The porcelain cup was still steaming between my fingers. I held it in my left hand, letting the book rest on the padded arm of the armchair. The old pages smelled of dried ink and time - a scent I had learned to love. My eyes moved slowly along the lines, absorbing the rhythm more than the words.
Across the room, sitting in front of the fireplace, the vice-principal watched the flames with a gaze lost in memories that I didn't dare interrupt.
"How was your journey here?" he asked in Gothen, that rough language that demanded discipline even for the simplest syllables.
I closed the book calmly, marking the page with a small piece of crumpled paper. I answered in the same language, still with an accent, but direct.
"Quiet. The court didn't take long" I replied in the same language. My pronunciation wasn't perfect, but it worked. Direct. No frills.
"I knew what you did," he smiled. "He greatly underestimated your intelligence. He paid the price for it"
I just smiled. I didn't need to say anything else. The truth tastes so good when others recognize it.
I took another sip of tea and changed the subject.
"I received the flower of the true soul. What is it?"
The vice-principal raised an eyebrow, surprised by the question. Then he sighed wistfully, as if he was sorry to miss the moment of lightness.
"I thought I'd relax a bit before talking about complicated matters" he said. "I even considered complimenting you on your recent progress. Why don't you play this old man's game for a while?"
I looked away. I was tired of playing games. I was no good at pretending.
"What I saw doesn't leave my mind..." I whispered. "I don't feel as melancholy as I used to. It's as if she was always with me. But I know she's gone. I'm sorry for burdening you"
He just shook his head, gently.
"It's nothing"
His gaze was heavy, as if he knew exactly what I was talking about.
"We wizards" he began, twirling the cup between his fingers, "need catalysts to awaken our talents. Everyone is born with a natural talent. Something we are aligned with. This talent can be strengthened by many means..." He pointed to my book, or perhaps to something beyond it. "The orchid garden you've been cultivating serves as one of those catalysts. It forces talent to emerge artificially"
I leaned back in my chair, processing his words.
"So... I've awakened?"
"Precisely" He nodded. "You awakened naturally, like the old wizards did. No tricks. No contamination. It's rare. It's something to be envied"
He took another sip before continuing. He seemed to choose his words carefully.
"We mages are the ones who can connect with nature. But how can I explain that..." He looked at me thoughtfully. "In a way that makes sense to you..."
He paused for a moment, as if searching for a metaphor that I would understand - something less academic, something more... practical.
"The light of life..." he began calmly, looking directly at me, "yes, the light of life in your body was developed in the bones, through nutrition, training, perception. As you practiced, your body naturally grew and adapted, developing an ability to perform its function more efficiently"
I remained silent, absorbing each word like someone picking up pieces of a puzzle that suddenly began to make sense.
"Now, your body stores this light of life" he continued. "making it part of you. That's what differentiates a simple warrior from someone who has touched the essence of strength"
There was a short break. He gave me time to digest it.
"The same thing goes for mages" said the deputy principal, with that deep look that seemed to pierce through the soul. "While warriors use their bodies, mages use their souls. A warrior's path ends at Master of Combat, because there is a limit to how much energy the body can absorb. After becoming a master, the only ways to improve are through techniques: fencing, riding, strategy... but the power of the energy will always be the same"
I had already suspected this. It always seemed strange to me that a warrior, no matter how trained, still seemed... stuck in the physical. Limited. As if there were an invisible wall that he could never cross.
"The soul, on the other hand" he continued. "has no limits. Its potential growth is infinite. But, of course, there are two requirements: first, we need a physical body to inhabit. Secondly, a pure consciousness to channel at will"
He then fell silent, giving me space to reflect.
I stared at the floor for a moment. The pieces were starting to fit together in my head, as if my mind, which had been asleep until then, was finally starting to wake up.
"I see... so that's the power of royalty" I muttered. "Looks like my theory was right"
The vice-principal raised his eyebrows, visibly surprised.
"Yes" he nodded slowly. "Your theory is right. The nobles are the warriors. But the kings... the kings are the magicians. It's indisputable. A warrior doesn't stand a chance against a formal mage, even if he reaches his maximum maturity and masters the four great skills of battle: Aiming, Destructive Strike, Accelerated Coordination and Concealment"
"Is there no way to break that difference?" I asked, my mind still reeling from everything I'd heard in that courtroom, from the words that echoed from the past and from the uncomfortable truths that were now coming to light.
"Many have tried. But no" replied the old man with the tone of someone who carries the weight of centuries. "The warrior produces the light of life through breathing and eating. Its manipulation involves the will, but it is linked to the flesh. The concentration of energy is lower. The amount he can gather is less"
I remained silent. That wasn't just an explanation... it was a sentence.
"Do you know what warriors are, Zaatar?" he continued, looking directly into my eyes. "Servants. They are servants created by the mages to protect their territories. The ancient wizards wanted capable and trustworthy people to control, so they created the warriors"
Servants...
The word sounded like a whip. A leash. As if all the sweat, all the blood we shed, was just another cog in the plan of someone greater. Someone above. Someone who thought they were the world itself.
"It's a conceptual question" I muttered, trying to understand the implications.
"Exactly" he nodded. "Warriors rely on nature to attack. Mages... are nature"
I was silent for a moment. There was a tight lump in my throat. So that's how they saw us?
"But that's a topic for the future" he said, softening his tone, as if he understood the storm brewing inside me. "Now... your soul fire has already ascended. This flame represents your Will. It is now connected to nature"
The old man paused. The expression on his face changed. It became bitter. Jealous, even.
"That little girl... she gave you a great gift. She really loved you"
And it was as if a bolt of lightning struck me.
Evelyn.
My mind traveled back to that moment, that stolen kiss between the mountains, her laughter, her voice when she whispered simple, sincere words. And now, that spark - that flame that burned inside me, as if a part of her heart had stayed with me forever.
I sighed. I lowered my gaze to the fire in the fireplace. The light danced, as if mocking my melancholy.