Jonas's Sword, Magos

Wells and Aria exchanged a look. A knot of dread tightened in his stomach, and he could see the concern in her eyes. Handing Magos back to the smith, he asked, "Could you hold onto this for me?"

"Of course," Falken replied. "Elrin, why don't you help me find a proper scabbard?" Elrin nodded, and the two disappeared into the darker back room.

"Let's go for a walk," Cirus said, his tone deceptively light.

With a miserable nod, Wells followed Cirus out of the smithy, Aria clinging to his shoulder. Cirus led them farther down the path in silence. The trees grew denser the farther they went from Falken's forge, their branches interlocking overhead until it felt as though they had returned to the Holtwood.

Eventually, Cirus stopped at a large tree stump and sat down. He said nothing, and neither Wells nor Aria dared to break the oppressive quiet. Five minutes passed, each second stretching into an eternity of tense anticipation. Finally, Cirus rose to his feet.

He clasped his hands and took a deep, centering breath. As he closed his eyes, his ring began to glow with an intensity Wells had never witnessed. Cirus continued to inhale, and it seemed to Wells that he was drawing the very essence of the air into himself, gathering power. Then, his eyes snapped open.

He thrust his left hand out, palm down. The ring flared, and a massive ball of fire erupted from it. It shrieked through the sky, radiating a heat so fierce that Wells had to take a step back, his mouth agape. As the fireball arced back toward the earth, Cirus spun, his hand moving in a sharp, fluid motion as if unsheathing a blade. A colossal wave of water surged from his ring, extinguishing the fire in a deafening hiss of steam. Before the deluge could crash onto the forest floor, Cirus waved his hand again. A blinding flash of light vaporized the water, condensing it into a dark, ominous cloud that hung above them. With another piercing thrust of his hand, Cirus unleashed a gale of wind that tore the cloud apart, scattering it into nothingness.

Cirus bowed his head for a moment, then turned to Wells. The icy displeasure on his face had been replaced by his familiar, knowing smile. Wells’s mouth hung open, and Aria stared as if seeing the man for the first time.

"I see my little demonstration surprised you," he said, a twinkle in his green eyes.

"Yeah," Wells managed. "To put it mildly. How did you do that?"

"Many, many years of practice," Cirus replied, sitting back on the stump. "It took me nearly half my life just to master the fireball. But there was a point to that display."

"What was it?" Aria asked.

Cirus’s smile faded. "What you just witnessed was a controlled use of immense power. A wizard cannot channel that much myran without training his body to withstand the strain. Wells, that is what happened to you when you created that fire. You were overdrawing."

Heat flooded Wells’s cheeks, and he stared at the ground in shame. "I didn't know," he mumbled. "I just thought magic was… thinking of something and making it happen."

"It was an honest mistake," Cirus said gently. "And the fault is mine for not warning you of the danger sooner. But I never anticipated you would be taken beyond my protection. Had I been there, I would have stopped you."

"I was only trying to—"

"There’s no need to explain, Wells," Cirus interrupted softly. "You are young, new to this world, and you don’t yet understand the nature of magic. No one truly does when they begin their training."

"But most wizards start much younger than I did," Wells argued. "I'd almost be finished by now."

"True," Cirus conceded, "but you have an advantage most novices do not."

"What’s that?"

"Your potential is immense."

Aria snorted, unimpressed. "What does that mean?" she demanded.

"It means Wells has the makings of a legendary wizard," Cirus stated plainly. "He could be one of the greatest in Remiran history, if he chooses. His raw magical aptitude, for someone with no training, is extraordinary."

"What makes you say that?" Wells asked. He tried to suppress a surge of pride, but a smile crept onto his face. "I couldn't do much when I was actually trying."

"No, you couldn't," Cirus agreed, so bluntly that Wells’s smile faltered. "But your unconscious magic is profoundly powerful. You accidentally tore a rift between worlds, Wells. Even I cannot do that. Your innate command of pure myran is incredible."

"So was Uncle Jonas's," Wells said.

"You share his blood, and he was a gifted wizard," Cirus affirmed. "But magical talent is not inherited. You are already making a name for yourself, entirely separate from him. You must realize you weren't kidnapped simply for being Jonas Barlow's nephew."

Wells flushed, a bashful smile returning. "Thanks."

"Which is why you must understand your limits," Cirus said, his tone growing serious again. "You are far too promising to die from a foolish mistake during your training."

Wells's smile vanished as he looked back at the ground. He felt Aria’s talons tighten gently on his shoulder. "Yeah," he said quietly. "I understand."

"Good," Cirus clapped him on the shoulder. "Then I won't need to have this conversation with you again." When Wells looked up, he was relieved to see the old man's warm grin had returned. "Come on. Let's go see about your sword."

Grateful, Wells rose to his feet. He glanced at the Ring of Resolve, its stone catching the light, and remembered the horrifying, draining sensation of his life force ebbing away from his own recklessness. Biting his lip until he tasted copper, he gave a resolute nod.

"I will never be so rash with my magic again," he vowed.

Cirus smiled and led them back toward the smithy.

By the time they returned, Elrin and Falken were engaged in a heated debate over fighting techniques.

"I still say the Knights of Neron have the most versatile style," Elrin was insisting.

Falken just shook his head. "The Knights of Neron merely copied the Western Aurian Warriors, and you know what happened to them. No, the finest method is that of the Fourth Century Coralan Militia."

Elrin scoffed. "The Coralan Militia would be annihilated faster than the Western Aurians today. I was in their employ a few years back; I should know. They're useless."

Cirus cleared his throat, and both men fell silent. "I'm afraid I must disagree with you both," he said with a warm smile. "You know I am partial to the style mastered by the Knights of the Grove in the second millennium."

Wells and Aria exchanged an awkward glance. Falken stood up. "Ah, Wells, good to have you back. I found a scabbard for Magos." He turned to the table and handed Wells a simple black leather scabbard, from which the golden hilt of the sword protruded.

"I was expecting something a bit more… impressive," Aria murmured from his shoulder.

"The blade is famous," Falken explained. "I took the precaution of making the scabbard plain. A simple design is less tempting to a thief."

"Thank you," Wells said.

Falken showed him how to properly hang the sheathed sword from his belt. After thanking the smith again, Wells, Cirus, and Elrin left.

"It feels strange, having a sword at my hip," Wells commented as they walked back toward the Blade and Band. Aria was leaning precariously from his shoulder to get a better look.

"It doesn't look right on you," she observed.

"You'll get used to it," Elrin said. "Both of you."

Aria straightened and sniffed. "Kithara do not need swords, and we still manage to kill one another just fine."

"Well, if you're any indication, you're quite a bloodthirsty lot," Wells remarked lightly.

Aria leaned in and gave his cheek a sharp, stern peck. "I am not bloodthirsty," she declared haughtily. With that, she launched herself from his shoulder and flew off. Wells rubbed his cheek, watching her go.

"Shouldn't you go after her?" Elrin asked.

"She'll come around," Wells said, though his expression was glum.

When they reached the inn, Aria was gone. A knot of anxiety tightened in his stomach as he hurried up to his room. The door was unlocked. He scanned the empty space, a flash of anger mixing with his worry.

He sat on the edge of the bed. Was it fair for her to fly off like that? I was only joking, he thought. She teased him constantly, and he never stormed away.

A flicker of movement caught his eye. Through the window, he saw her perched on the thick branch of a nearby tree, gazing out over the town. Relieved, he rushed to the window and pushed it open. "Aria, get in here!"

She turned her head, her feathers fluttering, then deliberately looked away.

"Are you going to ignore me?" he hissed.

She answered with a single, loud sniff.

"Guess that's a yes," Wells muttered. "Won't you at least come inside?"

She hopped farther down the branch, lifting her head snootily.

"Aria," he pleaded, his voice cracking, "stop acting like a baby."

She whirled around, her dark eyes flashing. "I'm acting like a baby?" she shrieked. "You called me bloodthirsty! You're trying to provoke me."

"Oh, come on," Wells retorted. "Can't you take a joke? I don't get offended when you make fun of me."

"I—"

"Or do you just put on that tough act to make yourself feel stronger?" he pressed, his words sharper than he intended.

She froze. "Do you really think that?"

"I don't have to sit here and be lectured by you," she said, her voice tight with hurt. She threw herself from the branch and flew toward the horizon until she was just a dark smudge against the pale sky.

He sank back onto the bed and saw Cirus standing in the open doorway, his expression once again disappointed. "What?" Wells asked flatly.

"You should have apologized."

"Why? Just because she can't take a little teasing—"

"The truth can be a weapon, Wells," Cirus cut in sharply. "You were right in what you said, but wrong in how you wielded it. Even the closest friends must guard their words."

Wells opened his mouth to argue, then closed it and stared at his boots. "You're right," he admitted quietly.

"Aria is your kithara," Cirus said, his voice softening. "But you are also her wizard. She chose you, as much as you chose her. You have insulted that bond, and you owe her an apology."

"I know," Wells mumbled. "But I don't know where she is."

"The two of you share a connection. You can find her, if you simply extend your myran."

Wells looked up. "But how do I do that?"

"The ability is innate," Cirus said, moving toward the door. "You must look inward to find the way. You will know it when you find it."

"Wait, where are you going?" Wells cried. "Aren't you going to help?"

"This is something you must do alone," Cirus said from the hallway. "My own myran would only interfere." He closed the door, and Wells heard his footsteps fade as he descended the stairs, leaving him in complete silence.