There was silence and then everyone burst out laughing. Lari’s roaring was the loudest, enhanced by him hitting the ground with his fist. Ash smiled as well, pleased that he had once again managed to make them laugh.

“You don’t look like him!” Alice giggled.

“How so?”

“They say,” Tul winked at Alice, “that his staff is made of Aramia wood, also known as Firewood. According to legends, it was struck by the first lightning to ever split the skies of this world. That’s how the fire got to the surface from the earth’s bowels. They also say that the staff increases one’s firepower several times. All you have is a stick.”

“Also,” Mary intervened, “to get the staff, E’sh had to defeat the God of Wisdom, Lao Fen, in chess. And we know that you don’t know how to play that game.”

Ash twisted his “stick” in his hands and then rose to his feet.

“Fire!” he shouted, pointing at the forest.

At first, nothing happened, but then the staff uttered a small spark. The group laughed once again. Ash smiled shyly and scratched the back of his head.

“And let us not forget,” Mary continued, “that he has a cloak that allows him to soar the skies, made of Wind’s Memories. Yours looks like a tattered rag.”

“That’s not true,” Ash argued. “It’s just that the wind forgot a lot so I had to patch up the holes.”

“You can’t fly!” she laughed.

“Yes, I can!” he protested. “Look!”

Ash drove the staff into the ground and grabbed the edges of his cloak. Bending over, he began to vigorously wave his arms up and down, mimicking a bird in flight. His attempts of soaring, however, ended up with him tumbling over the clearing, much to the group’s joy.

Busy laughing, no one noticed how the grass where the staff had been placed started withering and turning black as if it was burning up from the inside.

“All right, all right.” Mary breathed out, wiping away tears. “Back to training. One more round and we continue.”

Sighing tiredly, Ash pulled the staff from the ground and took his fighting stance, grabbing the weapon with both hands and putting it in front of him. For him, this wasn’t a fight, but a performance.

As he watched Lari rush at him, he remembered his first fight and how it changed the flow of his fate forever.

27th day of the month of Nust, 310 AD, Middle Kingdom, Royal Palace

Garangan sat on the throne, lost in his thoughts. No one could tell what the young man, who had recently married the beauty of the Three Kingdoms, was thinking about, but they assumed it had something to do with the empire’s state of affairs.

“My Lord.” The majordomo peered into the modest throne room. “The First Archmage has arrived.”

“Thank you.” Garangan nodded. He had always considered that being polite to his servants was a sign of good rule. “Please, let him in.”

“A moment, my Lord.”

The majordomo, clicking the heels of his shiny shoes, disappeared behind the doors. A moment later, a weird man with a red cap, purple robe with frills on its sleeves, and a staff made of white wood walked in.

“My Lord.” He bowed.

“Welcome, Arthur,” Garangan said, getting up to greet his old friend. “How’s your back?”

Arthur walked over to the throne and sat next to his friend, who used to entertain him with different tricks in his childhood. A few had the privilege to sit aside the royal couple, but for these few, special chairs were prepared. They were made of black timber, which was the most expensive wood in the Nameless World.

“Aching, as is to be expected at my age.” Arthur smiled, stroking his long, silver beard.

“Have you considered a vacation?” Garangan winked, that was a bit weird, taking into account his high rank.

“And risk having charlatans come to you while I’m away? Over my dead body!”

“Thought you’d say that.” Garangan sighed. “You never did like street performers.”

“Oh, but you adore them.”

“Both me and the wife, luckily. She really likes the circus,” he said and then switched to his business tone. “However, I didn’t call you to chit-chat this time.”

“Whatever His Majesty needs.”

“Six months ago, I asked you to take a young man under your wing.”

The Archmage winced, and his lower lip quivered. In all his life, he had never gotten a task as difficult as this one had been.

“That you did, my Lord.”

“I’d like to know how he’s doing.”

“His skills are, without a doubt, outstanding, my Lord. I’ve never seen someone absorb knowledge as quickly and efficiently as he does. In the past year, he had managed to master two forms of Fire magic and learn as many as seventy Words. All this before the first snow, may I add. Even I wasn’t that talented at his age. My Lord, you’ve brought a genius to the palace.”

Garangan nodded.

“I’m glad to hear that. But what do you think of him as a person?”

“He’s a monster!” Arthur grimaced and gripped his staff tighter. “A devil incarnate! I watched him train with the guards, I watched him ride with the best of horsemen, watched the majordomo teach him manners and letters, librarians share their knowledge with him... I watched them all fill his head with this or that, but I never saw so much as a shadow of emotion on his face! He shows neither joy nor sadness. He doesn’t care if a living being is killed before his eyes! He doesn’t know fear or lust or envy... Nothing! He looks like a sculpture that has been given the ability to move and think. An empty shell, endowed with a sharp mind. My Lord, remove this demon from the palace before it’s too late!”

“Is what you say true?”

“I swear! May the Heavens strike me dead if I’m lying.” Arthur’s eyes glowed with fierce flame. “Hell! I’ll eat my hat if I’m wrong!”

Garangan did his best to not burst out laughing and hid his smile behind his hand. He knew that Arthur loved his hat more than anything.

“As you say, Arthur,” he finally said and tugged on a rope that hung next to him.

A moment later, the majordomo walked in and greeted the two with a bow. “You summoned me, my Lord?”

“Call Baronet Nameless, please.”

“Right away, my Lord.” With another click of his heels, the majordomo disappeared, hurrying to obey his lord’s order.