The following morning came cold. While Selriph could not be sure down here, he swore he could perceive the humidity of an overcast day. The only indicator of the time filtered through from above was fresh daylight, somehow making its way to the subsurface tunnels he found himself in. The dust had settled in the underground passages, with the faint sounds of the Ratway’s morning low.

  He arrived at the threshold of the meeting spot, another chamber different from the one they first entered, through many sets of carved-out tunnels and makeshift doors. The torchlight was already dancing against the wall. The chamber had an angular ceiling above, with the rock displaying lines of uneven carving, casting shadows from the torchlight below.

  In the centre was a low stone table, which looked like it had been cleared for study. The old man–no, Mage–was already there. Hunched over a worn satchel of his own, the content looked heavy, quietly muttering to himself as he sorted through its contents, the sound of paper and leather-bound covers evident.

  Without looking up, Vick spoke. “You’re late.”

  Selriph blinked, startled. “I thought we said morning?”

  “We did,” Vick said dryly, finally lifting his gaze. “But I expected you at first light; we have no time to waste.”

  There was a pause, and then a ghost of a smile crept onto the old man’s lips. “Didn’t sleep much, did you?”

  Selriph replied apathetically, “Yesterday was just a long day for me. But I slept longer than usual. I am rested. That’s what matters, no?”

  “Good,” Vick said, straightening, tapping the stone table with two fingers. “Come. Today, we begin properly.”

  Properly huh? After yesterday, I don’t want to know what that means.

  Vick gestured. “Let’s test those instincts again. Start with a cantrip.”

  Selriph tilted his head. “A what?”

  With a slow, deliberate motion, he reached into the folds of his robe and produced a small, unimpressive pebble. It rested lightly in his palm. It looked completely ordinary, mundane. Seriph considered if it was, perhaps it was something more than that?

  As if responding directly to Selriph’s considerations, Vick answered: “This here is just a rock,” he said, his tone calm, rolling the unremarkable piece of stone in his palm. “Now, I want you to make it float. Sounds simple, doesn’t it? But it’ll test your basic arcane control, your ability to bring magical energy into fruition. It might seem simple after your little demonstration yesterday, but this requires control, a refined touch. A simple test of magical aptitude. ”

  He knelt and placed the stone between them on the cold floor, where it caught the faint glow of the torchlight, its surface dull and grey.

  “Let’s see how sharp those self-taught instincts really are.”

  Selriph arched an eyebrow, a smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. He could sense the challenge that had been laid by the old man, and he couldn’t resist the itch to one-up him.

  “A pebble? Float it?” he scoffed, voice tinged with sarcasm. “If it’s control, I can show you something better.”

  He extended his palm as a warmth flared underneath his skin.. A thin veil of glowing blue manifested in his right hand, light rippling across his fingers. He turned slightly as his gaze landed on a loose chunk of rock nestled in the chamber’s corner just a few paces away. Far larger than the pebble, the size of a food crate that is typical for a market square. With a flick of his wrist, the disk of blue energy manifested below the debris, shimmering as it came into form, broken stone. Selriph turned his palm to face the ceiling and lifted it, the rock leaving the ground in sync with the motion.

  The mass hovered, silent and still, suspended in Selriph’s arcane grip. It was twice the width of Vick’s torso, and just as long.

  Vick froze. His gaze locked onto the hovering chunk of stone, his expression shifting slowly between curiosity, disbelief, and puzzlement. He reached out with his hand as he paced towards the floating debris, his fingertips brushing along its edge. The motion caused the hovering object to waver slightly, the arcane energy below ripping subtly at the motion, before steadying again.

  Silence settled over the room like a thick blanket, the only sounds from the soft hum of mana.

  “That,” Vick murmured as he caught the outstretched hand at the corner of his vision, “that’s a second-tier display at the very least... maybe more. To lift something of that size with such focus… such ease…” He shook his head slowly. “It takes months–nay– years for most apprentices to even attempt that.”

  Selriph tilted his head. “What are these tiers and cantrips you keep talking about? Some kind of ranking system for magic?” arms still outstretched, magic humming from it.

  Vick’s eyes didn’t leave the floating debris. He seemed to be speaking more to the hovering rock than to Selriph. “So you’ve never been taught the arcane framework…” He exhaled slowly, as though recalibrating his expectations that he had built over the years.

  He turned to Selriph, his tone more measured now, softer, though no less serious.

  “Tiers or levels are how we categorise spells. They mark the complexity, the raw energy required, the control needed, and the density of magical energy. Tier Zero spells–cantrips– are the bare basics. Simple magic: conjuring a small flame, mending cloth or wood, creating a small light. Things a child could learn.”

  He paused, watching Selriph carefully.

  “Tier one is where it gets interesting: conjured shields. Minor telekinesis. Basic healing. A plume of flame that could singe your hair, an ice projectile. But this,” he paused and gestured to the floating chunk, “that’s a solid Tier Two– maybe more, depends on what more you could lift beyond that. But you are doing it like it’s putting together pottage.” He looks at Selriph, the boy’s gaze intently on him and not on the rock.

  He studied Selriph for a long moment, eyes narrowing. “You… You’re not just some street urchin fooling around with parlour tricks, are you?” The suspicion in his voice was tempered by something else: wonder mixed with suspicion.

  “Who taught you? Your craft, your control. It’s too refined, too practised. If the Templars did not do it, who guided you?”

  Selriph shrugged, arms folding across his chest as the piece of debris fell to the ground with a thud. The sudden descent of the stone slightly startled the older man.

  “No one… I just … experimented. Ever since I was young, I found magic mesmerising, beautiful and just… fun. One of my favourite things was lifting the weapon crates and food sacks in the storeroom. That’s how I learned to lift objects, anyhow. It was fun… to play around with it.”

  Vick blinked slowly, absorbing the confession. He leaned in, his voice now a low whisper of warning. “Playing around with magic?” He shook his head, a bitter laugh rising in his throat. “Lad, you’ve no idea what you are dealing with. Apprentices don’t lift stones for fun, and the kind of power you showed is not meant to be played with. This is not something to take lightly.”

  Selriph’s jaw clenched. “I don’t take it lightly,” he shot back, eyes flashing. “Why do you think I’m here? Why I left everything behind?! Magic was the only thing that made sense to me, the only thing I could find comfort in. Is it so wrong that I enjoyed it? Even a little?”

  He paused, voice quieter now, more measured. “But you cannot study magic here; That’s why I’m on the run. I want out of this city, this empire. I am done suffocating.”

  Vick turned away, hanging his head and dragging his fingers through his greying hair. “You are not wrong,” he muttered grimly. “The Empire is no friend to mages, not anymore.” His eyes flickered with the briefest hint of recollection before turning back to the boy. “But the world outside these walls and beyond isn’t much kinder; The wilds are savage, and no city in the empire welcomes magic. So tell me, boy. Where do you think you’ll go?”

  Unlawfully taken from Royal Road, this story should be reported if seen on Amazon.

  Selriph’s answer was immediate. “There are rumours of the Mage’s Guild. Somewhere beyond the Empire’s borders. I’ve heard whispers, places beyond the Empire where magic isn’t feared, isn’t controlled, but fostered, a part of everyday life. That’s where I want to be.”

  Vick’s expression darkened at the mention, his gaze flicking to the now inert stone before returning to Selriph. His voice dropped low.

  “The Mage’s Guild… aye, it exists. A haven, some say. A place where talent like yours is valued and nurtured. But it lies beyond the Empire’s reach. The closest from here is the Kingdom of Venthar to the south, but that border is locked down tighter than a dragon’s hoard.”

  Selriph’s breath caught. “But I have to get there somehow. But I need to get past guards, checkpoints. But…” he paused, the admission unable to pass his lips.

  Vick let out a short, grim chuckle. “But you won’t survive a day out of the capital, not when the templars have marked you. Not as you are now.” His gaze still rested on the debris at his side.

  “But maybe… maybe one day you might.” His gaze turned to Selriph again, sharp and unreadable. “That is… if you are a quick study– only one way to find out, eh?”

  Selriph did not need omniscience to know what was coming next; another test was coming. He could see it in the old man’s eyes, a glint of challenge or menace. But unlike the malicious gaze that had bored into him in his memories, this carried an almost welcome hint of friendly amusement.

  Vick’s lips curled into a sly, knowing smile. “Ready yourself, lad.”

  He stood up from the stone stool he had been sitting on and raised his hand. A soft glow began to gather in his palm, subtle at first, but dense with power. Selriph could feel the air around him shifting. The familiar tingle of magic prickled at his skin, but this signature was different. It was not like the pulse of arcane force he had just used himself. This felt… different, steadier.

  The stone beneath Selriph’s feet began to hum with life; A subtle yet sonorous vibration echoed through the chamber floor as the rock below him pulsed with an earthly brown flow. It was arcane; It was elemental, just like…

  “Let’s see how you deal with this,” Vick said, his voice low and testing. “Show me how far your so-called self-taught magic has brought you.”

  With a gesture, three chunks of earth ripped free from the floor, circling Vick in lazy, loose orbits. He flicked his wrist, and the stones spun faster, reflecting the tight precision of an experienced caster.

  Selriph raised an eyebrow. “Please don’t tell me you’re going to fling those at—”

  Vick grinned, his eyes alight with a maroon glow.. “Fling?” he repeated, amused. “Oh, don’t worry, I am not gonna fling them at you. Not yet. If you can deal with this.”

  His splayed fingers sparked with energy as a sudden pulse of magical force burst outward, the force like an invisible hammer.. Selriph staggered back, and beneath him, the ground cracked as a faint wisp of brown energy wafted. The ground erupted as the stones jutted upwards in large, jagged chunks, snarling at his ankles. The stone slowly began to creep up his legs, threatening to imprison his lower body in stone.

  “Resist this,” Vick commanded.

  Selriph’s instincts flared. Driven by pure instinct, he summoned a counter force of arcane energy as he thrusted both of his hands in front of him, palms facing down. Blue energy flared from the core of his body and flowed into his hand, forming a thin veil against the brown energy at his feet. Selriph felt like he was pressing down against a rising wall. He had to focus the energy to break through; he clenched his fist and concentrated on his arcane energy, sending a ripple of blue into the floor.

  The energy rippled through the stone as the magical energy Vick summoned gave under Selriph’s, causing the stone to buckle back down to the floor, allowing him to stagger backwards.

  Vick’s eyebrows lifted, genuine surprise flickering across his weathered face. “You’ve got a knack for this,” he muttered, half in awe, half in disbelief.

  The elder mage lowered his arms. The floating stones dropped with three near-simultaneous heavy clacks, their impact echoing through the chamber. The glow in his eyes faded.

  “Well, I’ll be damned,” he said with a breathless laugh. “Third-level magic, imprecise, but you managed to disrupt my casting. Impressive.”

  He stepped forward, his voice quieter now. “You are something else, being able to feel and manipulate the arcane so freely, even against my casting. You’d make a fine Abjurist.”

  Selriph exhaled, still catching his breath. “Well, since you’ve gone to all the trouble of nearly encasing me on the floor… I assume you might consider teaching me something? Something that does not involve me being your live test subject?”

  Vick’s expression shifted, and he moved in close, his voice hard and edged. “Teach you? Teach you to wield the very powers that will have you end up on a stake?”

  He jabbed a finger toward the floor.

  “You have no idea what happened to mages like us in the Empire. You think this is some game?”

  Selriph once again charged at Vick. He had had enough of the Mage thinking of him as some na?ve, sheltered boy: “This is no game to me. I lost everything, or rather… had nothing to begin with. Day in and day out, the laughs, the abuse. You have no idea what I am running away from.”

  He lifted the hem of his stained tunic.

  Across his torso, pale scars etched a brutal tapestry—long, crooked lines slashed deep into his skin. Some were old and faded; others were raw and red, barely healed. Silent proof of what the Templars had done.

  Vick’s breath caught.

  He stepped back, eyes wide. “I… I had no idea.”

  He reached out with one hand, hesitating inches above the boy’s skin. His fingers trembled slightly, unsure.

  “I knew they were cruel,” he said softly, “but this…”

  Selriph’s gaze met his, raw and unflinching. “This is why I can’t go back. Why I have to learn something? I need more. I need the tools to be able to reach that place where it’s not feared. Where I am not hunted. To belong somewhere.”

  Vick’s hand curled into a fist. He looked away, jaw clenched tight.

  “You said I wouldn’t survive the road to the border,” Selriph continued. “But with your help… maybe I have a chance.”

  For a long moment, silence reigned. Vick’s eyes stayed fixed on some distant, dark corner of the chamber.

  Then slowly he nodded.

  “You’re right,” he said finally, his voice low. “You won’t make it far without help. The road is perilous. The checkpoints are watched. You’ll need more than raw talent; You need to shape that into tools, so you can evade those Templars.”

  He rubbed his chin, muttering to himself. “I suppose I could teach you the basics. Just enough to keep you alive. Get you out of the capital, at least.”

  As hope flickered in Selriph’s eyes, Vick raised a stern finger.

  “But hear me now,” he said sharply. “This isn’t a storybook journey, boy. Every lesson I give you? You will hear it once. A week of this, no more. Just enough to teach you what you need for the road. It is too dangerous for you to stay here any longer, right under their noses. Every spark of magic you conjure could draw their eyes.” He paused. “You are on your own after that.”

  Selriph nodded, the weight of it sinking in. A week to learn as much as he could, to survive and evade the templars outside the city.

  Vick placed a rough hand on his shoulder. “Tomorrow, first light, we meet here. Bring parchment, quill, and ink—anything to scribe. We start with theory; can’t teach you anything if you don’t have a basic framework, but until then, keep your bloody head down.”

  “No more showy displays. Understand?”

  Selriph blinked, puzzled by Vick’s sudden sternness. “Showy?” he echoed, genuinely confused. “What do you mean by that?”

  Did he mean the rock? I am not going to lift a rock that big up there.

  He glanced down at his hands. “I’ve never done anything… dramatic. I’ve been careful. I only ever practised in secret, small things. Nothing larger than a plate. After I scorched a bit of furniture when I was younger...” He trailed off, the memory flickering behind his eyes. “That was the last time I ever let anything get out of hand.”

  He lifted his gaze back to Vick. What he was about to display was fueled by genuine confusion. “Outside of what we did just now, this is the only other thing I’ve ever done.”

  To demonstrate almost unconsciously, he raised both hands.

  In his right palm, a flickering red flame came like a spark of a match.

  On his left, an orb of crackling purple electricity sparkled with a soft fizzing crackle, humming gently in the thick silence of the tunnel.

  They hovered, conjured in each of his hands. Summoned with practice, eased and easily cradled in his fingers, fully belonging there.

  Vick’s eyes widened, jaw agape. This was not the reaction Selriph had expected.

  His breath caught audibly in his throat, eyes wide with a look Selriph couldn’t quite place—part astonishment, part... something else. The old man’s stern expression had dropped away entirely, replaced with a frozen kind of disbelief. His gaze shifted between the fire and the lightning. He blinked once, not twice, but many times as if he expected them to vanish if he so much as blinked.

  “By the gods…” he whispered.

  Selriph tilted his head. “What? These are just cantrips, aren’t they?”

  The flame flickered, the lightning orb buzzed softly–two elemental forces, held effortlessly in his hands, the still air between them.