14 - A Story of Magic
Tariel
Facing the attentive audience, a familiar shadow crept into his mind—that tiny seed of doubt, nestled in a dark corner of his consciousness, which tormented him cruelly.
Was the magic he was about to unleash truly his own?
Was it the fruit of his long years of study, his iron discipline, and the sleepless nights spent in the silence of his library, or was it merely an echo stolen from the Heart of Elhe’s power beating within his chest?
A fleeting bitterness clogged his throat, but he brushed it aside with a flick of his mind.
Whatever the source, he reassured himself firmly, at the end of the day, I am the one holding the reins.
It is my mana that I channel, my energy that I bend to my will with a precision that only a High Mage can achieve.
The Crystal was merely an instrument; it was indeed Tariel—and Tariel alone—who was about to dazzle these people. He was not a mere vessel; he was the creator and this audience, which had far too few opportunities to encounter a being of his stature, deserved nothing less than perfection.
That moment of doubt lasted only a few seconds—barely a heartbeat. Tariel straightened his shoulders, his chin held high, and in a voice that betrayed none of his inner turmoil, he began his tale:
“Eons ago, long before the first civilizations came into being, the world was nothing but a vast, turbulent ocean of raw energy. The skies and the earth had not yet been separated, and all was primordial chaos. The first entities to emerge from this maelstrom were the Ancients, beings of unimaginable power and infinite wisdom.”
As the elf told his story, his words were illustrated by ethereal, translucent forms that materialized in space. Colossal beings, with almost grotesque silhouettes, appeared and took shape as his narrative unfolded.
“These Ancients, known by various names throughout the ages—Titans, Primordial Deities, or simply the Firsts—began to shape the universe. They separated the sky from the earth, the oceans from the continents, and brought order to chaos. In their wisdom, they understood that the raw energy of creation had to be channeled to maintain the harmony of the cosmos. Thus, magic was born. The Ancients infused the world with their essence, imbuing nature with an infinite amount of power pulsing through every element.”
He made a gesture, and an image of primal fire appeared, dancing in the air.
“This is how elemental magic came into being. The first mages learned to control the fundamental elements: fire, water, earth, and air.”
With a snap of his fingers, a flame shot from his hand, transforming into a small, levitating sphere of water, soon joined by a whirlwind and a handful of floating earth.
“Over time, the Ancients shaped the first intelligent races, each with a unique connection to magic. The elves, born of their dreams, were among the first to master these energies. With these powers, the species capable of harnessing them shaped the world, building cities and subduing the forces of nature. The first elven High Mages were able to manipulate the elements, weave illusions, and communicate with the spirits of nature…”
Tariel dispersed the elements with a fluid motion, replacing them with a soft, benevolent light.
“But there were also those who sought to heal and protect. Thus, the magic of light was bestowed by the gods upon their most faithful followers.”
He conjured a golden light that soothed the gazes of those around him. The elf had never mentioned this to the mercenary, but he was capable of far more than he had shown him so far… and he was using this story to prove it to him.
To show him a tiny fraction of the full extent of his knowledge.
He shot Cassian a mischievous glance, as if to silently say, “and you’ve seen nothing yet,” before continuing:
“However, few of the chosen ones were naturally capable of mastering magic. So some began to learn it, drawing it to themselves through objects or elemental connections. Others specialized in the art of making pacts, drawing their powers from a third party in exchange for a tribute. Thus, practitioners divided into three categories: mages, whose magic is innate; sorcerers, who learn it through vessels; and warlocks, who make pacts with creatures or demons. As for me… I’m what you might call an exception, since I draw from all three categories… but I digress.”
Tariel then made a gesture that suddenly darkened the space around them, despite the sun standing high in the sky. Shadows snaked through the air.
“However, like everything else, magic has its dark side. Less benevolent races, drawn to power, began experimenting with destructive forms. Dark magic emerged: necromancy, curses, life drain, and demonology.”
A skeletal figure appeared, then disintegrated into black dust, sending shivers through the audience. Tariel had mastered these arts, but never made use of them, and the reason for that was simple.
“A new truth soon came to light: any being who makes excessive use of dark magic inevitably becomes corrupted. It takes control of its master and devours them until it has eliminated everything good within them. This magic… is the enemy of nature, of the gods, and of the very foundations of our universe. And since its power is virtually unmatched, one must sometimes resort to it in order to hope to defeat that of others.”
The scene shifted once more, giving way to vast battlefields where magical forces clashed.
“Many succumbed to corruption. Wars broke out, pitting those who used magic in harmony with nature against those who sought to exploit it for their own gain. To protect the world, the Ancients returned one last time. They created powerful artifacts to channel the most unstable energies, such as… the Hearts of ?lhe or the Philosopher’s Stone.
These treasures were entrusted to fair guardians. ”
The elf paused as the landscape flashed by in fast motion, showing civilizations rising and roads being laid out.
“Over time, civilizations forgot the true origin of magic. The Ancients vanished into nothingness or withdrew, leaving the Gods to take over. But every day, something new was discovered. There is, for example, psychic magic,” he continued, “which can read minds or move objects by the power of the mind alone.”
He made a pebble levitate, then a flower, setting them gently down in front of an awestruck child. Then, suddenly, with a sweeping motion of his arms, he transformed the steppe into his own library.
The illusion was not merely visual; the air seemed to fill with the scent of old paper, wax, and incense.
The group found themselves frozen in the center of the Great Hall, their eyes fixed on a deep-blue vaulted ceiling, pierced by an immense glass dome and three circular oculus windows that let in a celestial light.
Gray stone flying buttresses supported this dizzying structure, soaring above dark wooden bookshelves that seemed to reach up to the skies.
Tariel watched as the mercenary’s gaze drifted over this motionless world, frozen in the elf’s memories.
At the tops of the bookshelves, clumps of lush green moss spilled over, adding a touch of wildlife to the academic austerity.
He could see Tariel’s desk in a corner, lit by a lantern casting a soft golden glow, where a book lay open as if the mage had just stepped away for a moment.
Further away, strange and fragile instruments caught the eye: a crystal hourglass, a silver moon resting on a piece of furniture, and above all, a massive golden armillary sphere that sat enthroned on a purple rug.
It was a scholar’s sanctuary, a place where every object told of centuries of solitude and the quest for knowledge, a universe he had built to shield himself from the world.
Tariel, bathed in the illusory light of his dome, spoke again in a voice that now resonated with the muffled echo of the great stone halls:
“The magic of the mind allows one to enchant, charm, and manipulate. Sometimes for noble causes… or less noble ones.”
An image from the past flashed before him: Tariel, sipping tea, using a simple mental spell to send away an importunate customer.
His attire was lavish, embroidered with gold, showing him as he once was: an immensely wealthy and slightly arrogant High Elf.
He smiled at the memory before moving on to the next one.
He was seen jumping back at the sight of a spider and, on reflex, firing a fireball at it—but before a catastrophe could occur and he could set his precious library ablaze, the flame fizzled out.
Seeing Cassian’s surprised expression, the elf smiled broadly as he gave him a gentle, teasing nudge. The library faded away as Tariel placed his hand on Cassian’s chest, where he had inscribed runes the day before. A bright light flared beneath the man’s shirt: a protection rune.
An amused smile played on the mercenary’s lips as he murmured, just loud enough for Tariel to hear:
“I figured I could still feel your fingers here…”
Tariel simply gave him a knowing wink before lowering his hands. The magic slowly dissipated into the air. He turned his gaze toward Cassian with a gentle smile.
In Caelendor, disciples would have paid a fortune for such a lesson. But here, on the nomads’ grasslands, he had sought only one thing: to show the man accompanying him that he was much more than just prey.
Cassian
A smile spread across his lips as he watched the mage reassure a people who had never encountered magic so closely before.
Cassian listened intently, looking away for a moment when Seris gave him a knowing glance. He cleared his throat, feigning indifference so he could focus on Tariel once more.
He could sense his companion’s nerves, but the elf’s acting was flawless, masking his distress with regal confidence.
As magic materialized to illustrate the story, Cassian’s gaze drifted into the swirling wisps of smoke.