Chapter 484: Storm Magic

 

  …Vulture Woods… 3 days before the new moon… 3 days before the siege of Hollow Shade…

 

  The dark hours of the night slowly passed as Stryg sat neck-high in the stream. The cold water flowed past him, the noise rushing through his ears. After a while, all the noise fell away and Stryg was lost within the flow of his own mana. He didn’t know how much time passed when he finally managed to isolate a thin thread of blue mana within his body.

  Stryg opened his eyes and grinned triumphantly, “I did it!”

  Lunae smiled, pleased, “Well done. Now, for the second step.” She stood up from the stone she had been sitting on and waded into the water. The current seemed to move around her small form instead of pushing it. She slipped through the water with ease and made her way behind Stryg.

  He glanced up at her expectantly.

  Lunae sat down behind him, the water rising right below her neck. Her long white hair floated up and around them, like a crescent moon. “A common misconception of storm magic is that the caster must always be in control of their emotions. It isn’t true. Once you’ve learned how to cast storm magic, you’ve learned how to control its current, you will be able to cast storm spells even under duress.”

  “That explains a lot actually,” Stryg muttered. He had wondered how Nora had learned storm magic after everything she had gone through. He had always simply assumed she was a blue mage prodigy, which he guessed, she was, but it seemed to be more than that.

  “It’s the ‘learning part’ of storm magic that is tricky. Don’t get me wrong, you can still lose control of your storm magic if your focus isn’t iron. But that is why we’re here. To forge your focus and will.”

  “How do I do that?”

  “You mustn't let yourself falter because of your emotions.”

  “I’m not sure I can do that?” he admitted with a whisper.

  “No one begins being certain. It is something you learn with time. When casting storm spells you must remember, no matter what, to hold fast to your convictions. A weak will can prove fatal to any mage, especially a storm caster.”

  “Now I’m really not sure I can do this,” he chuckled playfully, though there was a trace of worry in his voice.

  “It takes a lot of willpower and concentration to cast storm spells, but unlike yourself, I believe in you, Stryg. It’s time you do the same.” 

  He nodded. “Okay… Okay,” he nodded, this time more confidently. He raised his hands out of the water and paused, “Um, in case this doesn’t go well, shouldn’t you be outside of the water? So you don’t get electrocuted with me?”

  “Quite the opposite.” She placed her hand on his back, between his shoulder blades. “I’m here, so you don’t get electrocuted. Relax, Stryg. It’s alright to make mistakes. You will make them, trust me. And at the end of this, you will come out that much stronger for it.”

  Stryg took a deep breath and nodded. Closing his eyes, he tried recalling the first and only storm spell his Blue magic teacher had ever taught. It was a simple electric current that ran through the hand and could potentially stun one’s target on contact. Of course, without proper control, the caster would stun themselves. Which did happen. Multiple times. Until Ismene declared him unfit for storm magic entirely.

  Not the point. Focus… focus… focus… he repeated to himself.

  He called forth the strand of Blue mana he had managed to isolate and began coaxing it into a thread, the beginnings of a spell. He imagined the spell’s design and willed it into existence. The Blue thread flickered within his hand and a small electric current sparked to life. His forearm immediately began to spasm like so many times before. Stryg flinched instinctively, expecting the pain to run up his arm, but the pain never came.

  He turned his head and saw Lunae staring back at him with a calm smile. “It was a good first try. Again.”

  Stryg nodded hesitantly and started from the beginning. He called forth another strand of Blue, careful to isolate it from the other chromatic colors, and began to form it into a thread.

  As the hours passed by, Stryg’s patience and willpower began to dwindle. He had managed to form the correct spell form without a single mistake and yet, he couldn’t get the electric current under control. Lunae didn’t say much, she watched and waited patiently.

  Finally, his frustration got the best of him and he yelled, “Gods dammit!” He stiffened, “Uh. I mean, n-no dammit?”

  Lunae cracked a small grin. “Stryg, take a deep breath. You’re letting your anger get the better of you. Emotions are poison in storm spell training.”

  “I know,” he admitted.

  “Everything is okay.”

  Stryg blinked. “What?”

  “Everything is okay. I told you, your failure to conjure a proper current is okay. No one here is judging you. This session does not determine your worth, not a single iota.”

  “Y-Yeah, I know,” he mumbled in a tight voice.

  “Do you? Few people have said that to you before. Even now you still struggle to believe you are worthy.”

  “I thought you said you couldn’t read minds? Am I that transparent?” he chuckled self-deprecatingly. 

  “...You grew up failing expectations so often that you began to believe you were unworthy to stand by your peers. And when your magic revealed itself people began to throw you on a pedestal, they said you were above your peers. But deep down you feel like it's all a lie, that you’re deceiving them all.”

  “I guess I am transparent,” he mumbled.

  “No, you’re just fallible, like everyone else. Simply because you fail doesn’t mean any of those small-minded people were right about you. It’s not about being above or below others. You are you, Stryg, mistakes, triumphs, and all. People love you for who you are. It’s time you do the same.”

  “The same…?” Stryg stared at his hand and slowly channeled Blue. A small current sparked into existence and jumped between his fingers in a steady flow. His eyes widened in excitement, “I did it!” He turned and jumped to his feet, water splashing all around him. “I did it!”

  His laughter was infectious and Lunae soon joined him. He threw his arms up triumphantly and let himself fall back into the water. His heavy limbs crashed into the stream and he sank like a stone. Channeling a bit of Blue, he willed the stream to push him to the surface. He spat out a bit of water and laughed.

  “You did well, little one,” Lunae noted with a smile.

  “Thanks,” he said sincerely.

  “This is a good time to take a break,” she glanced at the rising sun. “Get some rest. We’ll continue later.”

  “Wow… I can’t believe we’ve been here all night.” He waded his way out of the stream. He picked up his dry clothes from the shore and looked back, “Are you coming?”

  Lunae closed her eyes and let the warmth of the sun kiss her silver skin. “I think I’ll stay here for a bit. Go on without me.”

  “Okay. I’ll be going then. …Thank you, for everything, Mother Moon,” he bowed and left quietly.

 

~~~

 

  Stryg stared at his hand as he snuck back into camp. Lunae’s words still echoed in his mind. The little voice that whispered in his mind about how he wasn’t enough was still there, but it was easier to ignore.

  People love you for who you are. It’s time you do the same. He repeated her words in his mind once more.

  He curled his hand into a fist. The spell hadn’t been much, a simple thing, but he had done it, after a hundred mistakes, he had done it, and for today, for the first time, it felt like it was enough.

  Stryg smiled to himself and headed towards his tent when he caught a whiff of a meat stew in the air. Pulling his cowl more tightly over his head, he made his way towards the smell. He passed by a few goblins on his way, he kept his head down and said nothing. The goblins walked by with barely a glance. Stryg was suddenly grateful he had opted to bring an ordinary cloak instead of Blossom with him, the flower cloak brought too much attention.

  Despite the early hour, the cooks were hard at work; chopping vegetables, skinning fresh meat, and stirring large iron pots over several fires. A few hunters, with their bows strapped on their backs, were already in line. Stryg got behind them and kept his head down. When his turn came, he walked up and held out his hand expectantly.

  The cook grabbed her ladle and poured a full serving into a wooden bowl, but just as she was about to hand it to Stryg she stopped and frowned. “Oi, what are you doing here? Hunters and warriors have priority for meals. Go to the back and wait for them to finish first.”

  “Ah…” It had slipped Stryg’s mind. “Right… I’ll, uh, yeah…”

  He supposed he’d go hungry. It was fine. He’d have someone fetch him a meal later, probably after a long nap. 

  As Stryg lowered his hand to leave the cook caught sight of his blue fingers. Her face scrunched up in confusion. She looked up at him and tried to peer through the hood of his cloak. Stryg looked away and pulled his cowl closer.

  The cook’s eyes flickered between his hand and his hidden visage. Her yellow eyes widened in understanding. “Ah-Ahem. Sorry, Chos—, I mean, um.” She cleared her throat. “Just a moment.” She grabbed her ladle and poured him an extra helping of stew, then with a small bow of her head, she very carefully handed him the bowl.

  “Thanks,” he said awkwardly and grabbed the bowl.

  “You’re very welcome! I mean, not a problem, fellow Sylvan. We all must do our part for the good of our people.” She winked overtly then turned to the next hunter in waiting.

  Not waiting to see if others noticed the strange interaction, Stryg grabbed his bowl and hurried off. He soon noticed he had forgotten to grab a spoon, but he didn’t mind and opted to sip the stew as if it were a drink.

  As he walked he noticed two of his honor guards slowly coming up on his flanks. Neither of them said anything and they opted to keep a bit of distance. Enough to not draw suspicion, but close enough to intervene if something happened.

  Stryg was grateful for their discretion, no doubt a product of their Captain Elayne’s diligence to her duties.

  He had almost finished the stew by the time his tent came into sight. It was an overtly large scarlet tent, made of some silky yet tough fabric from the days of Lunis. Stryg preferred something smaller, but the Warrior Elect had insisted. It was tradition, or so Lykos had said. Stryg honestly had no idea.

  “Stryg,” a familiar voice called out coldly.

  He stopped mid-stride and slowly looked up. Tauri stood there with her arms crossed and a slight scowl on her red cheeks.

  He swallowed the last of the soup in his mouth, “...Yes?”

  “Are you done hiding from your responsibilities?”

  “...Yes?”

  “Good. We need to talk.” She threw the tent flaps open and marched inside.

  He sighed. “...Yes.”