Surprise!! This a record for breaking my promise, I released (too) early. But good reasons, 1-this chapter has been gathering dust for a while so I thought why not? (I swear my lucky holiday had nothing to do with it.) 2-Your comments are encouraging, and I understand Boris seems somewhat pathetic. So sorry, but I made him some more. :( I mean it's better to get it all bad in one go, isn't it?

There are a few reasons, 1-I have no powerful back story, he will have to learn 2-I want to show the discrepancy 3-Sadly, I have written too much in a linear plotline, yet to employ timeskips well. I hope to rectify that but it will take time.

But! This is him at his lowest. Beyond this, I promise to uplift him from decent>good>great>???

As for when, let's say he will be good by ch10-11, (some good signs in ch8-9 but most later) I apologize because the story is slow. But it is getting in gear.

Please leave your comments ^^

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3. Ineptitude

“Cast not a doubt on Elven blood

Nor seek to spurn a Dwarf of mud

Never rob a Scythian’s trust on word

A Pixar’s secrets are best not stirred

Touch no mischief on Human God

And tranquil you shall have unflawed.”

Commander Welmar strode through the central garden, climbing the steps up the flowerbed. Wintersins and Toilfalls sprouted in rows of blue and yellow, giving way to Regal Roses at the top. Well-pruned trees stood beside them. Erunes and Berubens were a favorite of the gardeners, while Timildas and Fulbirs stood in fruit-laden satisfaction at odd intervals. He skirted the fountain to climb up the porch where the king stood, enjoying the aesthetics of his garden.

“Did you call for me, Your Majesty?”

“Welmar,” the king turned to him slowly, hands wrapped behind his long cape, “come forth, let us have a talk.”

Welmar walked forward in proper courtesy, acknowledging the command before he stood at the edge of the porch. One could see the entire central garden from here, a large matrix of colors that spread about in vivid designs, each complemented by a pleasant scent. Openings that stood in between, with a shade of Beruben pruned like an umbrella above.

“Is there something you desire, Your Highness?” Welmar asked, deferential. It was difficult to portray respect when the other party stood at shoulder height, demanding of you to look up to them while you looked down.

“How do our guests fare Welmar? I have heard you taught them well for a week.” The King looked down upon the curtain of roses that surrounded the porch, magical in their faint morning glow. The fountain ahead spun in its design, the swirling umbrella of water glinting with shade of rose red sunlight.

Welmar took a moment himself, pondering how to answer. “They are exceptional. The heroes have displayed inconceivable improvement in their abilities. The likes of them I have yet to see,” he paused a while, “the fourth one, well, he does put in effort but his progress suffers…” He put in a vague answer for Boris.

Dorham looked at him with questioning eyes before starting, “I have no interest in the inept, Welmar. Know that well,” he spoke dryly, “If it were not for your word, I would have deigned it unnecessary to provide for him. He is, after all, a burden for the heroes. I do not want him becoming a hindrance too.”

“Forgive my impertinence sire, but the heroes think otherwise. It would not be wise to throw him away when they see him as a friend.” Welmar himself had no special attachment to Boris, no aversion either. He was needed, essential to a friendly relation with the heroes. And an honest chap, humble and meek. Just unlucky.

“Then the heroes shall have to learn to make wiser decisions,” the king said in afterthought. “No matter,” he brushed his hand in a gesture, “it is not like he will survive too long, let them learn it the hard way.”

And right there was the crux of the issue that teased Welmar. He took a calm breath, relishing the fragrance in the morning air before he asked cautiously, “Is it prudent not to warn them?”

One reason the inepts were so rare was that most of them died before they could identified as one. The kingdom never heard of them, and they didn’t matter. Cumaria was not for the weak. Welmar had never heard of an inept coming of age. Evidently, Boris would not live more than a year or two at most. He was not sure how the heroes would respond, especially if they knew the truth was kept from them.

“Tell them?” the king asked sternly, “Never. That would be unwise and uncalled, too risky. Besides, they do say the death of a friend makes one strong. Let him serve his purpose, and let the demons have their hand in it. Vengeance is a great force after all.”

“As you wish my king,” Welmar obeyed. There was nothing he could do, obedience was his discipline. He had his duty to his king first.

“Also Welmar?” the king turned, “You will be leaving for the northern front, will you not? Are your preparations in order?”

“They are. I have arranged for High Commander Dunbar to take over here and I have arranged for new mentors. I took the liberty of requesting Bowmaster Diana. She is well suited in my opinion. Grand meister Grey and Arthur shall suffice for the other two—is this not to your liking?” Welmar asked seeing the king turn away once more.

“It is alright,” the king replied with his back to Welmar, “Take Vervan with you, though. He has a good head on his shoulders and must learn these truths.” The king looked far into the northern horizon, his eyes ready to invade through it.

Welmar hid his surprise. It was the first time the king was ordering his son north, but it was well due.

“As you command, Your Majesty,” he replied firmly, “Harbor no qualms, I shall defend His Highness Vervan to the last of my breath.”

“So you will. I trust you,” the king replied with a faint smile. “You may take your leave Welmar, I have nothing more to indulge you,” he added.

“Pardon my leave,” Welmar bowed and turned away, walking back the marble steps he had climbed. It would be a long day today.

_______________

The week was over and the heroes were barely accorded any time to rest, the concept of weekends was weak in Gaia. The next day they stood in same training hall with Welmar, in the same armor, thinking it would be the same routine all over again.

Welmar betrayed them by producing a miscellany of weapons. “You may choose one. I want you to get used to the weapon of your choice before further training.”

Ray picked up a broadsword and a shield, Sylvia picked up a quarterstaff, and Claire picked up a dagger, for want of a bow.

Boris hefted a longsword, or tried to. It rattled in his hand and fell down midway. He bent and picked it up cautiously, using both hands to form a firm grip. The sword denied his hold vehemently, it stirred and his hands shook every time he tried to lift it. It fell down nonetheless.

Finally, Boris abandoned the sword and went for the dagger instead. It would be shorter and lighter. The dagger rattled violently, shivered in his shaky arms and denied a firm grip. Boris tried it again and failed. He wrapped a thin cloth to improve the grip, to no avail.

Then he went for the chains, the staves, the spears, and every other weapon available. They were all fickle, irritating implements with special hatred for him. He felt the dissonance, a queer sense of incapability as he wrestled with them.

He looked to his friends, each of them holding a weapon as if it were natural, before he bent down and continued his stubborn struggle. Sweat bloomed as he toiled with the simple chore, his hands prickly and crude.

“I will be done soon,” he told Welmar as he gave his friends a reassuring look.

Welmar shook his head lightly as he proceeded to teach the heroes. It was only fair to give the boy a chance to realize it. That this was not his place, and that the world itself was not kind to inepts. The sooner he resigned to his fate the better. Welmar held no ill will towards the boy, but no compassion could help him either.

“Pay attention here,” Welmar lectured the heroes as he corrected their grips and improved their stances. He explained briefly about the weapons each of them had chosen, their benefits and drawbacks. Then he proceeded to the forms. For all his age, Welmar Wesburn was a prodigy of war, a veteran with talents. Every weapon had once been his passion, now it was his forte.

He ruminated softly as he instructed each hero in a different form, the basics most suitable for their weapons. He demonstrated those, step by step, emphasizing the crucial, pointing the mistakes. And they sucked it like sponge, growing up each moment. It was fulfilling. Out of the corner his eye, he observed Boris again, still struggling with the weapons. The boy would peek at his demonstrations and try to imitate, but he could barely hold the dagger right. And he would never hold it right.

The inepts were clumsy with weapons and implements, incapable of enduring them. The extremely few he had once encountered had even cried when they held a tool, wincing with pain. The scholars never knew why it happened, just that it did. They ascribed it to a curse.

Boris sweated profusely, an hour felt like a day. His hands felt increasingly painful, cramps emerged and sweaty palms did not help. ‘No,’ he denied his doubts, ‘I can do this. I will do this.’ The thought did not help but poke his endurance. He pushed with it and labored, clenched his hands with every speck of his strength, and hoped to hold the dagger well. He felt his arms cringe and shiver, felt a wave pass through and unnerve him. Pain started to emerge, familiar pain.

Boris held on. At the edge of exhaustion, fate resigned to him and he felt the dagger smooth in. The irky sensation began to ease out and he could finally feel the dagger properly. His hand twitched a bit but the dagger did not rattle. He had done it, he had won.

Welmar watched in astonishment as the boy finally succeeded, the weapon grasped firmly in his hand and no signs of awkwardness. It was a moment where he seemed capable. Then it shattered. The weapon sparked as it plunged out abruptly and Boris jerked. The dagger flew over his left shoulder, barely avoiding his face. His face crowded in pain as he fell back, the dagger embedded in the pillar behind him. He gasped in astonishment and turned around, searching for the dagger.

Welmar sighed, and walked towards Boris who had located the dagger. He stopped him by putting a hand on his shoulder and shaking his head.

Boris gritted, and opposed. Unsuccessfully.

The heroes watched in surprise, slightly concerned.

“I am sorry but you cannot participate in the training anymore,” Welmar told Boris when he was actually pointing those words towards his friends. There was authority in his voice, an inflection that would not accept denial. Boris understood, his eyes tried to defy but his heart relented. It thudded jerkily, reminding him of the state his body was in. He brushed Welmar’s hand apart rudely, gritting away his teeth.

“Fair enough,” Boris replied begrudgingly, “do as you see fit.” He glanced briefly at Ray and turned back. Ray approached him, followed by Sylvia.

“Don’t mind it Boris,” Ray told him with a difficult face, “It’s not your duty but ours. You just do what you can.” There was sincerity in his words and but Boris scowled at them.

Sylvia punched Boris on the shoulder lightly and he turned to find her smiling at him. “Why so gloomy?” She remarked, “Tell you what, we’ll let you do all the hard work once we get back. I’ll even employ you as my personal lackey just so you can enjoy training all you want.” Claire laughed at this.

“That would be satisfying,” Ray teased, trying to lighten him up, “he could carry all those books for you.”

“No thanks, I’d drown in the knowledge and die from the weight of it,” Boris retorted.

A small discussion followed and Boris accepted his dismissal. He stormed off as his friends gave him a weak smile. It frustrated him. Sure, he had once wanted to be left to his own, to be free from responsibilities. Yet this freedom cost dearly. It pricked him.

He rambled about around the castle and stumbled across Violet. She was resting peacefully in a garden lawn. A shade of Beruben tree stood over her, pruned like an umbrella. It bore beautiful orange flowers that matched her hair and clusters of leaves around it. The tree was perennial and a few flowers survived the autumn.

Boris bent down, ready to flick her nose but found someone else beside her, a child. She was barely six or seven, her dainty limbs were dressed in an elaborate frock and a small circlet-like accessory held her blonde wavy hair over small, pinkish ears. Her face nuzzled against Violet’s purple robe as she breathed softly, sending ruffles across her own hair. They looked like sisters, but the child was probably nobility, seeing how she was dressed.

Boris lay down beside her, watching the scene tenderly. Then he flicked Violet’s forehead. Violet shifted slightly, grumbling some nonsense in the process.

“Donut tease Violet!” The child had her face turned towards Boris. She drove an accusing glare into his eyes.

“What, what!” he was surprised the child woke up before Violet could. “No, no. You have it wrong, I was just trying to wake her up.”

“You liar! I know about you, Violet told me evil eyes always making fun of her.”

“Evil eyes?” ‘Just what is that idiotic mage teaching little children?’

“And dirty hair, you are evil, get away from Violet!” Her eyes looked at him as if he was scum.

“My hair is brown, not dirty,” Boris retorted.

Violet woke from the commotion around her. She found Boris going head to head against the child. Boris clutched both of her hands in his and pressed his forehead down against hers bending over. They glared at each other ferociously, none of them giving any ground.

“I told you get away, evil eyes,” the child pushed Boris back, exerting all her strength.

“Hoh, not bad little brat,” Boris spat out, reigning her in, “But you can’t win, mwahahaha!” He put in more strength, toppling the child over into ground.

She burst into silent tears while Boris stood up, victorious over a little child, and laughed like a conqueror.

Violet rubbed her twitching temples in annoyance, held up her staff and called forth a brisk shower of water. It washed down on Boris, forcing him to the ground.

“Gyaaah!,” Boris cried up in surprise, “what the heck are you doing you bratty mage! Now I am all wet!”

“Oh, let me take care of that,” Violet offered as she blew a hot tornado over him, drying him up and almost scorching his face. This routine was getting common.

“What is wrong with you?” Boris squealed.

“That is my line. What do you think you were doing to Her Highness, princess of Cumaria?” Violet asked threateningly.

Boris turned quizzically, facing the girl who was still on the ground, a few drops of tears still in her eyes, “She is a princess?” He pointed at her.

Violet nodded and child did too, slightly haughty now that she realized she was in power. Boris dropped his jaw as he stuttered over an apology.

“No,” the princess puffed her cheeks, refusing his apology, “I will tell on you to Elaine.”

The color drained from Boris. He shuddered, thinking how Elaine would torture him over this.

“Please, anything but that!” Boris pleaded, “Don’t tell her. I will do anything you ask. Do you like stories? I can tell great stories.” He tried to woo her.

“Elaine already tells me great stories.”

“Then-then what about games, I know great games.”

“You will play with me?” The princess asked.

“Of course, anytime!” Boris was relieved this was all it took to calm the princess.

“Then I want to play the hero game.”

“Oh, I know that well,” Boris responded with some bitterness.

He was not wrong. He was just not prepared.

“So, what did you need? Did you already finish your training?” Violet asked Boris, when she had settled.

“Uhm, about that,” Boris squandered, his eyes level with Violet’s knees, “it’s kind of difficult to talk in this position.” He was on his arms and knees, playing the hero game with the princess. Right now, he was the hero’s horse as the hero, the princess, wandered through wilderness.

“Would you rather be executed?”

“Suddenly I’m feeling great! Ahaha, what is this happiness,” Boris cried as he jumped alternately on his arms and knees, imitating a horse. They brushed against the soft grass, the ground barely scraping him. The princess held hard on his collar, tugging it in back. She was bending forward a little, like a horse rider, and she exclaimed heroic shouts every now and then, drowning in her own adventure.

“Well, you know,” Boris told Violet, “I gave up on training. I couldn’t hold the weapons, they were heavy and uncomfortable. I just knew I couldn’t make any progress with them.”

“Hmm… makes sense. All weapons are forged with some magic, so you’re incompatible with them.”

“All of them? Why?”

“We can’t help it. Everything in our world holds mana, especially the weapons and such. The metals, the fire, the forging everything imbues them with magic. It is natural.” She explained frankly, telling Boris that weapons were not meant for him.

“Then what do I do?” Boris asked.

“What do you want to do?”

“I don’t know… I feel uneasy.” He confessed his honest feelings.

“Why?”

“It’s just this hero stuff is difficult to swallow. I would never have agreed if it were not for Ray.”

“You know, you can’t just say that to my face,” Violet sighed, “Try to learn to be prudent… And then, what ails the man who is not-a-hero? It is not like you have a better option. Food, water, clothing, comfort, everything you are being given and you don’t need to work for it. And by the way, the hero stuff completely genuine, if you belive my words.”

“There, see, that’s the problem. I am getting everything without any work, life doesn’t work that way. That is inconceivable for me.”

Violet smirked, “Sure, I can tell Welmar. He will have you haul goods across the castle as payment.”

“No, no, not that way.” Boris despised manual labor, unless it was disguised as training.

“So you don’t want to work and you don’t want your life to be easy, what exactly do you want?”

“I just…. want to be helpful.” Boris peered into the distance where his friends trained. For a first, his black eyes gleamed with longing, wide awake to the world outside. He looked sincere and attractive with just that, it was surprising how much eyes could change the looks.

“And how do you intend to do that?” Violet asked, catching the look in his eyes with her own interest.

“You tell me. I can’t use weapons, I can’t use magic, tell me something I can use.”

“The way I see it, that leaves just one thing that you can use, the weapon of ages.” She tapped her fingers while crossing her arms across her chest.

“What is that?” Boris asked, excited about a secret weapon he could actually use.

“Knowledge,” Violet told him as a matter-of-fact.

“Ugh,” Boris caught his head at the banal answer he received. In doing so, he forgot his posture and soon planted his face into the ground, groaning as he held his nose afterwards.

The princess nimbly jumped down, paying no heed to the fallen steed.

“So you haff come demon lord!” she shouted, stumbling over her words in excitement.

For the next hour Boris had to play both the tyrannical demon lord and the rescued princess, until the real princess was finally content. An attendant arrived to take her back.

“I like you evil eyes, play hero with me next time,” she ordered him.

“My name is Boris,” he told her in annoyance.

“And my name is hero Maina, remember it well!” she pushed her chest out and smiled vibrantly, introducing herself like a hero, one hand on her chest and the other at her waist.

Boris could not help but smile at her demeanor, “I will remember it, Maina.”

She puffed her cheeks up once more, blushing a little, “I- I will see you tomorrow Violet,” then as her voice faded she added, “and Boris.”

The attendant took her leave, accompanying the princess back. Boris waved at her as she left.

“The king will roast you alive if he sees you eyeing his daughter,” Violet commented from the side.

“Who’s eyeing whom here? Don’t cause misunderstandings!”

“Hmm? Aren’t you?” she asked innocuously.

“I am not! And get back to the real topic, you were talking about knowledge a while ago.”

“Alright, alright, let me accompany you to the library and then we’ll talk.” She walked off with slightly puffed cheeks and heavy steps. Boris followed her.

“You seem more irritated than usual?” he asked eventually.

“It is nothing and it has got nothing to do with the fact that you made friends with the princess in one day, while it took me a whole month.”

“Oh, are you perhaps jealous? I have always been great with kids,” Boris boasted confidently.

“You fought a kid to tears just a while ago,” Violet reminded him as they entered the library.

The royal library was a gigantic dome with no ends. The rows sprawled away in neat half-lit corridors stacked with thousands of books. A small swirling flame hung at regular intervals, bathing the books in creepy yellow. The visitors each held their own light, a bright sphere of pure white contained over cracked eggshells in a lantern. It was a dim, dreary maze with stacked books and silent spectators. Nobody even turned to offer him a glance.

“This is amazing!” Boris remarked as he tried to take in the enormity of the structure before him. His eyes sparkled in wonder as he shuffled through the rows, glancing at the crowded spines of mysterious books.

“Of course it is,” Violet replied with visible pride, “my ancestors had this built at their behest. It is the largest collection books the kingdom has, larger even than the Sorlock’s Academy Library. Only the Elven Codex rivals the sheer content of knowledge stored here.”

“I never thought your world would pay so much attention to books.”

He loved the place, enough to pester Violet to get him a reading room. Violet happily complied and asked the librarian to indulge him. She helped pick a few books he was interested in and he proceeded to try them.

He was of course, unsuccessful. The script made no sense.

“This is all gibberish,” he pointed at the book before him, illegible characters printed across the pages.

“T-That is obvious, you were summoned so you could understand Humarian, but forcing the entire knowledge of literature and script is beyond the skill of an archimage.” Violet explained awkwardly, she herself had just recognized this shortcoming.

“Huh?”

“What I mean is the summoning applied language comprehension magic on all of you, so we can understand each other. But our languages are obviously different, so you cannot read it.”

“Hmm… So, are there other languages as well?”

“There are many, the one we speak is Humarian. Elves speak Cylian, the western regions speak Suren, pixars have Werb and some parts in south speak Adiva. Though you will have a basic comprehension of most of them thanks to the summoning, don’t expect to understand them all thoroughly.”

Boris beamed at this. Finally, he had something only he could do, with enough time on his hands and his interest in different languages he could learn them all. A whole different world of knowledge.

“Then, can you appoint a teacher who can teach me those?” he asked Violet.

“Not possible,” Violet turned him down, “The summoning makes it so you can understand the words without knowing their native pronunciation. What I speak, is different from what you hear. How can I teach you a language when you can’t even hear what I am actually speaking?”

“Then how am I supposed to read them?”

“I’ll get you an attendant, they are good at languages.”

Boris accepted the option reluctantly, upset that he could not read the books himself. He thanked Violet as she left him with an attendant, a thin brusque man with long hair. He would read the books aloud for Boris.

And slowly, everything turned different. The books came alive. Everything turned into graphic detail. They lead him through the kingdom in a vicarious journey and talked fervently, describing the details he relished. The world changed as Boris scoured through them, listening intently to each word iterated. He pestered the attendant about every little doubt.

Forests bloomed before him, trees erupted and nascent monsters formed. He assimilated them as his own, creating a map of Cumaria through the author’s eyes. Time turned back as he read about travels and wars, clocked them into his memory and craved for more.

It was a whole seven books later that he stopped, allowing the attendant a much-needed relief. A pile of books lay on the table to his right. The travels of Dinborn Coy, Monsters in brief, Through the Sumarian War, The price of magic, The seven terrors of Sik, Races and rights, Over the front: the demons of Gelacien.

Boris felt a lot calmer than the morning, satisfied and happy. He delved into his mind as time stood still, piecing the words into images once more. It was cathartic.

Time flowed again when he received a call, bringing him out of his reverie. Someone was waiting for him. He exited the library, having thanked the attendant and pondered who that someone was.

Elaine sat on a bench outside the library, in one of the many gardens across the castle. He noticed her immediately, she captivated attention. The shade of trees cast her in a solemn air, and the evening sunlight that filtered through reflected her radiance. Her black hair glittered with flowing silver strands and her delicate eyelids drooped with modesty. People avoided her like a divine being and Boris was extremely inclined to do the same. Except he knew the consequences would be dire. So he approached her.

Elaine noticed him and smiled the disarming smile she had when Boris first saw her. His heart leapt wildly for moment and he would have been infatuated if he hadn’t seen her scary side. As soon as Boris sat across her, Elaine’s smile turned a tad darker. From a distance, she would have seemed the same elegant lady as before, but Boris was already breaking in cold sweat.

“M-miss Elaine, did you perhaps need me for something?”

“Why yes Boris. You see, I was teaching your friends today when I noticed something missing.”

“Something?” Boris realized only now that he had missed all classes, including lunch.

“Yes, I was fairly baffled too. I wondered what it was when I noticed that the room suddenly seemed calm and disciplined. The sense of irritation, the slight rowdiness, the ridiculous questions, they were all absent. Everything felt much better.”

“Isn’t that great then?” He had thought she would be angry if he missed her lessons but she was happy. If he had known this earlier, he would have avoided her lessons completely.

“It was great, I felt refreshed. Until I noticed the alarming absence of somebody who was supposed to be there, somebody whom I had repeatedly warned about matters of discipline and attentiveness.”

He had thought right, she was angry. Boris prepared himself for her wrath but Elaine continued, “Your friends had no idea about him, so I asked Violet. I was worried,” Boris was surprised at receiving concern instead of punishment. Elaine added, “But Violet told me something very interesting.”

And suddenly Boris could almost see the death that leaked from her pure smile, he sat rooted in terror. “She told me that somebody had the impudence to make the princess cry, and then hide in the library afterwards.”

The icy words pierced through his shock. Boris smiled weakly as he prepared to run with all his might.

Regrettably, his foot caught and he lost his balance before he could sprint. Just when he was about to meet the ground he was held back. Slender fingers held his ear taut, preventing his fall. Pain seared through him.

“Ouch! Ouch-ouch- ouch-ouch-ouch-ouch stop-stop-stop-stop please stop!”

At his pleading, his ear was released and he hit the ground hard, hurting his forehead.

“Are you alright Boris?! I’m so sorry, I was only trying to catch your fall.” Elaine held a hand over her face in mock worry as she looked down on him. From where he lay, she looked far more evil than anything he had seen. Her eyes were watering, but he concluded it was from mirth and not grief. ‘A devil,’ Boris reaffirmed.

Boris got up, brushed the dirt off his clothes and sat down. What followed was the most elaborate and heartfelt apology he had ever given in his life. People can go to great lengths to ensure their survival, and Boris went an extra mile to do so. He kowtowed.

His effort bore fruit when Elaine admonished him lightly, warning him to take matters seriously. They talked for a while and Boris explained he was interested in books and planned to spend his time in the library. Elaine was delighted and promised help with the books if he needed it.

The sun was hanging low on the horizon when they made their way back. Because he had nothing else to do, Boris simply went to the dining hall. Elaine left for her own room, midway through.

There were three new occupants at the table. An old man in wizardly robes sat next to Violet. A pointed hat covered his grey hair and a stately beard overhung his chest. His clothes had the patterns of moon in different phases, which gleamed mysteriously. The azure eyes behind his bespectacled face seemed familiar, and the creases around them spoke of wisdom that only came with age. This was mage, if there ever was.

Boris looked between Violet and the old man, contrasting them. Violet looked like a child dressed up as a witch in comparison. Violet snorted at his scrutiny, inferring his feelings from his expression. “I know what you are thinking,” she croaked, “so stop that rude thought!” Her azure eyes gleamed with fury. And Boris suddenly realized why the eyes had seemed so familiar.

“You are his… granddaughter?” he asked, incredulous.

“Hoh, an astute observation,” the old man spoke up, “you are interesting, young man.”

“But you have no manners.” The one who spoke was a woman, tall and slender in appearance. She was dressed in a light green tunic that tightened over shoulders and elbows, her collarbones visible above the stretched V-neck. She wore loose, pleated trousers that gripped at her ankles. The plain clothing contrasted with her sharp appearance. Her brows held no tension, her face no wrinkle, her lips no emotion. But her green eyes reserved a piercing glance, like a hawk. ‘This woman is dangerous,’ intuition screamed at Boris.

“I am sorry for being rude,” Boris apologized, “I am Boris Debron, one of the individuals summoned from the other world.” He summarized briefly.

“I am Diana,” the woman nodded and Boris took a seat, aiding the silence. The third occupant was the knight he had seen in the conference room on the first day.

Servants arrived in due time, arranging plates and cutlery on the table. Elaine arrived shortly thereafter, she was surprised to see new faces but she quietly took her seat across from Boris. Then Welmar came leading the heroes. Ray occupied his usual seat between Claire and Sylvia, and Welmar sat across him.

They noticed the new occupants and turned to Welmar in question.

“Ahm,” Welmar coughed, “I am proud to say that you have all performed admirably over the last week. In order to help you realize your true potential, we have appointed mentors for each hero. They have already been briefed about your situation, so you don’t need to worry. You will formally begin your training tomorrow.”

He nodded at the old man, who proceeded to introduce himself.

“I am Grey Feyl Farlore, grandfather of the cute Violet that you have met,” he patted Violet on the back of her head and she blushed, trying to push his hand away. “I will be taking Sylvia as my disciple. Oh, I would also love to talk to Boris sometime. Violet tells me you have a decent grasp on magic, which I find fascinating given your… condition.” He laughed with an ‘oh ho ho’ at the end, sounding like Santa Claus.

“You have already met me,” said the knight next, “I am Knight Guardian Arthur Syburd, under orders from His Majesty the king to train Ray Edson in knighthood and combat.” His words were terse and his tone formal. Ray nodded back in acceptance. Their eyes then turned to the last addition.

The dangerous looking woman finally introduced herself formally. “Nice to meet you all,” she smiled charmingly, “I am Diana Silverdeen, a Bowmaster and Scout trainer. I will be looking after Claire, I hope we get along.” Her features looked sharper than before, perhaps because the angle of light had changed; the chandeliers now glowed bright. Her sharp emerald eyes now radiated congeniality. Her slender nose sat upon thin, firm lips and high cheekbones. She had ears that hid under a cap and a hair of golden brown.

‘An Elf?’ Boris tried to peek at her ears.

“I am an Elf,” Diana added as she caught Boris, “and pure blooded.” She elegantly removed her cap, exposing her pointed ears and letting her hair flow down. It glowed golden in the illumination, complementing her fair skin. The sight was captivating, like a surreal painting.

Ray gasped, admiring her beauty until he was pinched by Claire and his ear caught by Sylvia. They glared at him sharply, making their intentions clear.

“I am sorry,” Ray apologized as he reddened, but Diana brushed her hand aside in the air, gesturing that she did not mind. Well, Claire and Sylvia sure did, and they were ready to burn daggers into him.

Somehow, Diana’s words caught Boris more than her appearance. Not just their immediacy, but also their intent. They were a frank admittance of her race, but he felt an innuendo. The Elves held great pride in their blood. That did not mean they flaunted it rather it was implicit.

‘Pure-blooded’ the word seeped through his mind, causing Boris to ponder. The chatter around him seemed to drown and only the word stuck.

The servants came in with dishes. The aroma pulled Boris back to the world around him, his mouth watering at the tantalizing feast before him. Every once in a while, a different world was good. There was no school, and a feast waited every night. It was worth it even if he could not learn magic. He would content himself with exploring the wonders of the new world, in due time.

Before that, he needed his weapon of ages; he needed knowledge. Curiosity was sprouting inside him. Why were the Elves so proud of their blood? Why did Diana specify she was a pure blood? There, the frivolous question had made its way back.

“Boris? Something on your mind?” Sylvia asked, seeing Boris neglecting his meal.

“?” Boris was reeled back to focus and his eyes caught the girl who sat before him, the maiden of light, eating her meal with elegant gestures. “Elaine.” He said in a deep voice everyone could hear, things made sense.

Unfortunately, he hadn’t heard the question Sylvia had posed to him.

Claire spit out a mouthful of water and Ray choked as Sylvia gaped at Boris. Welmar watched in amusement, Violet laughed hysterically, and old man Grey nodded gravely. There was a bedlam of hushed voices. Only Elaine wore a slightly anxious expression, her brows raised while her cheeks blushed. The Knight Guardian Arthur glared at him disapprovingly.

“What? Did I say something?” Boris asked.

“You just said ‘Elaine’.” Claire told him.

“I did huh?” Boris asked absent mindedly, as he looked between Claire and Elaine, unable to understand what had transpired.

“Never mind that, I understand,” Claire told him.

“Huh?” Boris enquired skeptically as people around him nodded meaningfully.

“Alright, stop that.” Sylvia punched him on the head as she turned to face Elaine, “I am sorry. He does that, occasionally.” People laughed as Boris made a funny face contrasting his earlier seriousness. The topic was lost in small talk and jokes. The dinner continued without any tension.

Diana did not laugh however, just watched in silence. The boy was sharper than he looked.

The small talk continued and soon turned to gibberish. Boris felt tired and sleepy, unable to make sense of the conversations around him. Dizziness churned his head and drowsiness his eyes. ‘I need rest,’ he decided as he got up and left, ignoring the voices behind him.

That night Boris dreamt a new dream. He stood before a huge monster, menacing and ravenous. Yet he did not bat an eyelid at the shrill piercing roar, he did not even look up at the monster. He just bent down and continued to draw a circle, a magical glyph, one only he could draw. Sylvia restrained the monster, Claire distracted it, and Ray attacked, dealing little damage. The monster thrashed about, repelling all attacks and straining the restraints. But they held on.

He completed the glyph soon and Sylvia activated it, pouring mana. The glyph burst to life, spawning restraints that enveloped the monster, eating through its magic, and crushing it. Boris smiled in his dream, in satisfaction, in jubilation, in victory…

________

The next morning was brisk. Boris woke up earlier than the sun and had his customary run around the castle, taking in the air. The routine had set in during training and Boris continued to do so just to keep fit.

He returned in time for breakfast to find his friends missing. Only Elaine and Violet occupied the table, eating a hearty breakfast.

“Good morning,” he wished them as he sat down. They were pleasantly surprised to see him up early for once.

“Did they leave early?” He asked, referring to his friends.

“Sui?” Violet talked, still surprised.

“Well, it seems their new mentors are rougher,” he concluded as he gulped down milk. The taste was oddly satisfying after his stroll.

“Qu ma sin dourun, ven Boris?” Elaine asked in astonishment.

She did not seem to be pleasantly surprised like he had imagined.

“You are talking weird? What is this, a new prank?” He was beginning feel a bit anxious.

“Semora?” Elaine asked again. She did not seem to be joking around, neither from the tone of her voice, nor from her expression.

“Can- you- understand- me?” He asked, gesticulating to convey the sense of his words.

They shook their heads. His heart sunk. It was an ominous premonition. He knew what was wrong, but he was having difficulty accepting it.

“Lei ma temusin?” Violet asked him. She looked pretty worried, probably beginning to understand what was happening.

Boris shook his head. Violet clutched hers.

“So now I cannot even talk to you, huh? Well sucks, here I was beginning to understand some books, trying to be creative.” Boris remembered his dream last night. It seemed much farther now.

‘Looks like the language comprehension magic wore off. Inept, huh…’ He cursed at his condition. He had no physical prowess and no magical capability. Now he couldn’t talk, not in any comprehensible language.

‘What knowledge? What weapon of ages? I am an illiterate now.’

He clutched at his heart, and gulped down his thoughts. A lump formed in his throat. His eyes felt warm, moist. Thoughts brainstormed through his head,

What do you want to do?

I just want to be helpful.

..that leaves just one thing that you can use, the weapon of ages.

..What I speak, is different from what you hear. How can I teach you a language when you can’t even hear what I am actually speaking?”

And ironically, he could see a silver lining. The magic had worn off and he could now hear the actual words. He could learn the language, he had enough time on his hands.

Both Elaine and Violet had a good idea of what was going on by now. They were probably debating on what to do, seeing as they talked back and forth, glancing at him occasionally.

He made his resolve and turned to face Violet.

“Teach me.” He said, trying to explain with gestures. Violet raised an eyebrow in confusion and shook both her hands before her, probably saying that she couldn’t understand.

“Teach me how to speak like you,” he tried to gesture to her mouth, then himself then his head, then his own mouth. Violet shook her head not understanding and Boris almost felt like shouting, telling her she was an idiot.

It would still be useless.

Elaine had a better idea. She called for a servant and had him bring parchment and penbrushes, Boris had seen them in the library. Conversing was a lot easier when you could draw.

It took an hour to get the situation under control. The first thing Boris did was to sit down and finish breakfast. He was going to need energy. He spent time explaining and understanding the situation from Violet. His drawings were decent but hers were terrible, she was at the level of kindergarten. Elaine just watched from the side, amused at the scribble book that was unfolding before her.

The language comprehension magic had indeed vanished; Violet guessed it was because he had no mana to support the magic and it faded away. Without the magic, he would not be able to converse with people, except his friends.

Violet offered to redo the magic, though it would take some time and effort. Boris declined, asking her to teach him the language from the basics, letter by letter. Violet insisted on the magic, casting it would only take weeks. Learning the language could take months, or more. Boris reasoned that magic was temporary and would wane out again, learning the language would be permanent.

Violet assured that she would be prepared in the advance next time, ready to cast comprehension magic at a day’s notice. Boris assured that he would rather trust his skill than some stupid magic skill, which would be no help in emergencies. Violet countered that she could whoop his ass with stupid magic skills, and that there would be emergencies where nobody knew Humarian, rendering his knowledge useless but comprehension magic would still be somewhat useful.

The parchment soon turned into graphic display of slanders and abuses, as Boris and Violet portrayed each other disgracefully, literally. They then started scratching at each other’s drawings, fighting a war on paper. A moment later, they were screaming in pain from having their ears pulled by Elaine, who sat in between. She smiled very politely to convey that they would have to calm down, or regret it. They promptly calmed down. The situation was finally under control.

Fortunately for Boris, Elaine agreed with his opinion. She indicated this by a very beautiful drawing, which depicted her like an angel, shining her light upon a kneeling Boris. She had great talent at drawing, Boris mused. She also appointed an attendant to teach him languages. He could use the library for the books required.

Thus, Boris began anew.

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Thank you for reading this far.

Please do leave your criticisms below. All comments are welcome. [th_0tasma.gif]

I will also be making a separate thread for it, sometime.

Then, until next chap... [th_107_.gif]