“Ahh… that’s much better…” A tired Syron observed as he let his sore body sink slowly into the large bath. After a long day of physical therapy, his body shuddered as it relaxed in the hot water. The bath, which was communal sized and pointlessly luxurious, had the usual carved monsters all over the pillars. Focusing on the ceiling, Syron first examined the painted mural depicting a blue scaled dragon terrorizing an underwater kingdom of fish people. Then he shut his eyes and focused on staying awake while he recovered from his day. Though his physical recovery was complete due to extreme magic usage, convincing everything to work properly seemed to be a bit of a snag. He had relearned how to walk, crawl, jog, and had even started on swimming and climbing… but all that work had made him seriously sore. His mother, whom had seemed to avoid him for the past five weeks, had offered to use magic on him once again to heal his tired muscles, but Syron wasn’t sure if that would undo his work so he passed.

Taking it in stride, she rather tersely told him that she’d see him at dinner and left the room he was in. Which was fine with him, as it was the changing room for the baths. The people that didn’t leave as he completely disrobed were no fewer than three Knights and Marigold. At least Marigold had already helped him bathe repeatedly since he first woke from his coma, so it’s not like he had anything new she hadn’t seen before… but after a full physical recovery and some added muscle growth, Syron had a body he hadn’t had in decades. There wasn’t an ounce of fat on him due to the extreme malnutrition that one would expect from being in a coma for a year, but magic had made all those deficiencies just go away and left him with wiry muscles. Honestly, it was a bit too much since a little fat here and there could smooth the edges a bit to make him look cut but not anorexic.

All of this culminated in him not being too embarrassed to expose himself in front of the young, athletic women that made up the entirety of the Forrester’s guard… but it was enough for them to be a little embarrassed for him. Apparently, you didn’t get to see many men when you worked at an estate that employed exclusively women. The reasoning still baffled Syron that only men old enough to be his grandfather were allowed to work here, like the butler. It didn’t make sense because even if you bought into the whole “The Lady can’t be trusted to stay abstinent in the absence of her husband!”, you can’t forget that old men’s junk sometimes still worked.

On the topic of his mother… she had calmed drastically since her manic outburst the night of the assassination attempt. He wasn’t sure if she realized how bat crap crazy she was acting, but it was probable to be the case. The look on her face as she left the room that night was one of conflict. Syron hoped she could work her way through it. Treating a mental illness was not a practice he felt like he had any business attempting, nor any real understanding of in the first place. Should he avoid her? Should he indulge her? Should he just play it normal while slowly distancing himself? He didn’t know, but with her avoiding him like a ghost that she occasionally has to cast spells on and eat meals with, he also didn’t have to bother with it. Perhaps it was a one-time thing that only triggered because of his attempted murder? She had lost enough, and Syron did want to help her. Not at the expense of everyone else in the House though.

Finishing his bath, Syron got dressed and went back to the library where a section had been cleared for him to leave his study materials out and unbothered. He moved an eight-by-eight checkered board to his ‘workbench’, which was just a table he used as his personal desk, and beckoned Marigold to the seat across from him. She reluctantly sat down and faced the board, waiting for him to perform his magic. Slowly, ghost-like pieces began materializing in front of her eyes, one at a time and in the appropriate spots for playing.

* * *

The strain on the Young Master’s face was obvious, but she knew it wasn’t her place to argue with him. After all, he had decided to practice his magic and no one else wanted to help him just yet. It would take a long time before the anti-illusion stigma would be cleansed from the Forrester House, so until then Marigold didn’t mind helping him with his experiments. What could these shoddy illusions do to her? Convince her a room was clean when it wasn’t? She didn’t do anything other than her job, so that’s the only thing he could trick her about. She’d be far more frightened if the Young Master had the same powers as his father. That could actually hurt her. Or, well, kill her with fire.

“White goes first!” He said quickly, maintaining concentration on the pieces in front of her. She casually ran her hand through one and it flickered out of existence. He grunted and forced it back into play. Marigold followed his instructions on how to mess with his illusions, but she felt he was trying to improve in too many ways at once.

“Lord’s Cavalry to D5.” Marigold intoned, smiling as the Young Master first moved the piece as she called it, but then materialized it back in its original spot.

“Ah… legal moves only. Too hard.” He immediately gave up one of his requests to her. It was just as well. He would be just as productive if he focused on only sharpening his image, but he said he didn’t care if the pieces looked real, only if they were functional. On further inspection, it seemed like he was intentionally making the pieces translucent.

“Lord’s Cavalry to D3.” She tried again. This game he insisted on playing was a variation of the new and popular Lordling’s Gambit board game that utilized unrealistic move sets for the various pieces, yet seemed to be far more balanced in terms of play. Unlike in Lordling’s Gambit, his Lordling was a weakling that was protected by a much stronger Lady. It was a rather sad concept no doubt based on his own situation, but he seemed to be completely oblivious to the parallels. He called it ‘Tkhess’ for some reason, but wouldn’t elaborate on why. Moving his own piece in response to her, half of his pieces moved at once as he gritted his teeth and forced them back into place and only moved the one he wanted. They went back and forth a dozen more turns, the game getting easier for the Young Master to keep going as there were fewer pieces to materialize.

“Magister to E7. Your Lordling is imperiled.” Yet another ridiculous rule the Young Master put in place. Why did we have to declare our intentions to kill the opposing Lordling on the next turn? Obviously the Lordling is imperiled, it is literally the point of the game. He just shrugged and said it isn’t really a rule, but a helpful guideline for new players. A guideline he apparently needed while struggling with maintaining concentration on his pieces. He was losing badly. All the other staff members kept gushing about how great the Young Master was at Lordling’s Gambit, it almost made Marigold feel bad about how she was trouncing him. Almost. She did have to help him poop quite a few times the past couple of months, after all. It was not at all a task one would expect to have to perform when they sign on to take care of someone completely toilet trained.

The Young Master was not able to escape imperilment and Marigold captured his Lordling, ending the game. He set his elbows on the table and rested his face against his hands, sighing deeply as the pieces vanished at once.

“Well, I got my can kicked, but at least I was able to finish the game before I ran out of juice. Honestly, hearing about how my magic channels are supposed to just be a perfect circle around my midriff, I’m a little miffed at my former self. Seriously, build your foundations properly!” The Young Master chided himself nonsensically. Can? Juice? Miffed? Ignoring those, as the Young Master tended to say several strange phrases a conversation, Marigold instead thought introspectively about her own foundation for the first time in years. She made an experimental push at her Magic Soul. It brightened and rolled easily in the slightly oblong, egg shaped channel in her chest. Feeling dissatisfied once again for her useless aptitudes, thinking of the young boy that tried so hard to prove himself in front of her made her smile. He wasn’t always the easiest of children, but he was pretty cute from time to time, was he not?

Grinning to herself while she reminisced, Marigold didn’t notice the smile coming from Syron as he appraised her. “Marigold, you’re quite lovely when you smile. For your future, you should consider doing it more.”

Marigold’s reminiscing of a cuter, six-year-old Syron shattered as he started saying things that made him sound like an old man. If she did not know him well enough to realize he had little to no sexual interest in her, she might even think he was attempting to woo her in the only way Young Master’s seemed to know how… poorly. Being of good heritage, having great wealth, and possessing extreme political clout is the trifecta for young and attractive servants being taken advantage of. Syron had just started to make eyes at some of the staff before his coma, but he did not do it at all anymore. Waking a cripple in the aftermath of an only slightly unsuccessful attempt on his life seemed to have humbled him in a way that improved his character several times over. Nearby, all three of his assigned Knights started holding back giggles.

“Mari… is there something stuck in my teeth? I feel like there is something in my teeth.” Marigold looked up at the young master whom had not eaten anything in several hours and groaned audibly. He had conjured an illusion of a dozen cooked asparagus hanging out of his open mouth like an ugly green beard. Unlike his transparent pieces from the game earlier, this illusion was robust and almost looked real. It even had an oily sheen as though it was pan fried instead of steamed, which was a nice touch. He tilted his head sharply and the vegetables jiggled wildly before coming to a rest again. The movement was ridiculous, but not very realistic.

“It appears so, Young Master.” Marigold responded mechanically. It was best to not indulge the Young Master when he started acting silly with his magic. It only escalated problems.

“What about my ears?” He mumbled out as though he actually had food hanging out of his mouth, albeit unconvincingly. As Marigold watched, two more asparagus started slowly coming out of his ears. She held back a tremor of laughter, but could not stop herself from smiling.

Allowing the illusion to fall, the Young Master laughed raucously at his own attempts at humor.

“You smiled, so I win! Something about the way you constantly look at me like I’m an idiot is really refreshing, Mari. Thanks for being my personal maid.” He announced, winking theatrically at her.

“You seem to be in a good mood Young Master.” Marigold could not help but chuckle softly at his exuberance.

“Of course I am. I can move again! I can breathe without running out of breath from the effort!” He explained, though that second reason was a little bit…

“And even more importantly, my most cherished of maids… is the magic! Magic is awesome!” He laughed again, and Marigold could not help but shy away from his mood. He had not experienced performing magic in the company of someone not employed by his mother, or really anyone other than Marigold and a few select Knights. Most of the Knights had requested to not be put on his detail due to concerns over his magic, but those that remained did not seem all that upset from his antics. He never seemed to do anything except make games and ridiculous pranks with his magic, though perhaps that was precisely why most were afraid of illusionists. He never ‘seemed’ to do anything, but who was to say he wasn’t steadily altering their views of the world until it was too late and they fell down the stairs and broke their neck? Once again Marigold could not help but feel a little helpless at the Young Master’s situation. If he could blow up a mountain he’d be applauded as a magical genius like his father instead of the accident-waiting-to-happen he perhaps should have been treated as. Instead, he can make somewhat realistic party tricks so he is a social pariah and potential menace to society.

Many women would say that he could use his powers to trick them into engaging in sexual activities with him… like that was something to be afraid of. He could molest that same woman on a stage in the middle of a town square and get away with it because of his surname. Sycophants may even talk about how lucky she is for securing his seed. Nothing would come of it, even if at the end he pulled out her heart and ate it in front of everyone. Honestly, Marigold found most people to be rather petty in their beliefs. If someone of his standing wants your life, he does not need to use tricks to get it. He already owns you.

He had stood from the table and made his way to the dining room.

“Seriously, Mari. Magic is dope. I can’t wait to get started on my next project. I just need to figure a little more stuff out.”

Marigold sighed internally at the word ‘dope’. He keeps saying that word about magic, but as far as she knows, it is nonsensical.

“Oh? What is your next project, Syron?” The Lady, whom was waiting already in the dining hall heard him as he strolled in and sat down.

“Games, mother. And I’m not talking about tkhess, either.”

No one is talking about tkhess, Young Master! Why did you name it that!?