The day was uneventful at the beginning. The two visitors and their host exchanged greetings and began their exercises. When they stopped for lunch, Itxaro had little to ask, still unsure how she felt about the two’s connection.

She trusted Alvah. He kept secrets at first but he seemed open and honest with her. However, if he spoke true, it was not he that made the decisions between the two. In that case, she would hope he was a liar but if he was dishonest about something as serious as that then he was untrustworthy.

Itxaro discussed inconsequential details with them, observing their interactions while probing for a chance to separate Desdomena from Alvah so she could see how he was without the aberration influencing him. After noting their mannerisms, it seemed that Alvah indeed was not the one making the decisions. His usual speech pattern when expressing his opinion directly to Desdomena, he would often say, “I would rather,” or “I would prefer.”

When the candle finally melted all the way down to the base, Alvah started a short new lesson for her about the dynamics of science and magic. “Magic does not grow weaker with progress but it becomes less necessary, less impressive,” he summarized. “As the sciences advanced, it became easier to apply another’s discovery than to trouble oneself to design one’s own spells.”

That seemed simple. Her own experience as a midwife was a matter rooted in the sciences and was easier for her to master so far. She had only been practicing magic for only three days but it had been a stressful three days to simply light a candle, something she learned to do with flint from Zarion in a matter of hours. If future spells followed the same pattern, it did seem to take longer to learn how to accomplish something with magic when it could be solved through mundane means.

As they set a fresh candle in front of her, he gestured for her to wait. “Is there something wrong?” Itxaro asked.

“No, but before you start the incantation today, close your eyes after looking at it.”

“Why?”

“I will explain after it works,” he informed her.

Itxaro observed the candle, measuring its every angle and finding it to have only the slightest deviation from the previous one, something she would not have noticed if she had not been so fixated on the objects recently.

“Now close your eyes,” he instructed. She did as he said. “Now lift your hand like you would for your gesture. Do not start yet. Now see the candle with your mind. Hear it flicker to life. Smell it burning. When you next open your eyes, know that candle will be lit. Now cast your spell.”

She did hear the flickering and felt the scent of heated wax tickling her nose. “By my will, burn!” she incanted quietly at first before her final word resounded as if she was trying to wake the dead.

“Now open your eyes,” Alvah urged.

Familiar light filtered through her eyelids before they even began to lift. She gasped to find reality matched her imaginings as in front of her danced a small flame on the wick.

“I did it!” she exclaimed at the accomplishment.

Alvah smiled his awkward smile as if her excitement was contagious. “Indeed you did,” he congratulated just before reaching out and snuffing the flame between his fingers. He brought his hand to his face and pressed his features into a more neutral expression. “Now do it again,” he said calmly.

Itxaro shut her eyes and raised her hand. She felt a little tired but heart raced, telling her what she saw was real and she could do it again.

“With your eyes open,” he specified.

“Though not so loudly, please,” Desdomena added sticking her head from Itxaro’s shadow. “For a moment, I thought you were telling us to burn.”

She looked at the blacked wick, proof that she already accomplished as much. She repeated her spell but more quietly that time. She watched with awe as with a spark, the tiny flame came to life.

Alvah made a single clap with his hands, his lips stretched wide as they could in a grin. “Congratulations, you are now a mage,” he declared heartily.

Itxaro’s cheeks hurt from smiling. Some part of her felt tired but this was the most excited she ever felt in her life. It took her a moment to process it all, the sensation of accomplishment growing with each thought. She had cast a spell, something that had been reserved for her grandmother for all those years. Alvah or Desdomena likely might have said something to her or each other but she did not notice.

Alvah took the candle and brought it to his face to blow it out, bringing Itxaro’s attention back to the present. “It is easiest to do it with your eyes closed,” he explained to her, possibly continuing something he mentioned earlier. He passed the object to Itxaro and she took it. “You trust your eyes so if you do not see the result happening, then you start to doubt. Once you gain confidence, it grows easier.”

He noticed her daze. “Are you alright? Do you feel drained?”

“No, I do not,” Itxaro replied enthusiastically.

“Good, it was a simple spell. I could imagine someone lighting a hundred candies without growing tired but this was your first time. You might experience drowsiness or disorganized thoughts as your mind comes to terms with how the boundary between your imagination and reality are now blurred. Are you experiencing any of those symptoms?”

“No, it is just so amazing,” Itxaro expressed her thoughts of euphoria. “I used magic.”

He looked a little confused.

“She is not like you, Alvah,” Desdomena informed him as she manifested and stretched on the ground between the teacher and student. “Magic is not commonplace for her. It must be like how the first humans felt when they discovered they could tame fire. It was a part of their lives but beyond their reach until suddenly it was not. Now you better tell her how to properly use it before she gets burnt.”

"Still, to cast your first spell, no matter how simple it may be, after only a few days. I would you have a talent for this," Alvah noted.

"Or determination," Desdomena added. "Let us not discount her will with just the right amount of youthful impatience to make her press harder yet not give up. Most children would have gotten bored after the first few hours of yelling at an inanimate object."

"I am not a child," Itxaro reminded her.

"But you're not a century old yet either. For you, a decade is your entire life but Alvah spent all that time and more just repairing things and thought nothing of it. The older you get, the less value time has, until you reach your final days."

Itxaro bit her lip to stop herself from voicing agreement. She remembered when she was five or six and being given a few extra minutes before going to bed meant so much. Now she could have hours slip away.

“Now that you are a mage, you should know how we combatted against each other. Knowing how we defeated each other might give you an idea of your own weaknesses,” Alvah began. “In a battle between mages either the quicker thinker or the one with the most willpower wins. One might cast a shorter invocation or simply resort to physical force if close enough to stop the other from beginning a spell. However, if it becomes a case of something like a spell that pierces through any target against a barrier that blocks any attack, the one with the stronger willpower overcomes the weaker. It is rare but there were even tales of mundane warriors with a force of will to ignore an attack or bypass a defense. The thing is, any decent mage has at least some selfdissipline to master their spellcraft so an everyday soldier following the orders of another usually lacks the mental fortitude to match. Not that I have anything against warriors and soldiers but they are normally the passionate type, doing as they are told to protect their family or nations while a mage is self-serving, bringing their own ideals to life.”

“But you will also teach me how to master my own spells?” Itxaro asked. "I do not see myself fighting another mage."

He let out his strange laugh though this time it was more recognizable as laughter, less gravelly than before. “You may be talented but it would take more than a month to master your own art.”

“Of course,” Itxaro acknowledged, having spent her time on a simple trick. “But why did you choose a month?”

“I will be gone by that time won’t I? I will have outlived my welcome by then, yes?"

“You can stay longer,” Itxaro alleged. “As long as you are useful, I’m sure they will let you stay as long as you want.”

If they left, they took with them one of the village’s only opportunities to reclaim greatness. The village was already imperalled, but magic like that from the past might provide a solution. If not, it could at least serve as a salve.

When their eyes looked together, his expression and words were solemn. “Is that the value of a human? How useful they are?”

“Well, no,” Itxaro answered, taken aback, “There is more to it than that.”

“I jest,” he claimed with a kind smile not dissimilar from Disdomena’s, more normal but somehow more artificial. “Forgive an old man for toying with a youngster.”

“How old are you to be speaking like that?”

His expression became refreshingly awkward again. “Older than I look.”

From appearances, Itxaro would guess he was older than her father but younger than her mother, just beyond his prime but showing no wrinkles. Her mother was a bit older than five hundred years old but stress had aged her slightly beyond that of what one might expect for someone that was middle aged.

“I will let your grandmother help you master your own craft. If she does not, I imagine you have the skill to make an art on your own now that you have an idea of the fundamentals. For my remaining days here, I will simply teach you of the histories that I know and the dangers I have experienced so you can avoid them.”

Desdomena smiled. “We would not want you falling prey to something like me just because you happen to know a single trick.”