“Again.”

Gorren’s cold, measured voice echoed unnaturally into the chamber. The air was charged with energy, sending a fuzzy feeling along the nape of his neck that he just relished. Tongues of ghostly flames danced across the complex lines of the gliph covering the bare floor. Gorren’s heart danced with them, drinking from their primal rythm.

Still, the old man kept his composure, attention fixed on the other occupant of the room.

Timothy was bare-chested and bare-feeted like him, wearing only a pair of worn trouser. Eyes squeezed shut, he stood into a tense stance, with his knees slightly flexed and arms outstretched in front of him. Sweat covered him from head to toes, pasting lanky hair to his forehead.

Gorren critically eyed his trembling posture, seeking for imperfections. His gaze briefly lingered over the ugly blot smudging the boy’s neck, probably the mark left by some sickness, before he nodded.

“Seek for the Mana, apprentice.” He ordered, closing his eyes. To his mind’s eye, Timothy appeared as a flickering light superimposed to the raging flames of the Mana surging in the room. He lacked the same power, but held something that the raging Mana didn’t: a will, conscious thought, reason. “Expand yourself. Touch it. Breathe it.”

He saw his apprentice obey, the flickering light expanding slow tendrils of conciousness to probe the world around it. The Mana reacted in earnest, welcoming the boy like a long-lost friend.

Gorren grumbled his approvation. He could feel devotion spread from the boy in waves, like ringings of a church bell.

He had showed him various forma mentis one could use to ease comunion with the Mana, from the vicious, angry power-grabbing of the Darkflame Adepts to the gentle submission of the Sisters of Light, from the balance-seeking meditation of the Turindan Monks to the frenzied dances of the Azuri Shamans. He had only avoided questionale methods like the drug-trances of the Alekmani Magi and the downright stupid, like the rotten bones crunching of the Dirt Prophets of Enterra. None but one had proved suitable to his apprentice: the devoted praying of the Priests of Hekara.

Timothy closed to the Mana like a pilgrim seeking for a blessing. He was humble, grateful, welcoming, respectful. Gorren appreciated the boy’s attitude, magic deserved it, but he would have preferred for him to be more forceful. What was all that groveling?

“Good. Now on the inside. Call upon the depths of your soul.” He commanded. Usually the opposite was done, first reaching the inner reserves and then the outer, but his flooding the room with his own Mana had greatly facilitated the latter. His apprentice would benefit from the scaling difficulty, and the practice would help him when he wasn’t there to help him gather the outer Mana.

Timothy calmly obeyed, projecting his will and devotion inside of himself. Gorren could almost imagine what the boy saw. A dark tunnel, maybe, with a gentle light shining at its end, waiting for him to devotedly pray for assistance that would be given with joy.

Ugh. “Connect to it now.”

With a trembling in the air, the circuit was complete. The flickering flame of Timothy stood straighter, taller, burning more fiercely, like a steady wind was feeding it.

Gorren had to hand it to the boy: he was almost decent when it came to perception and connection. Still, the first was something that any mage could do on an instinctual level, and the second needed just a bit of training. The tricky part started just after it.

“Focus now. Call it to you. Channel it.”

Proper channelling set a true mage aside from a crook. To manage it correctly, there was need for focus, skill, well-honed instinct and real study.

“Say the words. Begin.”

To Gorren’s satisfaction, the boy didn’t waste time by asking questions or hesitating. Instead, he began intoning the formula he had been taught.

“Oh gentle fire, hear my plea.” He murmured. His words seemed to hang into the air for a moment longer than normal before dissipating, the Mana echoing them like a chorus of shadowy sprites. “A spark to light my way. A ember, so that no shadow hinder my steps.”

As he spoke, slowly, articulating every word with the utmost care, Gorren observed intently. Charged with the Mana he was connected to, the tiny flame of Timothy danced with tongues of golden light. The boy’s focus, his devotion, and the words of the incantation were the heart of the flames. His feelings, the images he conjured and the meanings of the words appeared as strings of golden light, moving from the flame to weave together into a star of spiritual power that sparkled and burned with the name of Fire, showing its essence better than any word or painting ever could.

Gorren allowed himself a moment to take relish from the gentle light, to bathe in the awe. No matter how many times, how many centuries, it was just like the first time he had ever cast a spell. He simply couldn’t ever get enough of it.

Still, he kept watching as the small star grew, the boy steadily feeding it with Mana and meaning and focus. It bloomed and matured at the same time, blossoming into a lotus of meaning given form, and then…

“Now! Cast it!”

“In the palm of my hand!” Timothy shouted. “Fire!”

The star exploded into a brilliant flash. The Mana flared and turned into flame. Fire danced, filling the room.

And then everything ended.

Gorren left his hands fall, taking a breath. The room felt cold now, the warm embrace of the active Mana gone. Glancing, he saw his apprentice stare wide-eyed at the small golden flame hovering an inch above his open palm.

“Decent enough.” He conceded.

Timothy watched him, then the flame, then him and then the flame again, before he broke out in a massive grin.

Gorren huffed, rolling his eyes. “You have a minute.”

After his stupid apprentice had done howling like a werewolf to the moon, he had him sit across him at the center of the room. Timothy still held the flame aloft, looking barely able to stop gawking at the stupid thing for more than a second, but he supposed he had to concede him the satisfaction.

“You’ve casted your first successfull spell.” He began, and frowned when the boy nodded enthusiastically. That was but the first step, of millions. What had he to be so damned happy?

“Remember this experience, because if the details will change, the main procedure will always remain the same.” He admonished, before holding up a bony finger. “Perception.” He lifted another finger. “Connection.” He raised a third. “Channelling.” He completed with a forth. “Casting. These are the four main steps of spellcasting and no matter the spell, they will always remain, is that clear?”

The boy nodded, still that stupid grin on his stupid face. Gorren made a point of ignoring it.

“Mages without particular talents, and that’s the majority of the bucketheads, see the Mana like a neutral force, a big something waiting for them to dump their hands into.” Timothy cringed a little at the comparison, but he ignored that too. “That’s because they lack any particular inclination. Otherwise, there are those that see the Mana in a particular form, and the face of that form shows what their talent generally tends to.” He aimed a finger at him, almost accusingly. “You saw it as a light, haven’t you? As a great holy sun staring down on you, isn’t?”

Timothy, a little shaken out of his enthusiasm by his master’s brusque speech, nodded quickly.

“Thought so.” Gorren remarked smugly. “This is called having a Disposition. It can get tricky to understand what a mage is actually disposed toward, but in your case i think that it’s pretty self-explanatory. You have a propensity for Light Magic.”

The boy flinched back, eyes widening. His gaze strayed at the flame he held.

“Light…” He murmured.

Gorren watched him intently, waiting for him to start listening once again. When he was sure he had his attention back, he continued.

“Light Magic is good for Healing, Blessing, Defending and even Attacking if you put your mind into it. And obviously, to make light, but that you got it already, haven’t you.” He cracked a smirk. “Now, a mage with a Disposition will find himself dragged towards it. When a Light Mage will think about magic, he will think about light. When he will try to cast a spell, he will think about light. Hell, he will even dream about light. That Disposition will make him much stronger when it comes to Light Magic, but at the same time it will restrict his options. Its difficult to try and make shadow when all you can think is light, right?” He shook his head at the hint of alarm in Timothy’s eyes. “Don’t you worry. There is enough into Light Magic to have you busy for ten lives, if you have the mind for it. Now, where was i? Ah, right. The Disposition will restrict you, but in exchange will make you stronger. Light will be your ally, always. The same isn’t for a not-disposed Mage. He won’t be able to reach your ability with Light with the same ease, but he will be able to master more easily other branches, if he tries.”

Timothy hazarded a question. “And… and if i don’t want to do Light Magic?”

Gorren grunted, peeved at the interruption. Youngsters, always thinking about what they can’t do. Never looking at what they can.

“I’ll get to that.” He grunted. Timothy gathered his knees at his chest, nodding while making sure as not to burn himself. He had already heard that lesson, but the master seemed very keen on repeating it. “So, you feel the Light. What do you do? You go towards it, of course. You pray to it, don’t you?” He asked, without really expecting an answer, continuing without waiting for one. “To your praying, the Light react and you connect with it. You let it embrace you. And that are two steps done.” He clenched a fist. “Then you ask and pray and focus on what you’re praying. You focus on what you want from the Light. You asked for a candle, and so you focused on the image of a candle. You thought of the small, flickering flame, of the shadows dancing at its tune, of the scent of melted wax, of the taper being slowly consumed. In theory, a mage can do magic by having only that, but that’s advanced stuff and it doesn‘t concern you. You instead have used a formula. There was meaning in that formula, the words put together just to evoke the meaning of one, single thing: Fire! It was simple, yes, but your spell also was simple, and so, together, your focus, the meaning you managed to summon and the meaning of the formula, add the Mana and…!” He clapped his hands together. “A spell is done! Casting? That is just letting go of something already formed and matured, a tree shaking off the apples. Of course, that doesn’t mean that is less worth. Incompetents would tell you that the Channelling is the only important part, but that’s ridicolous. All four are just as equally important.”

“Your personal disposition and method of channelling will also influence what type of magic you come out succesful with. I felt your devotion as you channelled. No, don’t be embarassed, each mage follow his own approach. In fact, you follow one that has a great deal of following. Anyway, that kind of thinking will help you a lot when it comes to healing and blessing, but about attacking, eh, i am thinking less so. Except if someone makes you really really angry, i guess. Then you could convert that respect of yours into rightful anger or something…” He trailed off into mumbling, stopping when he noticed Timothy’s quizzical expression. “Ye, let’s skip that part for now.” He grumbled.

He crossed his arms, watching him critically. “To come to your question, yes, one can escape from the boundaries set by a Disposition. In theory, nothing stops you from summoning Darkness and using it to do Necromancy. Problem is, how are you gonna pull out darkness from the sun?”

Timothy, that had shuddered at hearing him talk of Necromancy, frowned, concentration dawning on his features.

“A problem, yes? Again, you can, but it will require you going against your disposition and, finally, against yourself. That devotion of yours? I reckon that to make darkness out of your sun, you should twist it into selfishness, using it for yourself without a shred of gratitude while being full aware of what you’re doing.” A look of horror appeared on Timothy’s face, his face draining of color. “Yeah, you understand. That kid of twisting. But that’s talking about the exact opposite. Other elements would come easier to you, but the point doesn’t change. You would be straying away from what you’re good at. Where other mages would just open a bottle by uncorking it, you would have to smash the neck each time, and each time take the shards.” He shook his head fiercely. “Ack, why did i think it was a good idea to try and explain it? You have to experience it! Experience it!”

He stood silent for a moment, staring sullenly into nothing while mulling over his mistake.

“Anyway, last thing.” He said suddenly. Timothy hadn’t ever stopped watching him. “Disposition or not, the way you summon it will make it appear differently. If you imagine Water and chant about water, you’ll get water. If you think about Wind and sing something about the breeze, you’ll get that type of element. Still, it won’t be the same. All mages, even those without disposition, have an element they strongly propend for. Water, Earth, that kind of stuff. For one it will be very easy to summon a pebble, for another it will be impossible. It’s like trying to pick up a craft, there are people that are good just at one, people good for many and people that are good for nothing. In your case, you already know what you’re very good at, is that all clear?”

Timothy shakily nodded, not looking very sure at all.

Gorren snorted. “I am talking only in very general terms, mind you. The way one can summon elements, the forma mentis you can take while doing it, the chants or whatever, the type of spells, there are enough tricks and baubles to keep you up at night for the next thousand years.” He paused, staring at him in a way that made him shiver a little. “But we’ll get you there.”

“It’s… complicated.” Timothy murmured, half because he wanted to break the sudden tension.

“Ah! Of course!” Gorren laughed. “And that is why it’s the greatest endeavour we humans we can ever delve in! Study well, my apprentice, and maybe you will become a great magician. Not as great as me, but great enough.”

“Well, i hope. I mean, as a teacher you aren’t really that great, master.” Timothy had just finished to add the title that his brain caught up with his mouth.

Too late.

Gorren threw him an incendiary gaze, leaving him reeling for an excuse and frantically wondering why he was still alive. The old man held him like that for a heart-wrenching moment, then jumped at his feet, startling him, and stormed out of the room like an angry bear.

Timothy didn’t see him for a week.