Revelations

Azriel woke up to a rising sun. Its light travelling through the unshadowed window, the blinders not having been closed the night before. Sighing, he rose from the big bed, draping the thick blanket around his body as a shield from the cold. Touching the stone floor, he hissed at the numbingly chilly feeling creeping up his bare feet. Grabbing a pair of woollen socks laying on top of a pile of neatly folded clothes, placed on a wooden chair at his bedside, he quickly put them on and stood up in the oversized room. 

— This feels like a room for the King, and not a peasant like me, he thought and that righteously: it spanned many meters in width, square in shape and very royal-like. All around the walls ran tall bookshelves, the shelves in turn sagging from the obscene amount of books calling it their home. Bureaus decorated the stone walls, banners depicting a beautiful, fiery dusk covering the parts of the walls above. 

Over the bed hung a grand chandelier, candles lit to brighten up the room during the dark of night. — Whoever thought that was safe should be beheaded, Azriel scoffed in his mind, watching the chandelier sway in an imperceptible wind. 

Taking a hold of the piece of clothing at the top of the pile, Azriel swiftly dressed himself in the white tunic before struggling to get his sock-clad feet through the not so widely sewn black pants. 

As he turned from the chair to grab a coat from the hanger besides the door, a knock resounded through his personal chamber. 

"Coming!" He shouted back, the knocking silencing. Grabbing the knob of the door, he swore at the blistering cold, but persisted enough to pull it open. Right outside, Sod stood in silence, her brown appearance seemingly not having changed from yesterday. 

"Master has inquired about your location. He also requested you join him for breakfast." She said formally, as if the past happening of Azriel's clumsiness hadn't affected their relationship at all. 

"Very well, then." Azriel voiced while motioning for Sod to lead the way and stepping out from under the doorframe, closing the door behind him. 

"Do you not care to wear shoes?" His guide asked, a hint of a laugh accompanying her words. 

"What?" Azriel huffed, looking down at his socks. "I didn't see any shoes... Where there shoes?" 

"There's always shoes!" Sod laughed, a melodic, hearty laugh, the sound striking a string in Azriel's heart. Though going a little red from embarrassment, he soon joined in with the laughing.

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Bustling sound met Azriel's ears as the pair closed in on the doors leading to the grand banquet hall. It was situated in a back-end part of the tower, leading inwards the mountain, which had been excavated for this sole purpose. No windows painted the high walls, though panels could be seen in the roof, so very high up above and painted in many different colours and motives: most of which illustrated battles won and epic actions. 

Ten long tables stood lengthwise, stretching alongside the walls of the chamber. Around them sat a big crowd of humans, and a couple of dwarfs, — elves too, even! Azriel remarked. Plates of food and drinks levitated in the air, guided by globules of light which danced in and out of groups, delivering their payload to the hungry inhabitants. 

"So much people!" Azriel exclaimed as they crossed the doorway, a couple of folks turning heads to catch a quick glimpse of the newcomers. Some laughed at the sight of Azriel's socks only feet, but they soon got reprimanded by other onlookers and as the watchful eyes drifted from Azriel the laughing turned into... fear? 

— What are they fearing? The boy wondered, letting his gaze wander over the crowd before him. He realised, though, that the ones who had laughed at him had swapped their peer to something, or someone, behind him. 

"We're not eating here. It's too noisy," A sharp voice suddenly barked. Turning around, Azriel and Sod faced Turve, who had appeared from a nearby walkway. "Follow me." 

Strolling away, Azriel turned to face the main hall once more, noticing how considerably quieter it had gotten with the showing of Turve. Falling back into place, he couldn't help but wonder — who, exactly, was Turve? And why were they so afraid of him?

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Sitting at a round table, Turve, Sod to his right and Azriel to his left, enjoyed their breakfast in pregnant silence. Having witnessed the fear the inhabitants of the Tower harboured to their master and caretaker, they had a hard time not speculating on the reasons. 

Deciding to do something about it, Turve opened his mouth and said: "If you have anything you'd like to ask, do so now." 

"Obviously... the first thing would be-" Sod began slowly, before Azriel abruptly cut her off: "Why do all Mages talk so formal?" 

"Oh, uhm," Turve said hesitantly, a sprinkle of confusion lacing his wording, "we get taught to speak this way, as we often need to report to higher echelons in our society." 

"Hmm... will I have to speak like that?" 

"Yes, most probably. Now, Sod, what was your question?" Turve turned to his disciple, neglecting Azriel's upcoming hail of asking. 

"Why do they fear you?" Sod said timidly, almost as if she too were afraid of her own master. 

"They fear power and influence, and when combined, they fear those who are superior. They would have the same reaction to that old fart Sanguinus' presence." 

— Not formal all the time, I see. Azriel silently took notes of the older Magi's behaviour. — He seems to have a sore spot when it comes to the Grand Magus, though, worth noting.

Placing his silverware on his plate, Turve rose from the table, adjusting his robe so it spotlessly covered his whole body. "I will take my leave now. Sod, you have been here before, albeit briefly. Show the boy around. I have my own matters to attend to; see you both at dinnertime." 

Watching the back of Turve as he walked away, Azriel and Sod sat in silence, again. Having not finished his food, Azriel soon turned back to the plate and continued to stuff his mouth full of roasted potatoes, stew and vegetables. 

Taking a hold of his cup of coffee, they actually had coffee to Azriel's amazement, he stood up from the table, walked to the door before waiting for Sod to join him. Looking back at the plates on the table, Azriel asked: "Don't we need to clean this?" 

"No, the wisps will take care of that!" Sod said happily, mask still on. How she had managed to eat with it on, nobody but her knew. 

"The what?" Azriel stared at her in evident confusion, as if a question mark could be a person. 

"You know those blobs of levitating energy you saw in the grand hall?" Azriel nodded, a light of remembering in his eyes, "those are wisps, they are unique to this land and tower and nobody really knows why they've subordinated themselves to us humans." 

As they spoke about the wisps, three of them appeared from thin air at the doorstep of the secluded room, their stoic and silent presence signalling "move out of the way". Swiftly doing as the energetical beings seemed to express, the two humans blocking their path stepped aside, watching curiously as the three bobbled their way into the room and swept up the dirty dishes. 

"I wish we had one of those at home..." Azriel exclaimed in awe, memories of harrowing mountains of dishes needing to be cleaned and what could always be called a bombing of dirty things on their table back home surfacing involuntarily. 

Giggling at Azriel gaping about those simple, lifeless beings, Sod soon recalled the task handed to her by her master and she quickly grabbed the boy's free hand to begin walking. Being dragged along, Azriel stumbled across the stoned floor, still having his eyes locked at the bobbing spheres of energy. 

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Setting over the dense canopies of the forest surrounding the Tower, the sun slowly ducked under, a fire red, but golden and radiant dusk colouring Gods canopy. Watching the beautiful screenplay, Azriel sat in one of the wall's embrasures, letting his legs dangle freely over the edge. During the whole forenoon, Sod had guided him around the Tower, amazed by the intense passion he held for architecture. She had told stories her master had passed down, stories about war and bloodshed that had his blood curdling in disgust. — Did he also have to commit such graveness once he became a Magi? He wondered. 

Even if he had to, Azriel brimmed with eagerness to be tested, to see what elements deemed him a worthy successor. But before that, he was in much need of knowledge, which Sod had proved herself to be hoarding. The boy had bombarded the girl with questions ranging from lifestyle of the Magi to spellcasting and wizardry and then lovelife, to which Sod had refused to answer. 

When noon arrived, the sun beaming from above, Sod had joined him for a quick lunch, he himself wiping several plates of meat clean, but then proceeding to leave the boy be with the excuse of studying. After that, Azriel had roamed the Tower for hours. At one point, he had stopped to talk to the stable boys who turned out to be in his age. Some of them had already been tested and deemed unworthy, whilst others approached the age of trials rapidly. Changing pleasantries and joining them for a couple rounds of Magiball, a sport in which the goal was to kick a magic-induced ball into the opponents goal using any means possible, Azriel left them when a rather large cavalcade rode through the open gates, the stable boys rushing to assist the newcomers.

He had then stumbled across a ladder leading to the walkway of the wall, which he had followed to the place he now sat upon, watching the sun creep down under the line of emerald green canopies. The revelations caused by Sod was hard to digest, though the calming scenery assisted a bunch. Apparently, the Magi lived in a one on one relationship with their mentor. Somehow, there existed so many intermediate Magis and above that they could afford them do this. 

The duos paired up according to elements, where the more experienced held full responsibility for the newbies education. Speaking of which, The Order of Witchcraft and Wizardry had disclosed that all education were to be done practically with the duos of teacher-student travelling the lands of the humans, assisting when needed and so on. 

Grand Magus' and higher Magis were exempted from the teaching rule, as they often upheld important parts of society, like Grand Magus Sanguinus of the Tower of Sundown. Furthermore, a Grand Magus was akin to a King from the time before the War of Gods and the dawn of the magic age, so that a Grand Magus was excused from taking in a disciple wasn't questionable. 

When Azriel asked about spellcasting, Sod had had trouble answering, since as she first said, it was a matter directly correlated to the teacher in question and this because the art of spellcasting was highly individual. And when it boiled down to Azriel's shameless question about lovelife, Sod had only responded with silence, to which Azriel had laughed a lot. 

"So it's here you are!" Sod's bright voice woke Azriel from his slumber, causing him to almost tip over the edge, having been leaning forwards. 

"How did you even find me?" He asked in return, confused since he thought that an embrasure on the wall would be the last place anyone looked, which it also came to be, but literally. 

 "You could be seen from some of the upper floors," Sod answered, standing to the side of Azriel, leaning on the thick, black stone. "Master has requested your presence at dinner, he intends to tell you something," she continued, beckoning with one hand for Azriel to stand up. 

Doing as willed, the boy rose to his feet, wiping his bum from any notorious pieces of stone stuck there. Seeing Sod walk off, he followed, quickening his pace until he catched up besides her. 

"Do you know what he wants to say?"

"I think it got something to do with your trials, I would presume we're going tomorrow." 

Hearing Sod's response, the eagerness in Azriel's body threatened to spill over, his steps lightening as they walked, almost bouncing. He was going to become a Magi! Hopefully...