Gerhmaine greeted Jocelyn in the lineup for their daily serving of breakfast gruel.

“So,” Gerhmaine said with a courteous smile, “What did you learn with respect to saving your mortal life?”

Jocelyn shot him a look of annoyance. “You want to know what I learned?”

Gerhmaine nodded.

“Nothing,” she stated, “Absolutely nothing. The book which you recommended was a billion pages of nonsense.”

“You’re exaggerating. It’s not a billion pages. It’s exactly seven hundred thousand, five hundred and sixty-three.”

“The book was five feet tall.”

“Yes. Imagine the wealth of wisdom inside of it.”

“It’s not written in a language I understand. I’m not sure what you expected me to do? Find another book and learn the language so I can decipher that monstrous tome?”

“No, that’s not feasible,” Gerhmaine said.

Jocelyn was surprised. Thus far, Gerhmaine’s expectations of his students were borderline lunacy.

“The language of the Grimoire Black Arcanum is not one that is recognized.”

“What?”

“You’re not the only one who can’t read it, Ms. Dark,” Gerhmaine said.

Jocelyn raised her brow. “What about you?”

“Not a single word.”

“Octava?”

Gerhmaine snickered. “Her? Of course not; her aptitude in language and linguistics are far below my level.”

“The Silent King?”

“I’m afraid not,” Gerhmaine said. “There was only one person in this Universe who was able to decipher the contents of that tome—more specifically, two pages from it.”

“Why only two pages?”

Gerhmaine grabbed a bowl of gruel as dense as poured concrete and headed for a table. It was still early. None of the other students had arrived yet.

Jocelyn took her own bowl, gave it a sniff, and immediately scrunched her face. Oh well, food was food. She grabbed a wooden spoon and joined Gerhmaine at the table, sitting across from him.

“So why only two pages?” Jocelyn repeated her question.

“Those were the pages that he stole from the Grimoire, for some strange reason. However, the wisdom he unlocked from those two pages gave him enough power to reshape all of existence.”

Jocelyn had an idea what was coming next.

“Do you know who that person was?” Gerhmaine asked.

“You’re going to say ‘my father’ aren’t you?”

He nodded. “I figured if he had the ability to decipher the pages within that book, you would as well.”

“I’m not my father,” Jocelyn said. “I don’t remember who he was or what he looked like. Heck, I don’t even know his name. Do feel free to shine a light on my daddy dearest, please.”

“No, you are not your father. But you share the same blood. Sometimes that’s enough,” Gerhmaine paused. “And no, I’ve already divulged too much about your father this morning. Bother me another day and you may find that my tongue has loosened a bit.”

Jocelyn shoved a spoonful of salty gruel into her mouth and immediately regretted it. It tasted like old fish and dirt.

“I have no idea how you can stomach this crap,” Jocelyn said as she watched Gerhmaine greedily take another spoonful. “Is this an Asrai acquired taste or something?”

Gerhmaine set down his spoon and smiled. “Can you keep a little secret?”

“I can,” Jocelyn said. “You’ll kill me anyways if I don’t.”

Gerhmaine nodded, “In a heartbeat.”

“So what’s your secret?”

“I change the taste of it.”

It didn’t seem like that big of a deal. “With what, salt? Pepper? Maybe a little sugar?”

“No, not so simple,” Gerhmaine said. “During my journeys through various Beguilings of existence, I met an old hermit who was perfectly content eating tree bark and fallen leaves. In fact, he absolutely loved it. Famished at the time, I decided to do the same and eat the hermit’s pithily meal. It was awful. I had no idea how the dingbat could eat tree; and enjoy it, for that matter. At that moment, I thought it was better to starve than take another bite.”

“Was the hermit some kind of animal or something?”

Gerhmaine shook his head. “No, he was a wise man actually, who hated interacting with people.”

“I’m assuming there’s more to this story than your disdain for dried leaves and tree skin.”

“I sat down next to the hermit and shared his campfire. I asked him how was it possible to eat something so terrible and enjoy it.”

“And he said?”

“Get away from my campfire or I’ll swap your ass and your head.” Gerhmaine replied. “He would have done it too. Luckily, I had something to offer him in return. I gave him a freshly blossomed Lilanium.”

“You brought him flowers,” Jocelyn smirked.

Gerhmaine frowned. “Can I finish my story without you interrupting me every other sentence?”

“Sorry.”

“And yes, I brought him flowers, but not just any flower. The Lilanium is the key ingredient in creating the Eyes of Krys, a concoction that will allow one to resurrect him or herself once within a twenty-four-hour period of ingesting.”

“Resurrection, as in coming back from the dead?”

“Correct,” Gerhmaine said.

“But given that the effects last for twenty-four hours, that means someone will have to die within the day to fully take advantage of it,” Jocelyn pointed out.

“Correct,” Gerhmaine said. “And if they do ingest the Eyes of Krys and don’t expire within that timeframe, the individual will turn into stone.”

Jocelyn was fascinated. “So what possible use is there for the Eyes of Krys? The ultimate outcome is a net zero gain. You live, you die, and you live again.”

“Clearly you’ve never been in the thick of battle,” Gerhmaine said. He was right, she hadn’t. “The Eyes of Krys are invaluable to a soldier. It gives them knowledge that they have a second chance at life, if they should fall during combat. Do you know what that does to a soldier’s psyche?”

“It gives them confidence,” Jocelyn said.

“Correct. People can accomplish great things when they have a little bit of confidence.”

Suddenly an idea popped into her head and lit her hopes aflame like wildfire.

“Will the Eyes of Krys work for me?” she asked. “I allow the poison to do its thing, let it kill me, but ingest the Eyes of Krys right before my death. That should allow me to rise up brand spanking new, right?”

Gerhmaine clapped his hands together. His ear-to-ear grin gave Jocelyn genuine hope of curing her fatal disease. “Jocelyn Dark, that’s a brilliant idea.” He said. “It’s too bad it’ll never work.”

Her hope deflated like a balloon with a bullet hole.

“Why not?” Jocelyn asked. Desperation seeped through her voice.

“The Eyes of Krys are classified as a curse,” Gerhmaine stated.

“So?”

“Your poisoned veins are a curse as well.”

“So?”

Gerhmaine exhaled. “Silly girl, don’t you ever read?”

“You just showed me the library last night. I spent most of my time looking at hieroglyphics and gibberish text,” Jocelyn pointed out.

Gerhmaine licked his lips as he polished off the last bit of gruel. “One cannot inflict a curse on someone if they’re already cursed. It’s Avernus’ principles of curses.”

Jocelyn frowned. “I see.”

“The Eyes of Krys are useless to you. For the old hermit in my story, however, it was invaluable.”

“Why?”

“Who knows? Old hermits are crazy. Anyway in exchange for the Lilanium, I was able to share his campfire along with his little secret of how to take pleasure in eating unrefined fiber. He used magic.”

“As simple as that,” Jocelyn sighed.

“The spell he taught me, at the price of a hug—” Germaine paused, noticing the puzzled look on Jocelyn’s face. “He was lonely. He was a hermit after all.”

“Of course.”

“The spell allows one to alter the properties of anything, thus changing food’s nutritional value along with taste.” Gerhmaine looked at his empty bowl. “To you, I just ingested a large, steaming bowl of hot garbage, to which I’d agree. However, in actuality—through this spell—I’ve eaten a succulent stew filled with seasoned rabbit, winter vegetables, and a hint of dill. I love dill. This stew is the same one that my grandmother used to cook and which I loved eating as a child.”

Jocelyn’s eyes beamed. “For real?”

“Yes, of course for real.”

She pushed her bowl in front of Gerhmaine. “Turn this bowl into a cheeseburger. God, you have no idea how many years I’ve been dying to eat a cheeseburger again.”

Gerhmaine scratched his head. “I don’t know what a cheeseburger tastes like, thus I cannot make you a cheeseburger bowl.”

Gerhmaine was just full of disappointment this morning.

“I can, however, teach you your very first spell. Would you like to learn this one?”

Jocelyn’s heart (and taste buds) erupted with joy. “Yes, oh please yes.”

Gerhmaine nodded with approval. “Good, I like students who wish to learn.”

“To eat a cheeseburger again, I’d crawl through broken glass.”

“Shut up and listen,” Gerhmaine said warmly. “The basis of all magic comes from one thing.” He pointed at her.

“What? Me?”

“Something to that effect, yes. When you met the vessel, it bonded magic to you. Now what does that mean exactly?”

Jocelyn shrugged.

“Tell me, Jocelyn, what is the construct of a mortal being?”

“I don’t understand the question.”

“What makes a mortal?”

Jocelyn frowned. “Flesh, water, bone, organs…I don’t know what else you mean.”

“You also have a soul, do you not?”

“I suppose I do, if the concept of souls actually exists.”

“It does,” Gerhmaine said with finality. “Now what makes up the soul?”

Jocelyn thought about it for a moment. “Emotions?”

“Yes, and?”

“Experience and memories?”

“Yes, and?”

“A conscience?”

“To a certain extent, yes. The ability to have a choice, or opinion—whether good or bad—was what I was looking for.”

“Okay,” Jocelyn said. “I still don’t get the point to all this.”

“Because you’re an impatient numbskull,” Gerhmaine snapped. “Listen closely and you’ll soon understand.”

Jocelyn sighed. “Fine, I’m listening. No more interruptions.”

“I am teaching you the fundamentals of magic and how to use it. I want to see how quickly you can grasp this concept and use it to create a simple spell, one that will alter your bowl of gruel to taste like a cheeseburger.”

There was that word again: cheeseburger. The very thought made her mouth water.

“When a vessel has opened the portal for someone to use magic, essentially what they are doing is adding another element to your soul. Whereas before, the soul consisted only of emotions, memories, experiences, and the freedom of choice, now there’s magic as well,” Gerhmaine explained. “Those who have complete mastery over their souls can control magic, much like one who has a harmonious soul can control their emotions.”

Jocelyn was puzzled. That didn’t make a lot of sense. Emotions were felt—a reaction to circumstances or events.

“You’re assuming that emotions can be conjured and controlled,” Jocelyn pointed out.

“Can’t they?”

“No.”

“You’re a fool.”

Jocelyn frowned. Sometimes, there was no getting through to this guy. “If I were to kick you in the shin, right at this moment, wouldn’t you feel anger?”

“I have weak shins,” Gerhmaine said. “I’d probably feel pain first, before anything.”

“But after,” Jocelyn insisted. “You’d feel angry, wondering why I kicked you in the first place.”

“Maybe I antagonized you. I have a habit of doing that to my students.”

“What if it was unprovoked?”

“Then I’d assume you’d require psychiatric evaluation.”

“I’m fine, mentally,” Jocelyn said. Was she though?

She thought of Jaks stranded on Behyru, dying, and then thought of her own loneliness.

“The point that you’re missing, Jocelyn Dark, is that emotions can be controlled. For instance, take a look at the Pale Soldiers: perfect warriors who have mastered their emotions. When it’s time for battle, they know how to channel the right balance of anger and sadness to achieve their objective. Whereas the Pale Soldiers have mastered the art of controlling emotions you—as my student—will master the art of controlling another aspect of the soul: magic.”

He tapped his finger on the edge of Jocelyn’s bowl. “I lied to you. I had a cheeseburger once in my life, back in my happy wandering days. One of the most joyous things about Gaia,” he said. “It’s such a shame that a civilization with so much heart and beauty has simply vanished off the face of the galaxy.”

Jocelyn could see sympathy permeate through his grey eyes.

“Enjoy your cheeseburger, Ms. Dark,” he said as he rose from his seat and left the dining hall, just as other students were beginning to file in.

Jocelyn stared at her bowl of gruel, shrugged her shoulders and took a spoonful.

It was glorious—the taste of juicy ground beef wedged between toasted egg buns and melted aged cheddar cheese bathed in sweet ketchup.

She took another spoonful almost immediately, closed her eyes and savored it, letting out a sigh of pure ecstasy.

“I’ve never seen someone so excited to eat bland, unrefined gruel,” Tryps said as he took a seat across from her. He took a bite from his bowl and immediately stuck out his tongue in disgust.

“Awful, awful,” he stated. “I swear, the food is getting worse, if that’s even possible.”

Jocelyn allowed the taste of warm onions to settle on her tongue and smiled.

I’m really starting to like magic, she thought to herself.