soon recovered his conviction. He felt he had asked the right question for the issue, at least that was what he hoped.
"The right question is like the door that takes us where we want to go, which makes the desired answer the key that opens this door. And for reaching here not only with the right question but also bearing a clean soul and a just heart, I am permitted to tell you what you desire to know." The illuminated figure before him moved closer to Santimar's astral body to make himself clearer in front of him. Even so, Santimar still could not see his face, but he felt a fragrance emanating from him, even in an immaterial state. He could not identify exactly what it was, but this fragrance reminded him of something new and yet eternal.
"'In the beginning was the Word'… the Word in its deepest origin holds within itself the secret of creation. But such a word demands what resides in it, which is its Divine Tone, which makes its mystery reverberate in the breath of life, thus giving tangible form to its will, making matter bend to its disposal. And the Divine Tone is governed by perfect faith, a faith that no longer needs to risk leaping into the darkness of the abyss, for it already understands the whole, already is it. Thus, it is necessary that whoever uses the word be in full concordance with the meaning of that word. Therefore, surrender to faith completely, and it will reveal the power of God in you once and for all… But for what is to come, you will be permitted to experience this gift before your time, so that you may know how to speak the word of the creative principle, the same that made you resurrect in that golden desert and expel that evil, even though you have not yet mastered the necessary faith to do it on your own."
At the end of his explanation, the figure of light touched Santimar's forehead delicately. Even ethereal, Santimar could feel his touch as if he were entirely there, body and soul. And with this transcendental touch, he found himself immersed in a holy Light. This light echoed throughout his body, reaching the most distant points of his own essence, his own soul, and thus he could understand with sanctified clarity what this originating word was and how to truly pronounce it to activate its creative principle—what could properly be called a Word of Power. The illuminated figure then removed his hand from Santimar's forehead and moved away slowly, then said.
"Now, return to your world and do not forget: to whom much is offered, much will be demanded, for it is just that what is of great value costs much. And this power I have offered you will not be yours forever without it sprouting spontaneously from your own transcendental effort to deserve it. Nor will you be capable of using it more than three times during the count of a day in Ewahara, for three are the trump cards of your heart. Nor may you use a word of power to reverse something that happened on a previous day. So make each of these daily invocations of the words of power count, even if the effect of some of these words may last until their purpose is deemed necessary for the duration of the day they were used." - At what seemed to be the end of his response, the figure of light released the pendulum from his hand and disappeared in an instant flash.
"Th-thank you…" said Santimar, sighing towards the vastness where he found himself alone again.
Beyond the very gift bestowed, what was said by the illuminated figure also resonated within Santimar graciously. It might not make much sense to another who heard it, but to him, it made all the sense in the world, and perhaps that was why that being of light chose those exact words to respond to the adept. "Word has power… that's it!" thought the adept. "Word is power, so with the right conviction, the power will be great enough! A conviction that only faith could bring!" was what he concluded within himself. He considered, however, that the power he felt now came from the light that had been lent to him, and that his own light would still have to be worked through much faith. After a few moments of epiphany in that lunar vastness, Santimar decided it was time to follow the pendulum back to the garden where the mistress awaited him. The pendulum oscillated delicately from side to side beside him, hovering in the air.
And soon the adept found himself descending back to that reserved piece of untouched paradisiacal world that awaited him below. He did so by simply letting himself float slowly, like one following the flow of a calm river on a solitary barge, for it seemed the pendulum itself could bring him back just by the adept surrendering to the flow. As he descended, Santimar took the opportunity to continue meditating on the recent events, admiring that immensity of stars between the moon and the planet, and how correlated such events were among themselves. One might think that divine providence did not rest when it was committed to those who trusted in it.
That sudden force that Santimar had received was then the result of his own faith that answered the call of that certainly sacred voice he heard speaking to him when he was on the verge of dying in the shadowy plane, ordering him to rise. Stopping to think, the Mage Artisan had never even considered the non-existence of God; he found such an idea as absurd as it was illogical. "Even our own intelligence was definitive and sufficient proof that there was a superior consciousness; denying God would therefore be denying the existence of the very water one drinks," was what the adept thought at that moment.
But Santimar was perplexed for a moment. Wouldn't this secret revealed to him be the principle of the miracle? Hadn't he been instructed to seek the principle of magic? Perhaps the paths of both these principles were similar regarding the alteration of matter, but only one of these principles had an inexhaustible source of feats, and this was that of the miracle. For while magic needed a retribution under the law of equivalence, even in its purest state… the miracle, in turn, was not bound by any rules. Considering that while magic needs at least Mana, which can be understood as spiritual energy, to function, the miracle was sustained by its own infinite potency, which is God acting. Thus, Santimar realized he had received something much greater than what he had gone to seek. A fortunate gift without a doubt.
Santimar was happy then, despite everything, for he felt confident with the blessings he had received. He felt almost invincible, at least that was what he thought he would be when he learned to use that power as he invoked it at the command of his voice in harmony with his spirit.
Thus, that astral journey came to an end, and the adept felt his spirit return to his body completely, in such a way that it did not even seem he had left it, were it not for the fact that he now felt the ambient temperature again, the night breeze, his own saliva—his physical senses had returned. He opened his eyes slowly, looked to the side, and saw the mistress observing him with some expectation.
"And so? Did you manage to attain the principle of magic?" the mistress asked interestedly.
"I believe what was offered to me is something different, mistress, but of unsurpassable value, for it will allow me to access the same principle that moves magic in an incorruptible way, but also more than that… the principle of the miracle was revealed to me… even if I have only achieved mastery over it temporarily," clarified Santimar, letting out everything he had experienced on that blessed moon illuminating the immaculate gazebo where they were.
"The principle of the… miracle?… I had only heard about that from Tir'Zuno himself when I was still a child… inconceivable… I mean… not that this is something bad, on the contrary, it is a great honor, but… being able to manipulate matter without offering anything in return is too much power… Why would this be necessary to defeat Irtimox and his horde?… I need to think a little." The mistress seemed to have lost her footing; it was news that seemed absurdly good, but at the same time it made her think the worst. If this was the providence deemed necessary to offer them, it might mean they would have to deal with the nefarious Kardurok directly… for no exceptional thing offered to us by the divine is done without a crucial reason, and she had no idea how they would defeat such great evil if they were indeed to confront this abysmal entity. According to Tir'Zuno's own description, just its oppressive aura was enough to make nearby beings die from asphyxiation. So even with this absolute gift at the disposal of the righteous, she was not sure of their chances… Santimar might even survive, but what about the rest? If it were indeed the worst-case scenario, would he be capable of saving everyone from a certainly cruel fate?
The mistress entered a fundamental dilemma. It was natural that she also felt blessed by this gift from the heavens, but would they really have to deal with this creature from the depths of the abyss? She then sought to concentrate more on the gift that had been offered to them, and it was good, for that matter, that they were where they were, which helped her in this sense, as the holiness of that place by itself emanated a permanent hope in Zaya-Roi's heart. With that, she managed to conclude that if there were no chance of victory, providence would not even have acted as it did.
"Is everything alright, mistress?" Santimar was not as versed in telepathy as his Mage Mirir-Roi, and his intuition was ambiguous, so he did not really know what the mistress was thinking at that moment. Even with the effect of transparency of emotions that that place conceived, the mistress did not show despair, but she also did not exude any principle of jubilation. However, the adept had understood that the mistress's initial reaction implied that not everything was going as expected.
"I am well, Santimar, better now that I have put my mind in place. And do not misunderstand me; what you brought with you is a great asset, for yourself and for us. But no matter how confident you feel now, I ask that you do not underestimate what we will face, for it will not be a fair fight, and the tricks will be many. Besides… something worse may come to threaten us… something that may cost us everything," she said in a summarized yet threatening manner, for come what may, she wanted to be sure that all those destined to participate in this decisive confrontation, in service of all that was benign, were completely willing, including to sacrifice themselves if necessary.
"Now I understand, mistress… what made you hesitate upon receiving my news. If there are worse evils than the infernals in this impending threat, then I am indeed being a fool, for I am underestimating what is to come." Santimar had not lost his confidence, but he ceased to take the situation for granted and resolved to express his new resolution. "From now on, I will strive to find the necessary seriousness within myself to deal with this challenge."
"I am pleased that you understand the situation, Santimar. Now let's go back; you still have much to do, and we Mages also," she said, already leaving the gazebo, expecting Santimar to follow her.
"Certainly, mistress," said Santimar, appreciating that place one last time. He hoped he could go there again one day, without time to return, when all this was over. He considered within himself that it would be a reward worthy of the victory he aspired to.
The portal was still active, waiting for them at the end of that path of polished stones, which seemed pleasant to walk on even barefoot. Zaya-Roi and Santimar finally crossed back and noticed that Mirir-Roi was already waiting on the other side.
"Where is Vezad Dhir-Roi, illustrious Mirir-Roi?" asked Zaya-Roi with solemn airs, while closing the portal in the center of the room with a subtle movement of her left hand.
"He continued meditating on the balconies above, my dear Zaya-Roi. He said he needed to communicate with the other Mages to get updates on the progress of their assignments," Mirir-Roi explained briefly. Then the Mage turned to gaze at Santimar, trying to discover if something had indeed changed in him, and said, "There is a within you that was not there before. I was right after all; you are no longer the same Santimar as before, but a more enlightened version of yourself."
"Thank you, Mage. Such praise from you is a great honor to me," said the adept, bowing slightly to the Mage with his right hand on his chest.
"I merely described the truth, my dear, and if that description was taken as praise, it is because you were pleased with it, just as I was pleased," the Mage replied smiling. "It is good for you to rest now, especially because it has been a long and… challenging day, to say the least. You may not have noticed, but the sun has already set, so tomorrow we will continue your training. During these seven days, you will use the Tower of Tir'Zuno as your base of operations, and your room here will be that of Tir'Zuno himself, for we believe that the residual energy of the creator of our Order impregnated in his room may help you in some way, particularly during your dreams."
"Well, I must go now. My mystical guard must already be prepared for us to depart for Porto Caridor. Even with the fastest kivalos at our disposal, it will take about five cycles of the violet moon to get there," said Zaya-Roi at the end of what was said by Mirir-Roi. She looked into Santimar's eyes and concluded, "You have proven to be much more than I expected to find in the prophesied Santimar. With your gift on our side, I know we can win. As for the results of our training, I prefer that you yourself say what happened when you find it opportune. So that is it; may Yatar guide our steps, avihém."
"Avihém, mistress," replied Santimar without further additions, for he did not intend to take more of the mistress's time so that she would not be further delayed.
Zaya-Roi finally bid farewell to Santimar and Mirir-Roi in a serene farewell ceremony with a hopeful and determined countenance, and thus descended towards the tower's exit. Mirir-Roi then told Santimar that he would show him Tir'Zuno's room and that they would pass by Vezad Dhir-Roi on the way up.
As they ascended the polished stone steps accompanied by adornments of lapidated precious stones and arcane symbols drawn on their walls, Santimar reflected on the mistress's words. She may not have said everything she thought at the time, but the adept perceived that his blessing could and should mean greater challenges ahead. He just could not yet imagine if that meant there were other dangers beyond Irtimox and his infernals, who were already excessively threatening in themselves. He did not take long to associate the mistress's reaction to the news of his bestowed blessing with the warning from that figure of light who had granted it: "to whom much is offered, much will be demanded." Deep down, he knew there was indeed a palpable connection between these events.
"It seems to me that your little adventure in that hidden paradise was more interesting than I imagined it would be, noble Santimar; that is what your unusual introspection suggests to me," said Mirir-Roi as they climbed another step. "I take the opportunity to clarify that I will not always know what is going on in your mind, or anyone else's, for it is not always my place, if it is not by the will of forces greater than ours."
"Yes, Mage Mirir… and thank you for the clarification of yet another of your abilities. As for my introspection, which is indeed nothing usual, it touches precisely on what you mention when you speak of forces greater than ours, for it seems to me that I have been entrusted by the heavens with a mission greater than I can even fully describe or sense," Santimar replied without fear of expressing himself openly, because he already trusted Mirir-Roi as much as he trusted Vezad Dhir-Roi or even his parents, Lacendir and Noara. He certainly also felt blessed to be able to trust so many.
"I understand, my dear… sometimes Yatar moves our hearts before even informing our brains, so what can we say of His plans for us? But I know one thing regarding this: it is always better than what we ourselves could plan on our own. So, whatever your new purpose may be, it is the best it can be now," Mirir-Roi concluded a few steps from finally reaching the floor of the balconies, where Vezad Dhir-Roi was with his eyes closed, his already extinguished pipe in his hands. But as soon as they stepped onto the floor, he opened his eyes and smiled at the two.
"Ah… good that you are already here. I feel our forces are organizing well for what is to come, and I have just checked how your companions' first day of training went… champion Santimar." The Mage-King seemed even relieved to finally be able to call Santimar that; there was no longer any doubt after all that Vezad had always known the adept was the chosen one. It remained only to know how he had always known. "By the way, would you like to check how Lacendir and Noara were as well? There's no need to accompany in real time, after all."
Santimar, however, did not seem to have noticed how Vezad Dhir-Roi addressed him; perhaps his desire to know how the training of his loved ones was going made him prioritize what he was thinking at that moment, and he wanted to know especially about Noara, whom he already missed.
"Can I really? In that case, such a feat will certainly bring me immense satisfaction, my venerable Mage-King. If you permit me, how does this monitoring work?" No matter how close Santimar was to Vezad, he could not address him without the utmost decorum; for him, there was no other way to speak to the Mage-King, and perhaps that was how it really had to be.
"There is not much mystery, my dear, at least not for us. It is one of the capabilities of our habitual onirin of lunar spark. Come, I will teach you how to do it." The Mage-King then took his onirin from a small leather bag tied to his belt, detailed with suns, moons, and stars, and offered it to Santimar when he was close enough within reach of his arm. Mirir-Roi, in turn, merely observed solemnly what could be considered a small extra lesson the adept received before going to his well-deserved rest.
Santimar then received the onirin in his hands. It was the first time he would handle one of these celebrated artifacts himself. Given what he had been through, it might not seem like much, but he knew how important the meaning of that small ritual was—a sign that his acceptance as an officer of the Order was finally near. The adept seemed animated as he awaited the next instructions to be given by his esteemed Mage-King.
"Excellent, now pay attention to the following chant present in the book of Tir'Zuno." Vezad Dhir-Roi seemed as involved in teaching as the adept was in learning. "While you hold the onirin in the palm of your open hand facing upward, I want you to say, 'On the parallel paths towards the divine straight, transmit in this cup the memory of'… 'who on this day achieved their goal.' In the pause I made at the end of the chant, I want you to say the full name of Noara or Lacendir, depending on whom you wish to observe first. Understood?"
"Understood, I believe I have already memorized it," Santimar replied after repeating the chant in his mind to memorize it.
"Excellent. Once you finish observing one of them, feel free to ponder a bit about what you saw and then proceed to observe the next. You need not hurry; you still have a good time to sleep, and our beautiful world is as protected as it could be," said Vezad Dhir-Roi with a secure tone in his voice, as he had spent the time Santimar was with Zaya-Roi communicating with all the falkins and dalkars of the Order spread throughout the world. The strategies planned for all the most urgent scenarios were already decided, at least those for the short term, considering that no new threatening element would insert itself into this forecast.
That said, Santimar sought to concentrate. The Mage-King's onirin was indeed the authentic onirin of lunar spark, the same one Mirir-Roi used in his lesson and which brought an unprecedented fame to Tabulém throughout the world. Now that the adept had an onirin in his hands, he noticed how light it actually was; perhaps it had the weight of a marble, yet Santimar could have sworn it was soft, if not firm to the touch. He then thought about whom he would observe first; he obviously wanted to know about Noara above all, but decided it would be better to see her last, considering it would be convenient for his sleep to have her so vivid in his memory. So he placed the onirin in the palm of his open hand below his face and recited as instructed.
"On the parallel paths towards the divine straight, transmit in this cup the memory of Lacendir Luqma who on this day achieved his goal."
The onirin shone quickly, released that mist again through its gaps, and began to change size. What was once a small ball soon became a cup in the palm of Santimar's hand, and as soon as it was firm in his hand, it filled with a thick liquid that the adept could not see where it came from in the cup. After a few seconds observing the surface of the liquid in the onirin in this differentiated format, Santimar managed to see an image forming, increasingly clear. It was the point of view of someone who was not him. At this moment, he heard a sound that belonged to what was seen in the cup: it was Lacendir's voice. That point of view was his, and from here on, what Santimar observed is narrated.
Lacendir was saying goodbye to his wife at the door of their house in Tabulém. He caressed her face while smiling at his baby son, who looked at him with innocent curiosity. The newborn was named Eriel, and after a tender interaction, Lacendir commented with emotional airs.
"Our son is a source of wonders to me, but he also causes me despair, seeing him so fragile, especially in light of what I think about what is to come." Lacendir did not want to cause distress in his wife, but at the same time, he sought in her the solution to his own.
"Well you know that our son is stronger than he seems, and so are you, my love. I am sure that if it depends on you, nothing bad will happen to us." That wife, who before was so tearful and worried, now seemed to demonstrate being actually the source of the confidence that Lacendir usually exuded among his peers.
"With a wife like this, who needs Mages to feel capable, right?" said Lacendir already in a more cheerful tone. If he was to say goodbye, let it be with joy, whatever the cost.
"Good luck, my love. I know God will grace you with greater capacities," said his wife Emanayah smiling, giving him a long, sweet, and sincere kiss afterward.
"Stay well in my absence," Lacendir bid farewell one last time and finally headed towards the Temple of the Order in Tabulém.
As he walked, he thought again about how Mage Zagner had been perspicacious in noticing his reflexes. He remembered that of the few times he had gone to combat training, he always tried to lose on purpose or at least cause a tie; he never wanted to make violence a trade, even for the good of the Order. So he wondered when the Mage had noticed. Was it when he sparred against Santimar? It was the only time he had to dodge seriously. Or was it when he simulated pain after taking a direct punch from Bartur himself? Perhaps he had not been convincing enough. Be that as it may, he was where he was, and it was no use turning back, especially considering the circumstances. He would indeed have to take the situation seriously, and perhaps this was indeed his calling.
Then, in the city's main square, the Temple of the Order emerged, right next to the city hall, built in a simpler style, made of white-painted apparent bricks with porous stone pilasters supporting the main entrance arch. It was known as the Communal Hall, considering that even though the city did have an official representative to deal with external matters in principle, internally everything was resolved by popular vote, with representatives from each district taking part in decisions at the city hall.
The Temple of the Order, in turn, was quite detailed, after all, it was the main Temple of the Order of Yatar, and as such received attention from all corners of the world, also receiving various contributions that affected everything from the elaboration of its expansions to the maintenance of all that was necessary for its full functioning. After all, all kingdoms recognized the incalculable value of this Order that proved to be the foundation of peace in various conflicts throughout the history of Ewahara. The Temple was therefore made entirely of noble white polished stone, with golden pillars at all its extremities. At the top of its main gate was the symbol of the Order of Yatar, and upon entering this gate, one could notice a large statue of an incognito ordained, with an onirin in one hand and the Book of Tir'Zuno in the other, in the center of the main hall that received all who went there.
The fundamental role of the Order of Yatar in the predominant religiosity of this world was also conclusive. Many of the ordained in the Order who did not follow the mentioned paths of combatants, researchers, mystical Artisans, strategists, or diplomats ended up following an even more common path within it: that of Preachers of Yatar. They initially used the same Book of Tir'Zuno to speak of God in public spaces or trade routes with greater circulation of people. But over time, the preachers found themselves unable to attend to all the listeners who required greater revelations, so specific cathedrals were built for such purposes. In current times, the Order of Yatar found itself responsible not only for the Academy of Ethimus but also for the Cathedral of Yatar. Due to the great influence of Tir'Zuno himself on this planet, there was not much room for dissent against what was living proof of the true God, so the role of these preachers was more to reawaken the people's memory about the capacities and competencies of each one in their own journey, both physical and spiritual, which brought great harmony and prosperity to much of Ewahara. It was no wonder that such a world found itself the target of shadowy forces that feared the propagation of this model of joint evolution. It is worth mentioning that the gahikas, however, had access to powerful shamanic rituals that they brought with them from their own world, which was only allowed to continue practicing on Ewaharan soil with certain reservations imposed by the Order of Yatar. The most important of these was not to call any entity sensed in the astral plane without having a truly divine purpose for its presence, as is the case with the Holy Spirit itself. Meditative means were offered to discern false light from true light in this regard, which facilitated such an agreement.
Lacendir already found himself entering the main hall of the Temple of Tabulém when he came across Bartur, who was about to begin a journey for which he had been tasked at that very moment. Lacendir could see that the Temple was quite agitated and practically all its members had something to do. He, however, was not surprised by this, for not only were there urgent preparations coming from all segments of the Temple, but all kingdoms also requested assistance from the Order during this ultimate omen. Observing such movement only strengthened Lacendir's own conviction; he did not want to be left behind. He turned to Bartur and greeted him as the latter was leaving the Temple at his own pace.
"Strength in your journey, Bartur. I await your return, 'happy mountain,' and see if you bring me a present!" Lacendir spoke warmly.
"Haha!… certainly… and I will see you soon… strong as you must be… 'evening smile'," retorted Bartur, who no longer seemed to hide that he also knew of Lacendir's strength. After all, his punch during that training session of times past had not been a joke, even without the intention to maim. Perhaps it was even why he had become close to the adept with closed eyes from one moment to the next, confusing even Santimar at the time with his sudden approach at the refectory table.
Bartur then continued at his usual pace towards the temple exit, while Lacendir noticed that Mage Zagner was already waiting for him at the counter of the main hall, a common area where new apprentices were received after their calls, assignments to general ordained, and also petitions from various kingdoms.
"Very well, adept. I see you were not discouraged; a good sign. Come, we have much to train, and time is short." Zagner-Roi was straight to the point.
"If you say so, Mage, just show the way, since you have decided to deposit so much faith in me… it's better that the balance of this account is quite positive; I wouldn't want to cause a loss. I hope you didn't take out a loan…" Lacendir might have had his martial side exposed, but that wasn't going to make him leave his comedic side aside.
The arena of the apt was not open to the less prepared members of the Order, for it was especially made to test the most capable in arcane combat invented by the combat Mages, emphasizing the use of this arena for the official formation tests of the captains of the dalkars and falkins. Therefore, its location within the Order was more reserved. It was not necessarily a secret, but access to its premises was not permitted without proper authorization.
Zagner-Roi motioned for the adept to follow him, so they headed to a staircase in the right corner of the main hall that led to the temple's storerooms. At the back of the storeroom, there was a corridor, and at the end of this corridor, another staircase emerged that reached an open space from where distant river currents could be heard. This space was connected to what seemed to be the entrance of a small cave with several torches at strategic points on its rocky walls. They descended a bit further following this cave and finally came face to face with a huge metal gate painted red with the symbol of the Order in the middle, but with some variables in it that denoted a more bellicose message. It was the entrance gate to the arena of the apt.
Lacendir had never seen the gate with his own eyes; he had only heard about it in his unpretentious conversations with some officers of the Order who stood guard at the Temple of Tabulém. He perceived just by its entrance how serious that territory of the Order was, more serious even than his preference. But the time had come to face this challenge, for as great as his passion for tranquility was, he did not want to end up being a hindrance while everyone else gave their best for the greater good.
"Your determination is valid, but we will see if your tenacity is up to it," Zagner-Roi said suddenly without even looking back. The impression was that the Mage had sensed the aura the adept emanated while mentally preparing for his decisive training that would begin now. "I am sure you already imagine that this training will not be easy; I guarantee it will not be. Treat it as if you were about to face a complete infernal on your own, because that is what I intend to make you feel."
"Is your intention to make me give up, Mage?" Lacendir seemed a bit bothered by the Mage's provocations.
"Are you succeeding?" Zagner-Roi did not care about that.
"…. No, if a mortal risk threatens us… it's better that I learn to accept death." The adept resolved to prove he was up to the task.
"Great, because, ironically, embracing death is the easiest way to avoid it. Now if you'll excuse me…" The Mage liked what he heard and with that went towards the gate. But to open it, he used a method much less predictable in a world where magic was so common. He closed his fist, accumulated strength in a martial position, and with a single thunderous punch accompanied by a sonorous roar, he opened the gates in a matter of seconds. The noise of the impact echoed throughout the cave, making Lacendir feel a tremor within himself.
The adept with closed eyes was open-mouthed for a moment. Those gates were made of some massive metal he was not sure of, but it was clear that they must weigh several tons. What tremendous strength he had just witnessed!
"Do not be so surprised, novice Lacendir, for if everything goes as I have programmed, you will be capable of even greater feats by the end of these seven days," said Zagner-Roi with serene airs; he showed that he did not find it impossible to fulfill such a feat.
"But… how? Look, alright, I know I have more than a few good reflexes, but being capable of that in so little time seems a bit… too absurd." Incredulity spoke louder in Lacendir in the face of such a statement from the warrior Mage.
"It is no use explaining it to you with words; your body will understand better with blood and sweat… let's go in; your training for real begins now." Zagner-Roi did not hide slight signs of excitement on his face; he really liked what he did.
Lacendir, in turn, swallowed dryly. Blood and sweat? Wasn't it supposed to be just sweat? He did not want to think about what awaited him, but it was already inevitable.
"Alright, Mage… I will do my best, or die trying, it seems." The adept focused again; any hesitation would only worsen his situation.
Zagner-Roi smiled.
"It's better that you do," said the satisfied Mage.
The interior of the arena of the apt was somewhat gloomy, with a ring in the center of its spacious area, without any protection at its extremities, and surrounded by an apparently endless pit, with only a small bridge connecting the arena's entrance to the ring. It also had a simple grandstand on the other side of the precipice surrounding the ring. It seemed the Mages liked to witness the tests that happened there, but this time it would be only Lacendir and Mage Zagner.
Zagner-Roi crouched and with a single Herculean leap reached the center of the ring, shaking it upon landing, and signaled to the disciple to come to where he now was. Lacendir, on the other hand, preferred to cross the bridge, which he managed with some difficulty to balance, for it swayed with each step he took. But he could not have done what the Mage did, considering the bridge must have been at least twenty meters long.
Finally, both were in the center of the ring. While Lacendir did not quite know what to do from that moment on, Zagner seemed to use his time to observe the adept slowly, analyzing all his mannerisms as if noting someone's behavior in a notebook. Lacendir began to get a little restless, but at the same time preferred not to say anything; perhaps he was already being tested, he thought.
"Congratulations on your perception, Lacendir, but I was not just testing you. I see you hid your talent so well that you ended up forgetting how vast it was. But tell me, didn't you find it strange the absence of any subsequent bruise when you took Bartur's punch in that training session of yore? Even though you cushioned the impact at the last second." Zagner not only had good reflexes but also a good memory.
"Frankly, Mage, I just thought I had succeeded in absorbing the impact of his attack. Bartur is big, but he's not two… or three… or… well, you get it; I only had to focus on one attack." Lacendir was sincere, even if being irreverent, but he sensed that the Mage had noticed something he did not seem to know.
"From what I see, you do not recognize only your own strength but also that of your friend. Bartur is a rare case among humans of our world; he has no descent from Bhrak, but he was born in a small village near a cave populated by that rocky race. When he was little, Bartur contracted a rare disease that made him quite feverish, and with no one else to turn to, his parents went to a Bhrak healer who was famous for his miraculous potions… well, this healer offered Bartur a potion made with his own blood, which made Bartur a giant, not only in stature but in strength as well. A serious punch from him would be capable of bending those gates I just opened… and I know this because I went through something similar, only it wasn't due to illness; it was part of my own training." Zagner spoke with arms crossed while waiting for Lacendir to process what he had heard. "I take the opportunity to ask, when was the last time you were seriously injured?"
"Huh, being prudent to the point of avoiding major accidents has become a case for alarm? I think I'm a bit outdated." Lacendir ironized, but deep down he also found his total absence of scars strange.
"Enough already, let's do what we came to do. As I said before, you will not be convinced by words." Zagner uncrossed his arms and took off his cloak. Underneath it was a special battle suit, which looked somewhat like those used by the dalkars. He took an attack stance and said, "Get ready, here I come! RAH!"
The disciple barely had time to become aware of the change in the ring's atmosphere. They were about 5 meters apart when they were talking, but suddenly the Mage was in front of him about to throw a very strong punch at his face. Even so, his body seemed to respond on its own and reacted by dodging to the side, managing to do so by a fraction of a second. But the Mage did not stop there and continued his attack, one punch after another, to the point that Lacendir became increasingly disoriented with that barrage of blows. For another fraction of a second, he lost sight of the Mage's right fist, and when he least expected it, it connected with his rib. The impact, as can be imagined, was devastating, launching Lacendir into the air at an impressive speed, hitting the cavernous wall behind the grandstands in the area above them, causing the adept to let out a cry of pain upon impact, finally falling in a corner of the arena's surroundings. The Mage was not joking when he spoke about sweat, blood, and even death. But did he really intend to kill the adept?
Lacendir could not be seen with the naked eye from the Mage's position, but Zagner seemed to know what was happening with the adept after the impact; he even seemed impatient while waiting for a reaction.
"Are you going to say now that my punch only grazed you, Lacendir? How long do you intend to hide there?" Zagner-Roi said in a tone loud enough to be heard throughout the arena space.
After a few seconds of silence, behold, the adept emerged from behind the grandstands, with his hand scratching his ribs, but he walked normally back to the ring.
"I must say it hurt, Mage… you hit me right on target. I guess I can no longer hide that I'm a bit more resistant than most, right? So tell me, since you know so much, how did I become like this?" Lacendir did not even seem like he had just gone flying through the arena.
"I have my suspicions, but I will only be sure during our training. Come on, time to go all out; I will no longer hold back!" Having said that, Mage Zagner changed his fighting stance, took an onirin from his pocket, threw it up, and intoned a short chant from the book of Tir'Zuno.
"Perfect weapon come to me, and may my defense be without end!"
The onirin of lunar spark began its enchanted transfiguration while the Mage began to attack Lacendir again even before the adept returned to the center of the ring. He jumped, punching the ground, which the adept barely dodged, opening a space he judged safe between him and the Mage. The impact of the Mage on the ground raised a cloud of sand, but it did not go unnoticed by Lacendir that the onirin went to meet the Mage within that large accumulation of suspended dust. When the dust finally settled, the adept was impressed once again by what he saw. The Mage was covered in a shining, completely closed armor with a mountain molded on the chest, and with a gigantic sword in his hand.
"Whoa! Wait a minute, Mage… are you going to use a sharp weapon like that against me? Aren't you going a bit too far? I don't think I'm that invulnerable!" Lacendir was clearly nervous about the situation; his confidence in the Mages of the Order was full, but not to that extent.
"Do not worry, Lacendir, I know some useful spells in case I end up severing some limb of yours. Your death would not be useful to us, but discovering the extent of your power would be… and I did not say we would have any breaks!" Zagner flexed the arm holding the sword and in a single impulse released a great horizontal cut in the air.
The cut was so strong that it propagated beyond the reach of the blade Zagner-Roi held, creating a visible cutting line to the most attentive. This line followed at the same speed as the blow delivered by the Mage towards Lacendir, cutting everything in its path.
"Whoa!" Lacendir managed to dodge the cut by what he considered pure luck, but soon after he could see that the Mage was already launching several other consecutive cuts. He then began to run around the ring space around Zagner-Roi, thinking about what to do. Should he flee? He looked at the gate and saw that it had closed.
"You should not have been distracted thinking about fleeing, adept!" Zagner said from above; he was right on top of Lacendir at the end of a jump he made.
Lacendir could not react in time, for he was already busy dodging the propagated cuts, and was quickly knocked down by a kick from the Mage that left him defenseless on the ground. The Mage soon placed the sword at his neck, implying that he was subdued.
"Very well… you have proven to be more apt than I expected, even without training as much as you should have. But now you have lost, and if this were a real fight, you would already be dead. Is this how you intend to defend your family? I know you like to tell jokes, but don't make me laugh." Zagner looked seriously at Lacendir under the tip of his blade; he was still looking for a specific reaction.
"W-what do you expect me to do, Mage? Now that I am here subdued, what would my option be?" Lacendir made no attempt to try to free himself from his lamentable situation.
"I told you I needed to be sure of your… condition. Well, do not be angry with me for this, for it will hurt a good deal, but there is no other way." Zagner-Roi then aimed his blade at Lacendir's shoulder and thrust it in without hesitation.
A cry of pain even louder than the first was expelled by Lacendir, who wanted to writhe in pain but did everything to avoid moving, because it would make the blade go even deeper into his flesh. The adept did not remember such pain, and his body seemed to roar for a solution, since the pain was increasing regardless of him trying to remain immobile, for the Mage himself moved his blade upon perceiving Lacendir's resistance.
"I am sorry, Lacendir, but pain is exactly what you need to feel." Zagner-Roi then continued to twist his blade in the adept's shoulder.
The pain began to become unbearable. Lacendir felt he was gradually losing consciousness, but what was once despair soon began to turn into ire, and something in Lacendir began to change. His eyes became completely white, and his cries of pain began to become cries of fury. Even Lacendir's hair, which was completely dark before, became more reddish, similar to that of Zagner-Roi himself.
Suddenly, in a deeply furious impulse, Lacendir grabbed the Mage's sword with both bare hands and pulled it out of his body in one go with a strength he had never demonstrated in his entire life, kicking the Mage back with the intention of getting out from under him. Zagner was a bit surprised by the explosion of fury from his disciple, but that was precisely what he had been looking for in Lacendir.
"That's it! This fury, it is undeniable. You have the same heritage as I, Lacendir, the Heritage of the Thunder. Right, I think we can stop for a mom…" The Mage was perhaps distracted by his conclusion, but he did not notice that Lacendir was beside himself.
"RAHHR!"
Lacendir landed a punch right in the middle of Mage Zagner's face, who was dragged by the impact for a few meters, but he soon recomposed himself and prepared to receive the next attack from the enraged adept.
"Tsk… I forgot how hard it is to control this fury in the beginning; it's been a few centuries after all. Very well, Lacendir, I know you can hear me, so know that I will tire you out a bit to immobilize you. Until then, we will have a good fight after all, HAH!" Zagner-Roi now seemed definitely enthusiastic; he did not remember the last time he had a good fight, perhaps against Mirir-Roi himself in his test to become a dalkar.
Lacendir might be hearing, but his body did not convey that message. In a fraction of a second, the adept was below Zagner's guard, about to throw another punch, but the Mage managed to block the blow with the broadest part of his sword. They began to duel with blows so fast that Santimar could not even follow them while observing through the chalice. The entire arena seemed to shake whenever their fists met. After a few minutes of this fierce fight, the enraged Lacendir tried to throw a hook at Zagner's blind spot, but the Mage then changed his body's position and pushed Lacendir with his shoulder, who flew far away. But the feral adept took advantage of the speed he was at to crouch vertically on the arena wall and in a new explosion of strength went all out against the Mage, hitting him right in the middle of the chest with a headbutt. Zagner-Roi was as resistant as Lacendir, or even more, but he felt that blow and let out a slight groan of pain. Even so, he managed to resist the impact and held the adept in an arm lock, leaving his sword aside.
"Phew, if it weren't for my armor, I would certainly be out of breath now. But whatever it takes, you will calm down." Zagner was holding firmly while Lacendir tried to break free once more. However, while the Mage held him, he began to intone another chant, one that sounded more like a lullaby.
"Rest now, noble warrior, your fight in this hornet's nest has ceased."
As it seemed, beyond the onirin that turned into a weapon and armor, Zagner also had another onirin, perhaps due to his position as a warrior Mage. But the other onirin began to echo sounds of tinkling bells that in harmony produced a soothing, even soporific sound. The soft music played in repeated beats, with rhythmic tempos.
Lacendir began to calm down, and that fierce look of his disappeared. Zagner even noticed that the wound he had caused in the adept had closed, stanching the blood. He took the opportunity to apply an ointment created by Mila-Roi to the wound area; the ointment made the traces of the cut disappear quickly, leaving only a slight whitish mark where there was once a visible cut. Zagner-Roi decided to release the adept when he felt safe that he was under control.
Lacendir's eyes ceased to be white, and the adept began to squint as if waking from a restless dream. But upon finally remembering all that had happened, he got up from the ground and sat with his hand on his head, then touched his shoulder. He saw the closed wound and still felt the area throbbing, and then turned to the Mage.
"Heritage… of the thunder?" Of all that had happened in that short period of time, the mention of this supposed heritage was what most marked Lacendir's memory. "I… have never heard of that; certainly no one in my family has had this."
"I am not from your family, and I also have this heritage, for although it is called that, it is not something hereditary; therefore, it is not passed through bloodline," said Zagner while helping the adept to his feet.
"Then how did we acquire this… ability?" Lacendir already felt more at ease; it did not even seem like they had fought with everything a few minutes ago.
"Did your parents say what the weather was like on the day you were born?" Zagner-Roi inquired before giving a direct answer.
"I don't remember well, but I believe they mentioned that it was raining heavily, including with lightning and… thunder. But wait, how could that influence my birth?" Lacendir wanted an answer, but he was not going to accept just any.
"As I thought, it was the same when I was born. That is why this ability of ours is called Heritage of the Thunder. It is not common thunder; it is quite rare. After some studies, it was concluded that those who are near its roar are affected at a molecular level, especially those in the growth phase, which would make such an effect even more incredible in a baby. The explanation is that the sound wave caused by this thunder alters the behavior of our bodies in function of our impulses, bringing with it an abnormal strengthening of our physical aptitudes. The thunder in question is generated by a golden lightning bolt, and even its lightning affects those who see it, giving similar capacities to the stellar effect. It is likely that direct contact with the lightning itself is capable of even greater feats, but in all my time alive, I have never seen any report of that occurring."
"Okay, you convinced me. But now what? That frenzied state I found myself in did not give me much confidence that I will help the Order." Lacendir now felt impotent before his own potency.
"Do not fear, Lacendir. I know everything there is to know about the heritage; I guarantee that by tomorrow you will be fully capable of controlling this strength. But now it would be good to rest a bit; after all, our clash was strong, hehe." Zagner-Roi gave a light laugh and undid his armor, which quickly turned back into an onirin.
With that, the vision Santimar had of his friend came to an end, and the liquid that projected Lacendir's point of view in the onirin transformed into a chalice that Santimar held in his hand became cloudy again. He understood that what he had just seen had been everything relevant that happened during Lacendir's training. The adept with golden eyes found himself impressed with the newly discovered prowess of his friend; he would certainly see him with new eyes from now on and could hardly wait to test his own powers against those of his friend.
"Wow, I was unaware of this heritage. With powers like these at our disposal, I find it hard to believe we can lose this war," said Santimar while waiting a bit to see how Noara's training had been.
"I appreciate your confidence, valorous Santimar, but I ask that you do not underestimate our current enemies. The infernals in their complete forms are also capable of the most diverse feats, and Irtimox alone is worth entire armies. It is not for nothing that the first war needed Tir'Zuno himself to achieve a decisive victory, and even then, it was not a permanent victory," said Vezad Dhir-Roi sincerely, to which Mirir-Roi subtly agreed.
"I understand; Zaya-Roi gave me a similar warning. But I take this awakening of Lacendir to ask a question: is it common for those who receive the call of initiation into the Order to have some kind of… 'special condition'?" Santimar could not help but notice a pattern being exposed.
"Yes, Santimar, well observed. In all beings resides the divine spark, but it is in those where this spark demonstrates reacting in one way or another that a differentiated divine potential resides, and it is these people, therefore, that we seek to initiate into the Order," Vez explained succinctly.
"But what about people like Nefuri? And even your father…" Santimar found it opportune to speak of the young adept of feverish appearance. "I do not mean to disparage what was told to me by Mirir regarding this matter earlier today before the meeting, but I still persist in saying that there is something strange in the behavior of both, and I would like to understand what it is about."
"Do not judge precipitously, Santimar; I must even alert you that there is no sanctity in malevolence… Nefuri has his own dilemma with his call, and Gazahk had his own… misfortunes facing a past that it is preferable not to speak about at the moment. But suffice it to know that both are interconnected in their afflictions. I know it seems that we have some internal problem in the Order due to the incident on the Island where the crystal of Azerude is located, and indeed this seems to be the case. But we cannot accuse anyone without first having due certainty, and even then, we should only do so for the greater good; otherwise, we would only bring something worse upon ourselves." Vezad wanted to be clearer on this matter; it was something he felt was necessary.
"It is true, Mage… I am sorry for that. I will try to be more attentive to what touches the hearts of others before condemning what may pulse from them… well, I think it is better to focus on seeing how Noara's training was and then go rest as well," Santimar concluded.
"A good idea, noble adept. We also have to prepare, for we have long days ahead, so it is better that we all remain focused on what we are doing now," added Mirir-Roi, leaning on the balcony parapet.
"Actually, Mirir, perhaps it is better to let Santimar observe Noara alone, don't you think?" Vezad observed Mirir with airs that it would be propitious for more privacy this time. He also implied that Santimar already deserved more trust, after all he had proven until then.
"If you allow it, then yes, I also think it valid. Santimar, take care of this onirin carefully after use. I will show you Tir'Zuno's room where you will stay. Come." Mirir touched Vezad's shoulder, bidding him farewell.
"I know Santimar knows the value of what he has in his hands. I will stay here on the balcony a bit longer, and I will be here tomorrow morning to see your training completed." Vezad Dhir-Roi waved to Mirir and Santimar and soon returned to meditation.
Mirir-Roi and Santimar climbed a few more floors until they reached the top. There, the adept admired what he saw: a simple room, yet full of mysticism in its atmosphere. The wealth there was more invisible, is what he felt. There was a wooden bed that was only large due to Tir'Zuno's own stature; the bedding, in turn, was no longer the same but exuded a comfortable energy. Next to the bed was a small mirror on top of the small bedside table, also made of wood, and a carpet with patterns of sacred geometry adorned the floor of the room, which besides that only had a shelf on the wall opposite the bed, where Tir'Zuno probably kept his books and notes.
"Well then, Santimar, I leave you here in good sheets, literally. So guard yourself well, for tomorrow we will have another long day. May Yatar advise you!" Thus, Mirir bid farewell to the adept and departed towards the stairs leading down.