Chapter 7: Answers and Journey Home
As she watched the rising sun in her office the next morning, Priscilla organized her mind and pondered what to ask the still asleep Maros dirtying her chair.
'I'll have to get someone to clean that...' She swiveled her chair back around to look at him.
He was positively dirty. His boots had left a trail along the once-pristine hardwood floor. His pant legs caked in dirt as though he were collecting all he could on his way over from Heriin. There was even a stray rock in his beard.
'Or I could get him to clean it himself. He is a water mage isn't he?' She tried to recall. He had gone to the shady oaf's dreary school instead of her glorious academy, so she hadn't paid him much attention until now.
If it weren't for the current situation, she likely never would have. From the perspective of an accomplished High Mage — or even an above average Mage — Maros was nothing to write home about.
He was nearly 40 and was nowhere near becoming a High Mage. This wouldn't be so bad if he had chosen a different, more difficult path, but he didn't. He had chosen water.
'Such a waste.' She remembered when her brother used to brag to her about a young prodigy he had hooked into his — far inferior — academy.
She would've loved to see his face when Maros ascended to a Mage and chose water of all things. The only limit was one's imagination and he had chosen one of the most basic elements.
Don't get her wrong. She knew very well how powerful the basic elements could be in the hands of someone capable. But Maros hadn't done anything that could be even remotely construed as impressive since his little stint in Ilythen.
Too scared to bring danger to his wife. Too scared to make enemies.
Maros was saved from her internal scorn as he slowly roused himself from the land of dreams.
"It's about time. You've been staining my chair for the past 14 hours. I expect it to be clean by the time you leave, by the way. The floor too." She turned her eyes from his waking form to the mud on her floor.
He opened his mouth to speak, but Priscilla cut him off.
"The boy is fine. His soul will take time to heal, but he'll make a full recovery. Don't ask how long that will take. I haven't the slightest idea." She really didn't.
She was no expert on souls. Maros knew this before he brought the boy. If it wasn't an emergency, she was certain he would have gone elsewhere with the matter.
"I understand. Thank you, Headmistress Priscilla, truly." He bowed his head in thanks. "And you don't have to worry, I'll clean this up on my way out." Maros gestured to his mess, not wishing to ruin his relationship with a High Mage over something so small.
With a nod Priscilla got to the point. "Now, about those questions you were going to answer for me." She waited for a nod before continuing the subject.
"First, is he really your kid?" She had thought-
"Yes, we adopted him last year." That made more sense.
"I see. How did he have a crystalized Conduit?" Priscilla leaned in as she asked. This was one of the questions she most wanted answered.
Maros hesitated in his answer. That only intrigued her more.
"As far as I know, he was born with it." She leaned back in her chair, deep in thought at the revelation. It was one thing to suspect, and another for her suspicions to be confirmed.
"How rare." Maros grew tense in the following silence as Priscilla pondered.
Just when he was going to break the silence, Priscilla did it first. She was experienced in leading a conversation. "How did it shatter?"
A funny look crossed Maros' face as he nervously groomed his hand through his beard, a rock falling to the floor as he did so. Priscilla's face twitched as she watched it.
"I don't actually know."
A silence descended on the room as the words settled in her ears. How could he not know? It wasn't as if shattering your own Conduit was an every-day event. Something would have to go very wrong for you to do it by accident.
"He didn't have access to any risky or experimental techniques?" She asked for confirmation. She believed she already knew the answer form Maros' previous answer.
"No. There are a few like that in the library, but he doesn't have a key." He didn't bother specifying that his son couldn't have broken in. Priscilla was smarter than that.
Priscilla simply nodded in return. Sinking deeper into thought. She simply couldn't imagine how the boy's Conduit had shattered. She had analyzed the boy's strange Mage Heart to no great effect.
All she could find at the moment was that it was still undergoing a change and that it attracted much more ambient mana to itself than what could be considered normal for a newly-formed Mage Heart. Magnitudes more.
'Interesting.' A new variant of a Mage Heart wouldn't be particularly useful to a High Mage, but it still interested her greatly.
"What's the boy's name?" She decided to give it a shot. There was no reason not to try to attract a potentially interesting apprentice to her academy.
"Aryn. He's one." Maros saw no reason to keep mum.
"Well when he decides to go to an academy, tell him he can attend Dawnthread for free should he be willing to share how he formed the weird Mage Heart and how his Conduit shattered." Tuition at Dawnthread wasn't terribly expensive. But if the boy could get in free simply by sharing the details of his mistakes. Why wouldn't he?
"I'll be sure to tell him." Maros felt a bit awkward at the turn in the direction of the conversation, but he remained courteous nonetheless.
"That'll be all for my questions. You may leave. Don't forget about the dirt though."
"Of course, Headmistress." Maros picked up his no longer shivering son and made his way out of the room as a thin film of water made its way across all the surfaces he had dirtied. Much to the satisfaction of Priscilla. Who approvingly nodded her head at his back.
***
Maros POV
It took him an hour to find a merchant that would be departing to Heriin from Dawn-Ilyn. And only a moment to have said merchant agree to take him and his son along. Five gold was hardly a fortune for him, so they would both be happy with the arrangement.
By the end of the day, they would be back home. Maros was happy about that. But he dreaded explaining to Emilia that he had no idea when his son would wake. He expected anything but warm understanding and a pat on the back.
"You look miserable." An adventurer hired to protect the goods walked alongside the carriage at a brisque pace.
"Thank you, you truly have a way with words." Maros found the bluntness of the man a refreshing distraction from the inevitable conversation with his wife.
The adventurer smirked. "That I do. Name's Mark."
Mark was a tall dark-skinned man standing at a rather impressive 6 foot 7 inches (201cm) tall, clad in basic tanned leather armor. On his back was a well-crafted longbow, and at his hip a quiver of four-fletched arrows along with a short-sword.
His hair was black and braided to fall at his back. Doubtless to keep it from obstructing his vision. At a first impression, Maros took him to be an experienced adventurer.
"I'm Maros. How does the adventurer life treat you?" He tried to keep the conversation going, it was a pleasant distraction.
"Well enough. Iron rank jobs pay enough to get by... Aren't too dangerous most times either." Maros kept his surprise from showing on his face. He could tell Mark wasn't a Mage.
"Are you a Warrior?" He asked, already knowing the answer.
"No, an Aspirant. Haven't found the right prey to be a Warrior unfortunately. Or maybe fortunately." Or maybe Maros didn't know the answer.
Mark had winked as he said the latter part of his sentence. He clearly wasn't entirely confident in earning the rank of Warrior. Something Maros could understand.
While Mages following the two most common mana manipulation methods could be easily ranked, a Warrior's rank depended on the most powerful being one has killed in combat.
This meant that an Aspirant trying to earn the title of a Warrior could get unlucky and run into a being that would be classified on the higher end of the rank, making their chances of survival lower than an Apprentice Mage seeking to become a Mage.
For example, an Aspirant could wander across a bandit that happened to also be a Mage on the precipice of ascending to a High Mage. They would be screwed.
"You must have completed a ton of jobs to get to Iron rank without being a Warrior. Are you from around here?"
"Nearly 130 successful missions. And no, I'm from Merris. I came over to Gleryl for the northern forests. Once I can call myself a Warrior, I'll hitch a ride up." Mark looked to Aryn, still unconscious in the carriage behind Maros.
"That your kid? He alright?" This was most likely what Mark had approached Maros for in the first place. Merely starting with small-talk to ease into the potentially sensitive matter.
*Sigh*
"Yes, he's stable now. But we don't know when he'll wake up. I have no idea what I'm going to tell my wife when we get back home." Maros looked back at Aryn.
"Oh boy, the wife doesn't know yet? Good luck mate. At least he's alright, what's his name?" Mark didn't want to touch that with a ten foot pole. He went immediately back to small-talk.
"Aryn, after my Grandfather." Maros got the message and didn't try to suck the poor adventurer into his private affairs.
"Aryn, huh? Not a bad name I suppose."
The conversation helped to take his mind off the stress. Unfortunately, they soon reached Heriin and Maros wouldn't delay the inevitable needlessly.
"Goodbye Mark. Be careful up north. There are a few monsters up there." Maros said a quick goodbye and left the merchant's carriage for home.
As he approached the door to the manor with Aryn in his arms, Maros spotted a path of red droplets leading up to the door, where the doorknob was painted a similar color.
He said a silent prayer for the unfortunate beast and/or bandits that had been unfortunate enough to have crossed his wife's path, wiped off the doorknob with the bottom of his already dirty shirt, and entered.
***
After almost an hour of explaining the situation to his less-than-pleased wife and getting her side of things, Maros sent a letter to the Apothecary in Heriin to whip something up to keep his son hydrated and provide him with sufficient nutrition in his coma.
As he owned the business, this was a simple task. What was a less simple task, was trying to piece together how his son's Conduit had suddenly shattered.
No matter how he spun it in his mind, it should've been impossible. There were few known ways for an Apprentice Mage to damage their own Conduit and his son had access to none of them.
He would have to ask him when he woke up. Until then, he would need to two things.
First, he sent a letter to a High Mage specializing in the soul. He didn't have much hope that they would reply, but he wanted to try anyway. They may be able to give him and Emilia a better idea of when Aryn would wake up.
Second, he sent one to his Grandfather. He had made it clear that if Maros named his son after him, he wanted to be involved in his great-grandson's life. He would want to be informed of the current situation.
This letter, he didn't send in the normal mail. His grandfather was in Merris, so it would take far too long for him to receive it as it would need to cross the ocean.
Instead, he opened the window to his office and sent a pulse of mana into the air. Shortly after, a raven swooped down and landed on the windowsill.
"Here you go Amon, take this to gramps." The raven let out a caw, snatched the letter in its little black beak, and took off.
This was not an ordinary raven. It was a familiar that his grandfather had gifted him when he was accepted into Moonshard Academy. Familiars were extremely rare due to the knowledge on how to create them being obscure and religiously guarded. So Maros cherished Amon dearly.
He even had his own little bird mansion in the courtyard, despite not exactly classifying as a physical being.
*Sigh* 'I shouldn't have left him alone with those books.' Maros hadn't thought his son would disregard his order not to practice anything until he started teaching him.
He had been so blinded by Aryn's apparent genius that he disregarded the possibility of him making such a big mistake. He wouldn't let himself make that mistake twice.
'It seems I should be more hands-on.' Maros decided, before starting on his way to the master bedroom where his wife already lay asleep. The sun had long gone down, the trip home taking the whole day and explaining the situation to his wife biting a chunk of the night away.
As Maros lay down to sleep, he planned the future of himself and those he loved before sleep claimed him. It had been a very long day.