As the months went by since his visit at the Storm mansion, Alan felt a quiet loneliness settle in him. Catherine had entered the mage academy, there wasn’t really any doubt that she’d pass the aptitude test and be accepted. Alan had eventually gotten a letter from Marissa, explaining the reason behind her sudden disappearance, and her regret for not being able to keep in touch going forward because of the strict training regime she had to follow.

Alan had visited the shelter Marissa had said they stayed at, but not been allowed in. He’d left a letter to Marissa in return, explaining how Catherine had reacted, and asking her to make sure she had time to herself now and then, and to look after her own mental health. He had also asked about the living conditions, if she had found any new friends there, and how she was doing in general.

When a month had passed without any word back from Marissa, Alan started suspecting that his letters had never made it to her. He left a few more, now and then, but never received any answers. It only served to darken his already considerably worsening mood.

With neither of his two friends showing up at school anymore, and lectures going increasingly deep into noble intrigue, social norms, and history of Royal Houses, Alan soon decided to quit school altogether.

His parents protested loudly, stating that he needed the knowledge to successfully lead his own family through the dangerous and treacherous circles of high society, but Alan refuted by stating that he had much more useful things to do with his time, like increasing his magical practice, and working in the smithy. The demand for arms and armour had only increased with time, so there was plenty to do there. In the end, Alan made his own choice, and his parents did not find it in them to stop him by force, so he got his wish.

Alan had guessed correctly that the scroll he had been given from the Storm Residence was an introduction to lightning magic, and it generally outlined what not to do when practicing lightning magic. Alan realised this would be of tremendous worth to anyone interesting in practicing lightning magic and lacking knowledge of the dangers of electricity, but to him, it really didn’t say much he didn’t already know.

It warned about the dangers of using the magic internally, especially around the heart and other organs. It outlined a few simple exercises, one very similar to his own static discharge method, which he had discovered on his own. It said nothing about working with metals, though, which Alan found he enjoyed somewhat, taking satisfaction in knowing something the legacies apparently did not contain. It also tried to explain the nature of lightning, though in an intentionally vague way, Alan guessed. It was mostly based on direct observations of lightning magic, instead of thought patterns required to create it, which made sense. Sadly, the descriptions were mostly confusing and sometimes completely wrong, though correcting them would be of little value in most cases. Like the description that lightning was inherently an instant transfer of energy from one point to another, a bridge of energy between two points in space that existed for a short time period, and didn’t really have a start or an end.

Alan found the descriptions and conclusion fascinating, even if he believed them to be factually wrong or misleading, and had read through the script several times. He had tried the few training methods described as well, but found his own methods superior. He mostly contributed that to the fact that this was meant as an early stage introduction, and therefore didn’t fit his progress.

Having quit school, Alan had started working full time at the smithy. This meant he had to get to know the day time apprentices of Brandon Almer. Brandon had made the worst social introduction Alan thought possible, stating that Alan was already a mage in training, which was incorrect, and that it made him a good step above the others on the social ladder so they had better watch their behaviour around him.

It had taken a good month for Alan to reduce the resulting enmity from the introduction among his young colleagues, but he had managed to create acceptable working relationships in the end.

It helped that he treated all of them as if they knew more about smithing than him, which was even true for one of the more enthusiastic and experienced apprentices, and often worked with them on their private projects, which Brandon encouraged them to do as small breaks from the normal work, in order to work on their creativity.

There was a stark difference between having a decent working relationship and actual friendship though, and Alan often felt alone and isolated, with no one treating him as an equal.

On the bright side, Alan’s magical practice was progressing nicely. Even Aquillus had stated that his unusual practice regime in the forge seemed to do him good, as both his focus and endurance had seen major improvements over the months.

They still met once a week, but Aquillus was tempted to stop their training entirely, as he felt there was little to gain from continuing with the current practices anymore, and that he had better uses for his time.

Alan countered by asking for more complex methods of practicing, like creating the iconic fireballs, and similar traditional mage spells, but Aquillus quickly put a stop to those ideas.

“We can’t work on such spells until you are officially enrolled in the mage academy, I’m afraid. They are considered military secrets, even if they are part of house legacies, and anyone caught with knowledge of this not affiliated with the mage academy is considered a rogue mage, and are to be apprehended or killed at all cost. I’m sure you can imagine why.”

Aquillus was not willing to discuss the issue any further than that, and thus they ended their weekly meetings. Alan was still highly encouraged to continue training on his own, and they decided to meet up once a month for simple guidance and progress reports.

Alan had also kept up his training with his prototype railgun, and had even made it his own project at work to improve upon the design. He had made smoother and longer tracks for the projectiles, and made smaller projectiles with slightly larger surface contact area. Additionally, he had fiddled with temperature while reforging the ballista heads to improve the electrical conductivity of the projectiles, though the difference was barely noticeable.

The result was still impressive, as his projectiles were now down to about 50 grams, and could actually survive more current than the heavier ones. Combined with his own weight increase as a result of growing and hard physical labour, he could now control recoil much better and expend much more energy with each shot. This quickly led to another issue, which he could do very little about; the supersonic boom.

As his projectiles had become smaller, and he had increased current significantly, his projectiles were now easily propelled to speeds much higher than the speed of sound. Therefore, his secret evening practices weren’t all that covert anymore, at least if he wanted to shoot at full power.

He decided to solve that by practicing in the backyard of the smithy, with Brandon’s permission, as the booms would just be interpreted as general noise from smithing, or so he hoped. It did involve displaying a rather scary and dangerous weapon to the blacksmith, and often several apprentices who took time out of their evenings to watch, but that was a trade off Alan was willing to make. He was careful to extract promises of secrecy from everyone present at his practices, so the end result was mostly an increased amount of respect from anyone watching, with some subdued reactions of fear whenever he would fire at full power.

The other side effect of the open invitation practices, so to speak, was that Alan was quickly up on the noble pedestal, with the apprentices now viewing him with awe and respect, and in some few cases poorly hidden fear. It made working with them more difficult, but Alan found there wasn’t all that much he could do about it, and mostly managed to put it out of his mind.

Oh, and his salary had increased again, which was nice.

Alan’s birthday in the spring came and went, and with it, he had now entered the dreaded teenage years. His voice started to deepen, and he started really filling out his clothes, though these were the only positives about it. Alan believed most people would like to avoid experiencing puberty twice, if nothing else because it wreaked havoc with their feelings and understanding of the people around them.

Alan was the most affected by his errant feelings, tugging him in all directions at once. It significantly worsened his mood, made him jumpy and generally less sociable than normal, even with his relatively low normal.

He could feel lonely in one moment, then annoyed that someone had talked to him in the next. His problems often appeared larger than they really were, and his patience when practicing magic was at an all time low.

Alan even caught himself eyeing women in the streets on several occasions, and even though he desperately tried to keep his eyes to himself.

It felt like a war was being fought inside him. On one side, his rational old mind clung to the realities it knew of, on the other, his teenage body wanted to follow its natural instincts. It didn’t feel like his mind was winning.

About a year after the King had left on his diplomatic mission, Alan was again invited to the Storm residence, to a formal dinner. His first instinct was to put on his finest clothes and hope that he’d meet Catherine again, to make a good impression, an instinct he quickly squashed. He left his house with a moderately appropriate set of red and black clothes, which would fit better to a merchant’s son than a noble, much to his mother’s chagrin.

“Ah, young Master Moltus, I see you’ve grown since your last visit. Do come in.” Heath was neutral in his expression and polite as always, greeting Alan at the entrance of the mansion.

“Hello, Heath, good to see you again.” Alan replied while entering.

The butler led him to the same stately dinner room in which Alan had met with Archmage Storm on his first visit. As they entered, Alan quickly found Catherine sitting in one of the seats, wearing what looked like tight fitting black leggings and top, looking more like she was prepared for close quarters fighting classes than a dinner party. Alan’s temper soured when he took himself appreciating how Catherine had started filling out in all the right places, and quickly lowered his eyes and moved to the closest chair.

“I remember asking you to wear a formal dress, appropriate for the occasion, My Lady.” the Head Butler of the Storm residence uttered, a very small hint of annoyance tinging his voice.

“And I remember who in this house is the senior family member, butler.” Catherine retorted acidly.

“Manner’s matter in high society, My Lady, whether you wish them to or not. This sarcasm you’ve picked up lately does not become you.” Heath stated calmly, seemingly not letting himself be affected by Catherine’s behaviour.

“Very well, I’m sorry about my earlier outbreak. Please bring us the food now.” Catherine said, not at all sounding sorry.

“Good to see you too,” Alan said, not bothering to hide his smile from their aggressive exchange.

“Good evening, Alan,” Catherine answered neutrally.

“Soo..” Alan began, “what’s the occasion for this dinner then? I didn’t really get much from the invitation.”

“We’ve gotten word from my father, and he found it prudent to inform you as well.”

“Sure you didn’t just miss me terribly?” Alan asked, teasingly.

“While I admit that my social interactions have been… lacking, lately, I’m afraid I am much too busy with my ongoing projects at the academy for social visits.” Catherine stated, not biting.

“So you're not actively pushing away anyone trying to get to know you?” Alan pushed.

“I’m not- Where is this analysis of my behaviour coming from? It’s inappropriate to make such accusations against a Lady, especially during a formal dinner.” Catherine countered.

“Ah, but I assumed this was anything but formal, going by your idea to show up in comfortable working clothes, indicating this to be an evening between two intimately familiar friends.” Alan smiled deviously.

“You’re sadly overestimating your station, and our relationship as a whole. You are, at best, a minion, admittedly of some usefulness in the right situation, but still far from a position of questioning me. The informality of my apparel is at my complete discretion, and not something to be questioned by minions.” Catherine stated, obviously taking pleasure in the verbial bout.

“Very well, mistress, this minion will cease it’s baseless accusations, and await further instructions.” Alan concluded, relaxing in his chair.

“Good. With that out of the way, let’s discuss the content of the letter.” Catherine said, her previous signs of a smile fading as she took out a letter from a pocket. “My father has sent word that the diplomatic negotiations have reached a stalemate, which is worrying. Moreover, he fears that if they leave without an agreement, a war will be inevitable. The Syrodin Empire apparently claims that several of the villages close to our common border have a majority of people of Syrodine descent, and that these villages should therefore be part of the Syrodin Empire. Coincidentally, the mentioned villages are all situated on large deposits of minerals, and have mining activity and ore export as their main source of income.” Catherine lifted her eyebrows at the last statement, then continued.

“Furthermore, the Syrodin Empire expects a signed agreement from our King, guaranteeing that our kingdom will not intervene in the ongoing conflict between the Empire and its neighbouring states. They justify the conflicts as having been pursued by their enemies through kidnapping and enslavement of their people, various occasions of theft and brigandry close to the borders, murder of Syrodine citizens in the aforementioned states, and several attempts at espionage in the highest level of government.”

Catherine paused, seemingly to gauge Alan’s reaction.

“The demands seem excessive.” Alan said, after some thought. “It seems unlikely that they expect our King to agree.”

“That’s my thoughts as well,” Catherine agreed, giving Alan an approving nod, before getting back to the letter.

“My father goes on a bit about the political situation in the Syrodin Empire, which helps explain where this is all coming from, most likely. The old emperor died, and his son is young, and eager to prove his strength. Surrounded by military commanders that have methodically removed the civilian advisers over several years, the young emperor is now strongly influenced by an elitist military faction which advocates conquest as the best route to a lasting legend and legacy.” Catherine took a heavy pause, adjusting her posture. Alan again had to stop himself from eyeing her curves, but if she noticed, she didn’t show.

“This political analysis is mostly conjecture from my father, though, so we should treat it as uncertain information at best.” Catherine informed Alan.

“This all seems like highly sensitive information,” Alan stated, slightly uncomfortable about being given the information so freely. “Why are you getting all this, and why are you sharing it with me?”

Catherine studied him for a while, seemingly considering her response.

“We, of the Storm Family, believe that wherever you go, people will act like people are wont to do, whether it be kings or beggars. History has taught us as much, time and time again. Now, my father actually believed you, when you spun a tale of another life in another world. He sees in you a potential ally of immense worth, and wants to test you, I think.” Catherine stated neutrally, before narrowing her expression. “I am not sure I agree with him, but have relented and accepted his view for the time being.”

“So, here we come to the great question of the evening: How should the Kingdom of Alamar handle the Syrodin Empire and its demands?” Catherine asked, expectantly.

“Does my answer in any way affect what the King will actually do?” Alan had to make sure.

“None whatsoever. We like to stay in the information loop, but even my father has very limited influence on the King, and would be hard pressed to expend it here, let alone on your say so.”

“Good to know.” Alan said, then paused for a while to think about his answer. “What’s the military strength of our kingdom compared to the Empire?”

“About equal, but the estimates are somewhat old and out of date, I believe. We might be falling slightly behind, due to our current peace-loving king.”

“You say that like it’s a bad trait…” Alan sighed. “I think we should gather allies, inform them of the threat from the Empire, and refuse all demands. We should also, if possible intervene in the wars between the Empire and its neighbouring states, in an attempt to free them from the conquest.” Alan finally said, though he was reluctant.

“What makes you say that?”

“It’s based on the prelude to the war I told you about a while ago. One of the countries generally blamed for starting it, went about their international politics in much the same way the Syrodin Empire is now. Demanding lands from neighbouring countries, based on reasons of uniting people, securing borders, and such. They were accommodated for a while, in the hopes that their demands would end, within reason, even though many saw through their demands and the agenda behind. In the end, they outright lied and fabricated evidence of misdeeds from another country, to justify an invasion, and that was the last straw for the counterparts, and World War II broke out officially shortly after.”

“Hmm… an interesting analysis.” Catherine said, noncommittally. “I happen to agree, mostly, though I’m not sure about the intervening part.” She paused in thought for a short while, until Heath suddenly opened the doors and announced that dinner would be served.

The topic was soon left behind in favor of consuming the immaculate meal prepared for them, and Alan could not remember the last time anything had tasted so good.

The following talk was a lot lighter, affected by the good mood brought on from eating the amazingly good food, or so Alan contributed it anyways. Catherine complained about the quality of the teaching at the academy, Alan complained about how utterly boring school had become, and informed Catherine that he’d ended up quitting school in favor of working as a blacksmith, which she for some inexplicable reason found endlessly amusing.

When the evening was beginning to turn to night, Alan thanked both Catherine and Heath properly for the food and the company, and made his way to the main entrance of the mansion, and Catherine surprised him by coming with him, blaming it on her honor demanding that she escort him through the maze of corridors. Alan tactfully decided not to comment that her honor had never made any such demands on previous occasions, sensing an unusual subdued and uncertain mood in his friend.

When they arrived at the entrance hall, Alan again thanked Catherine for the invitation, before he turned around and started heading out, but was stopped by Catherine’s hand holding onto his sleeve, and her uttering of a weak “..wait, please”

Alan turned back to Catherine, and waited patiently for her to gather her courage.

“Have you…” She began weakly, then cleared her throat, and tried again. “Have you heard from Marissa lately?”

“No, I haven’t,” Alan answered with a sigh. “I only got the one letter, where she explained her situation and choice, but she hasn’t answered any of my letters to her. I’m suspecting that they don’t reach her.” Alan said, a tinge of anger in his voice.

Catherine’s eyes fell at the revelation, but Alan couldn’t say if she was disappointed or relieved that Marissa hadn’t corresponded with him either.

“I see..”

Catherine fell silent after that, but her hand didn’t let go of Alan’s sleeve.

“Do you need a hug?” Alan blurted out, feeling sorry for the lost teenager in front of him.

“Wha- that- No, that’s highly inappropriate to ask the Lady of the H-mmpmfs” Catherine objected, trying to slip back into their banter-style conversations, but her heart clearly wasn’t in it, so Alan simply pulled her in for a hug mid sentence.

Catherine put up some token resistance, but soon relaxed into the hug and let her pretend anger fade away.

“It’s okay,” Alan said in as soothing a voice as he managed. “You’ll be okay. You’re doing great, working towards your goal. I know it’s hard not being allowed to meet Marissa, but you’ll find a way eventually.”

“I just miss her so much…” a muffled voice uttered, heavy with emotion.

“I know, I know. And I can promise you that Marissa misses you just as much.”

“How do you deal with it so well? All the unfairness in the world? How doesn’t it make you just want to burn it all down?” Catherine eventually asked, still hiding her face and not letting go.

“I focus on the positive sides in life. A friendly smile on the street, a happy baker when I buy his goods, a beautiful sunset, a magnificent knight, anything that leaves positive notes in my mind.” Alan answered. “A good friend needing help that I can provide,” Alan squeezed Catherine’s shoulders slightly at that.

“Try to socialize just a tad bit more, if you can. It should help you deal with it a bit better.” Alan tried.

Catherine finally let go of the hug, so Alan did as well. She quickly wiped her face with her sleeves, before looking up with mixed emotions.

“I’m already known as the Silent Storm,” Catherine chuckled slightly, “and I think I prefer that to the Emotional Drama Queen, thank you very much. But I’ll consider your idea, it might have some degree of merit.”

“What more can a lowly minion hope for, than having his suggestions considered by the Magnificent Mistress,” Alan jested, seeing a small smile creeping back onto Catherine’s face.

Catherine straightened, and her expression softened slightly. “Good night, Alan. And thank you.”

“Good night, Cat.” Alan said as he left, hoping that he had managed to alleviate some of Catherine’s worries.