Orel sat on his bed, resting his back along the wall. The sound of tv static filled the room. He stared at the walls as Norman's words echoed in his mind.

The door unlocked. Norman came in, carrying groceries, covered in snow.

"I brought some food." He said, lifting the bags to the table.

Orel said nothing. Norman's mouth twisted, seeing such a defeated demeanor. He searched the bag blindly and took out a sandwich.

"Here, I got something for you too." He threw it on the bed.

Orel's eyes followed the packet as it tumbled to the side and slowly slid off the edge.

"So, what's on your mind?" Norman sat on a chair opposite Orel's bed.

"Are you really saying we should give up?" Orel asked with a frown.

Norman sighed. "I won't stop you. All I'm saying is that your family will be sad if something happens to you. You wouldn't want that, would you?"

"So, I have no chance at this?"

"I don't want to sound pessimistic, but I don't believe we will survive if we run into them."

"Well," Orel slid off the bed, took the sandwich, and opened the packet. "I'm not going to stop. I don't care if it kills me as long as I have no regrets." He took a bite out of the sandwich.

"Really? Don't you care about your family?"

"They let me go because they believe in me."

"There's nothing in there for you to die out there."

"Maybe not for you." Orel took another bite.

Watching those hardened gray eyes, yet to be broken, Norman could not tell whether they were truly sturdier than his or yet to be broken. What he could tell very well, however, was that even if they were to shatter, the flame behind them would never quench.

Norman sighed deeply. "You win. There's no use in conversing with a brick wall."

"Then, what are you going to do? Are you just going to quit and go back home?"

"I'd rather die than go back there." Norman stood up from the chair and cracked his neck.

"Weren't you about to give up?" Orel asked.

"Between death and that, it's better to die trying, but this is no good."

"What is?" Orel saw Norman's confident face.

"If we're going to get to Väinölä, you need to get better, and to do that, I will need to teach you magic." Norman coughed. "That is why I, Tobias Norman-Alceus, will teach you, Orel Eislandir, the secrets of magic."

Orel would have laughed at the pompous performance in any other situation, but for this one, he had to stand up to bow as a sign of respect.

"I accept," Orel said with a warm smile. "And it's Eislandr."

"Oh, sorry. Well, that's the official part done. I'm not about that, but every mage has to hold some traditions."

"Where do we start?"

"How about I ask what you know about magic?"

"Um, I don't know. I've heard about it, but that's it."

"Right, nothing. Let's see, what kind of image does it bring into your mind? Where does it come from? What can it do?"

"There are so many ways. I can't choose." Orel struggled.

"Good. Don't tell my professors I told you this, but I think there's no right way to do it. Whatever comes to you naturally is how you should do it."

"But shouldn't you still have to think of the most effective way it works rather than some weird rituals?"

"That's the difference between natural and academic mages. It's true that while the technique can be freestyle, you should focus on practicality." Norman explained as he rummaged through the groceries-

"Again, what am I supposed to do?"

"Lay on the bed. Think of it as meditation." Norman took out a salmon roll.

Orel did as ordered and lay on his bed with his hands and legs loose.

"The only thing that all magic shares is that it flows in your body. Close your eyes and picture it."

"Are you sure there are no right answers?" Orel peeked with one eye.

"No." Norman took out a translation book. "Think of what type of screensaver it is if you're really out of ideas."

Orel tried his hardest inside his mind while Norman smacked his lips, finishing his snack.

For how hard he tried, nothing came to him. There was only one thing in his empty mind. The pulsating, rushing sound of his blood drummed with a steady beat. The more Orel listened to it, the stronger it got; the louder it became, and thus it was only harder not to concentrate on it. Orel's veins felt like they were on fire as the blood rushed around his body. His breaths shortened and quickened until he was panting and sweating, his clothes wet.

While Norman was honest about the methods and forms of magic, he did hide the fact that one cannot awaken magic with some light-hearted meditation, or it could be, but one had to submit to that lifestyle for almost a decade. While everyone had the theoretical possibility of awakening their magic, it required knowledge, training, and time one could not easily afford, especially as the first part was not open to the public.

Those facts made it even more terrific as Norman lifted his gaze from his book to Orel, spasming on his bed.

"Dear gods!" He threw the book away and rushed to Orel's side.

"Norman," Orel forced his jaw open.

"That's enough!" Norman shook Orel by his shoulders.

Orel opened his eyes to see Norman's horrified face. As he stood up, he realized his hands and legs had a fleeting tingly feeling as if being pricked by hundreds of needles. Orel felt like passing out as it ceased and dropped back on the bed.

"What happened?" Orel tried keeping his eyes open.

Norman stroked his goatee. "Do you happen to be related to mages?"

"No?" Orel groaned.

"Hmmm. Are you sure?"

"...No?"

"You better lay down for a while. It takes some time for a novice to recover. At least it's only minor mana exhaustion."

"Okay." Orel fell asleep.

Norman watched as the boy slept with labored breaths yet a relaxed face. His mouth opened, yet the words escaped his thought. He returned to the chair and picked up his book with trembling hands.

He thought. "Honestly, what am I going to do with you? If what I glimpsed was merely your talent, I am utterly terrified to see your potential. Was it a mistake teaching this boy, Lisa?"

Orel woke up with his whole body sore like he had forgotten to stretch after working out. Stretching helped little, as it was not his muscles that were sore but his body as a whole. He saw the outside from the window, yet all he could see were specs of snow in the darkness. Orel looked over to Norman's bed, yet he was not there. He was nowhere to be seen.

"How long was I asleep?" Orel yawned. He took out his phone, only for his jaw to drop open. "Two days?!"

Besides shock, Orel almost felt his stomach eating itself while it rumbled like a volcano. His nose picked up a sweet smell of something delicious, leading him to a paper bag on the workbench. Orel's steps trembled, for their strength had not returned. Nevertheless, he arrived at the other side of the room and dropped on the chair.

A cold hamburger welcomed him inside the bag, along with a note. "I'm going off to do some research nearby. Call me when you wake up. Signed, Norman."

Orel did not bother warming the meal and gobbled it on the spot. It gave him enough strength to get his bearings and change clothes.

"Norman?" Orel rang.

"Oh, Orel. You're awake." Norman answered with some chatter in the background.

"Where are you?"

"Just doing some on-site research."

"What does that mean?" Orel raised his eyebrow.

"Chatting with the locals. They have many great stories to tell. Good thing I have their grandchildren to translate."

"Don't tell me you're just going out for free meals?"

"How can you say such a thing? I am an honest researcher!" Norman pounded his chest. "Well, I won't mind if they happen to offer their hospitality."

"Uh-huh."

"Let's talk about our plans as I get back. There's something I need to tell you." Norman dropped the cheery attitude.

"Uh, sure." Orel hung up. He looked outside the window down to the streets where the dim streetlights barely kept them from falling into the shadows. The sight of Markom restaurant made his stomach rumble.

"Maybe I should order some more." Orel thought.

Norman finally arrived back, only to find the door hard to push open. "What the hells is this?" He asked, his feet buried in the litter.

"Sorry, I got a bit hungry." Orel burped.

"Well, feeling alright?"

"Better."

"That's good." Norman sighed.

"Was there something you wanted to talk about?"

"Ah, yes." Norman realized. "I heard something from the locals."

"Got some good recipes?"

"Yes, but that's a different matter." Norman stuffed his notes further inside his pockets. "The firefox festival is coming back."

"Oh, that hunting thing?"

"Yeah, it's held in Geavu, the north point of Alanland."

"Isn't that where we are going?"

"Yes, but that's not all. The locals haven't organized the festival in decades."

"Oh?" Orel shuffled closer in his bed.

"They stopped it after the natives protested against them."

"So why is it coming back?"

"They got new organizers. The duke of Clarent, Daniel Medrawd, has been making moves to reorganize it."

"The duke of Clarent? Is he famous?" The name sounded familiar to Orel.

"I hadn't heard of him until I did some research," Norman said, baring his teeth. "Turns out we know him well."

"Oh?" Orel crossed his legs.

Norman showed a picture on his phone. Orel's eyes bulged. He had to blink twice—the dark mane of hair, the trimmed stubble, and that glimmering eye. There was no mistaking it.

"Yup. Those Magistrate mages did come here for a reason." Norman sat on the chair. "I hate it when my gut is right."

"We're going straight where they are."

"More or less." Norman shrugged.

"Then let's get to it." Orel clenched his fist.

"Huh, to what?"

"Training." Orel grinned.

Norman laughed. "Sure. I'll make these few days a living hell for you."

"Fine, but teach me while at it."