Arwen sat in the Hall of the First Sun, glass ceiling showing the night sky, thin gold filigree forming a sun pattern, shining with a warm glow illuminating the hall fashioned with obsidian pillars. In the center stood a raised platform, made of polished white stone, holding a throne carved out of gnarled tree. It smelled of power and things revered by men.
Ares stood nervously beneath the raised platform, looking up at Arwen. Reality weighed on him in a color he wasn't familiar with. He looked around, trying to pry answers from the air, form glittering sun in engraved in the glass sky, from the silence between them.
"Killing you would be much easier," Arwen spoke; his voice filled the room. He meant it—like you don't think twice before killing an ant; you just do. Cruel, yes, but that doesn't mean there isn't power over it.Something within him wrestled—honor, duty, or something darker he didn't want to admit.
"It wouldn't be that difficult, justified even…" He sighed. "But my nephew is equally at fault. I barged into your home. A man is supposed to protect it." He still remembered the room, that beast within and shiny blur that caused all this. He slammed his hand on the wooden throne.
"You stupid bastard, what were you thinking? Psychosis." Ares tightened his knuckles; his hands reached for the solace he'd grown accustomed to, but the wrench wasn't there. It was weird that when his life hung in the balance he grabbed for something he'd wanted to abandon.
"Rector had already commanded me to take you in as an apprentice," Arwen spat the words like venom. "It ought to buy you some protection." He knew it would also paint a target on the boy's back.
He noticed resignation on the underhanded bastard's face, and a solemn spark that hid beneath the surface.
"People believe you hold power that rivals the First Sun and such a power is held by a student. This has never happened in a thousand years…"
Everything turned to lull as Ares heard a thousand years. "Did I really just hear a thousand years? Fuck!" He stared at the man with renewed attention.
"As much as I would like to set the matter straight, it is improper to bully a child… infant. Even infants would be better than you. But as propriety suggests, it was my family that put you in this position, and thus it is on my shoulders—"
Ares was getting tired of the droning. He didn't give a damn about propriety or responsibility. Something was afoot. Why did he care so much about propriety? In the mechanic shop he had learned one lesson: people rarely do things out of charity. That held true no matter the circumstances.
"Speak up!" Arwen commanded. He already expected a question.
"As much as I appreciate you taking me as your apprentice… I just don't understand—why do this for someone like me?" Ares kept his voice steady, the way you do when you want to be taken seriously.
"'What do I get out of it?'" Arwen played with the words as if he'd heard the greatest joke. His fingers danced as a weave of gravitational chains appeared around the boy.
"What!" Ares slammed to the ground, his knees smashing on the carved stone. He grimaced in pain. "What the hell—" He was cut off as Arwen adjusted the weight of the chains. His face kissed the floor, crushed under his own weight. He couldn't even raise his eyes to look at his assailant.
"You don't get to talk," Arwen said coldly, loosening the gravity just enough for Ares to breathe. "You must be cursing me right now. Believe me, I don't want to hurt you, believe me I have ways that will make your skin crawl. This is nothing but a child's play. This is a basic spell of binding. The first spell our children learn when they start to learn magic." Arwen stood from his chair and leisurely walked down the stairs to the flattened Ares.
"What? What is going on?" Ares struggled and barely managed to raise his head. "Stop it! Stop it!" he begged as the weight blurred his vision. It felt like he would be split in two.
"You can't even withstand this for two seconds," Arwen said with a hint of pity, undoing the spell. He sat down, face-to-face with Ares. "Tell me, child, what can you do for me?"
Ares looked up, numb from the experience; his hands trembled with fear, and for the first time he had nothing to say. His mind shut down.
"My enemies will be after you," Arwen said, pulling Ares to his feet. "They will want to know how you brought me to my knees. What do you think they will do to you to get those answers? They won't kill you, forget that. You're far too enticing for that. But what about your family? The little girl you were holding that night—"
There it was, the same beast rose in Ares's eyes as that night. Arwen's blood boiled at the memory.
"I will rip anyone who dares to come after my angel. I will—" Ares raged, breath heavy with emotion.
"You will do nothing, boy!" Arwen roared. "You will be able to do nothing. Get this through your head. My nephew can kill you a hundred times over in the most cruel ways, and you will not be able to do anything." Silence fell between them, the kind that makes you understand the weight of reality. For the first time Arwen really saw the boy before him, barely standing, facing overwhelming odds. Necessary, he told himself.
"There must be something I can do?" Ares begged, feeling wronged. He hadn't done anything to deserve this. Why is this happening to me? He remembered the weight that had almost crushed him. He looked up, searching for anything to grab onto.
"Unfortunately, no." Arwen's words fell like a hammer, shattering the hope pieced together through sheer will. "You are too old. In ancient times there might have been a chance, but modern magic has strict conditions. Our bodies need to be modified so we can handle and hold mana, and that can only be done in adolescence. You are too late. It would be nothing but poison for you."
"But… but what about the old magic, I can learn that" Ares mumbled.
"Yes, you could learn the old magic, but it is too limited, too slow," Arwen answered, guilty to be the herald of bad news. "They are no match for each other, kid…" He waved his hand; a new weave formed and cut a square slab from the floor below. He leaned down to pick it up and handed it to Ares. "Hold this?"
Ares looked suspiciously at the cut-out square but complied.
"I will demonstrate a simple gravitational chain on this stone… Don't worry; it will not be that strong. I will adjust it."
Ares nodded in determination and held the stone with both hands.
"First I will do this with modern magic…" In a blink, a weave flashed in his hand and the weight of the rock increased significantly; it slipped from Ares's grip and crashed onto the floor. "I believe I said hold it tightly. Pick it up again."
Ares grumbled but complied, he picked it up again, struggling, he had a nagging feeling that the stone was getting lighter by the second and eventually it returned to its original weight. "So it's not permanent."
"Now I will do the same spell using old magic," Arwen said, concentrating on the air around the stone. His eyes dilated and something in them moved. Light itself seemed to disappear in Arwen's eyes. Almost a second passed before the weight increased again, but this time there was no flare, no shining lights. If not for the darkness in Arwen's eyes, Ares would have thought the stone was simply that heavy—he could even argue it was heavier than with modern magic.
"It is heavier, and I don't feel it getting weakening. It is holding," Ares asked as he slowly placed the stone back on the floor.
"Yes. It should be. Old magic is powerful, hidden, but slow," Arwen explained with patience. "I can do about a hundred spells with modern magic in the same time it takes to complete one spell using the old magic. But modern magic while being fast has a half-life." He gave a faint, depreciating smile. "You, more than anyone, should know how important timing is in a battle between mages."
"Why is this?" Ares asked, feeling a little better. He tried to pick up the stone and felt it was still heavy. He grunted, struggling to find purchase on the slab. It was difficult to lift from the ground.
"Although modern magic is instantaneous, it is unnatural, so spells lose their efficiency over time. The world doesn't allow these spells to exist. Old magic, being slow, is permanent as it comes from the world itself. I would have to undo the weave to return it to normal otherwise the spell will hold for eternity. Old magic has its place in artifacts, healing, and runic work. In combat it is a relic."
"It's better than nothing," Ares said, a small hope returning.
"Yes, it is better than nothing," Arwen reluctantly agreed. "If you want to study it. I will respect your wishes and do my best to protect you, but I won't always be there. Having my name attached to you will get you privileges and envy. They always come hand in hand. Don't expect me to step in. It will be your problem to handle." He sighed, then added, "If you tell anyone that you have beaten me, I will end you myself."
Ares didn't know what to make of this old man, but he knew one thing: the day he opened his mouth, his crown jewels would peace out to the next world.
"Very well." Arwen wove a spell. "Come here." eyes distant.
Ares looked at him quizzically then a woman appeared right next to him. "What the hell?" Why do people keep appearing out of thin air? She was a young woman with raven-black hair, white robes.
"Greetings, my lord," the woman bowed to Arwen.
"Emma, I have taken this child as my apprentice. Make sure to enroll him for the upcoming semester," Arwen said matter-of-factly. "He is particularly interested in old magic. Teach him everything he needs to know."
Emma nodded briefly, casting a glance at the young man next to her. "Master has an apprentice?"
"Don't bother him with modern magic; I will teach him personally," Arwen commanded. "You can go now."
Master Arwen would personally teach this young man. She lost her composure for a moment as she regarded him. "As you command." She vanished.
Ares looked dumbly at Arwen. "What should I do?"
"Argh." Arwen waved his hand, and Ares disappeared.
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Arwen dropped back into chair, his expression unreadable. "It was necessary" he sighed.