The Depths of Magic and Madness (Freezn x Passion)

[Freezn]

---

Harken closer dear reader and hear tale of the betwixed pair. Subjects born unto to the Kingdom of Embrath, Miracle of the Languished Sea. First among the nations of man to harness the power of the gods. The reality warping craft we commonly call magic.

Its mages tore apart the world in the age of myth to forge the mightiest nation in the land. Led by the Lambrac the Conqueror, they drove out the mighty beast that had plagued mankind since the dawn of time. Goblins, orcs, fang hounds, dragons, aberrants, demons, none could stand before the might of his cabal. Into the mountains and through the deep forests the beasts were chased, driven into the realms of the barbarous. In their wake was a newfound peace, the likes of which mankind had never experienced.

In the shadow of peace Embrath was born. Its majesty twisted and stretched, clawing its roots deep into the ground until not even the greatest of catastrophes could threaten its dominance. As ages came along other kingdoms rose to challenge Embrath for its title of mankind's greatest nation, but each and everyone fell short. The line of Lambrac was served well by his cabal, hence dubbed the Royal Court. Their wisdom allowed the Kings and Queens of Embrath to outwit the cleverest of foes. Their persistence warded off even the most enduring plots that thought the shadows might hide their wicked deeds. Their power crushed mountains and eradicated all who would stand against the throne.

A millennia has passed since the ancient time of Lambrac the Conqueror, and still his Royal Court continues to provide for the thriving kingdom. No other nation could boast of mages equal to the Royal Court. Their achievements are legendary and vast. Their virtues a guiding beacon for all of mankind. Their power unmatched.

This is the narrative that spread throughout the world. Carefully cultivated and tended to as horticulturist might their prize-winning garden. The Royal Court's displays of power and record of unquestioned victory did well to further this tale. However more subtle aspects supported the mythos in an even more crucial manner. It was the rare few who ever had the privilege to be in the presence of a member of the Royal Court, let alone truly know or think to join their number.

The King had his duties to the masses, many knew his face, understood his public thoughts on prevalent matters. His courtesans were well accounted for, his friends a favored topic of gossip among the town criers. The royal presence was seen in the slums and frontlines in equal measure as he inspired loyalty.

None of which could be said for the Royal Court themselves.

They held languid parties of exorbitant privilege it was told, but none had ever been able to attend. They were said to be the wisest in the land, but all knowledge of their advice came second hand. Isolated high above all others, "To join the Royal Court," was a saying of far off wishes that none thought possible.

Such was the way of the world as Deckard of House Malek dawned his silver embroidered tailcoat. The luxurious fabric pulled from the undercoat of kraisian mountain beasts provided a snug, comfortable fit to the man's hawkish figure. It accentuated his broad shoulders and narrow waist. The coloring matched well with his shoulder length raven black hair, pulled back into a loose tail, the tips still free to gently curl at the ends. His face was freshly trimmed, drawing his pale blue eyes, sharp nose and pointed jawline into precise focus. Where his gaze wandered, his desire was done.

He carried himself with the dignity of a man well accustomed to bending the fabric of reality as he saw fit. His stride never slowed as he approached the doors of his private study, the mahogany opening of its own accord, before shutting behind him with equal grace. The tower had been in the hands of countless members of the Malek line, each of which had been a member of the Royal Court. Each imbued their will to the structure. Over the span of centuries, their combined efforts had laced a working that made the grey stone, and dark wood of the ancient structure respond to the barest touch of their wills. It was so well bound to Deckard that when he thought of the Gargoyle Tower as it was so affectionately called, he thought of it more as a pet than his place of abode.

On this day it sensed his annoyance and cast out in kind. The torchlight of the halls did not reach quite so far this eve. Its stone walls drank in the heat of the coming spring, leaving the chill of winter to creep through its halls. The stone under Deckard's feet groaned and moaned pitifully, the whimper of a dog all too accustomed to a master's ill intent. Farther down the hall, a lock unlatched. It released with it a breath of stale air, upon which road the ghost of screams long since released. A new apprentice was to be received today. The tower made welcome her room.

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The road to the Gargoyle Tower was a long one. The dusty path was far from worn and provided a smooth ride under the shadow of vinecovered oaks. The bright green of life prevalent despite the true bloom of spring many weeks away. A damp mirky heat warded off the winter chill along the path, before ending as the woods broke. At the base of the many storied tower, the trees were cleared away to provide space for lavish gardens and small ponds that sang with the marsh's wild life. At the center of which rose the entrance to the tower. Two massive doors of thick wood, inscribed with wards that drew from deep within the ground to facilitate the miniature ecosystem. Over these doors hung the namesake of the Gargoyle Tower. A massive creature of stone, carved and shaped out of marble in the shape of a impish devil. Its great wings cast a shadow over all who crossed the doors threshold. Its blank eyes giving off the impression that it was looking upon any whom traveled the gardens.

As a painted black carriage trimmed in gold came to a halt before the walkway leading to the great doors, a spindly older woman stepped out from within the tower. Her silver-grey hair was pulled up into a bonnet and she wore the plain grey and white dress denoting her a servant of the house. The glittering necklace of silver hanging from her neck spoke otherwise. Her aged face was scrunched tight into perpetual squint and pursed lips combination.

The old lady regarded the woman who exited the carriage with an up and down look over before offering a soft smile. Its warmth never quite making it to her eyes. "Welcome to the Gargoyle dear. Please come inside." The frail woman pushed the massive doors open without so much as a grunt, revealing a well-lit atrium complete with a glittering chandelier hanging three stories overhead. Tiny crystals gave off a soft white light throughout the windowless hall, lining door frames and base boards of the room. The black and white marble of the floor was checkered and gave ample places to sit or stand as one desired. A bar was tucked off to one side and was attended by a finely dressed barkeep seeing to a pair of individuals who kept their hoods up and faces shadowed. As the elderly woman and her guest made their way through the entrance a soft hiss could be heard from overhead while the door shut on their own volition. As they thudded shut, the wards upon it brightened, fusing the two doors into a single piece of wood.

"My name is Ravice dear. Set your bags and cloak down there." The woman gestured with a wave of her hand off to the side where a luggage cart resided. "When you have need of something, just say my name and I'll be along shortly." As she spoke, she strode her way across the great hall, towards a back door that led to a flight of stairs. Neither her age nor her many layered dress doing anything to slow her. "Unfortunately, I cannot give you a proper tour of the tower at this time, Lord Malek has requested your presence in the testing chamber as soon as able but rest assured that we shall familiarize you with the many halls and floors as time allows."

She continued to speak, her breathing interrupting her words as she began to lead up the spiraling staircase. "Remember now… when in the Lord's presence… do not forget to use his proper title. Pref.. preferably Lord Malek until… he admits you as his apprentice… officially." As they rose up flight after flight, the halls became no less grand, marble stone still lay beneath their feet. Paintings and mirrors and trophies and sculptures of unknown value still lined the halls. It was only less comfortable. Gone was the warmth of the floors below, the remnants of winter now crept back in. Gone was the bright light of the crystals, now only smokeless torches and scant rays of light from partially blinded windows illuminated the way.

 

[Passion]

[Mistwick]​

The town of Mistwick has been a forgettable township in the Kingdom of Embrath. Far from the capital, the town neared the Ashrose Sea and it had been most known for its busy port. Besides trade and fishery, Mistwick was looked at as a location made up of commoners of low class mixed with some who neared middle. Many had honest lives and loving families, but there was one townsperson that not only stood out among the rest, but had a large portion of the kingdom had been whispering about her over the last two decades.

Her name was Lyvia Virmar. Born from a baker and a fisherman, and what everyone assumed would be just another face in the small crowd of townspeople turned out quite... different.

As soon as she entered the world, the girl shimmered with arcane light and her pale gray eyes that would shift and fill with color were quickly noted. There were tales of humans from long ago who were born of flesh and mana. Some believed they were blessed directly from the gods, and others assumed they were the purest of mages that could exist. However, many assumed such humans were mere fables. Mages these days were crafted after birth and saved for the fortunate, but there Lyvia was.

Life was much different for Lyvia compared to her peers. Many traveled far and wide to see the rumored girl and the parents that created her. Arcane researchers, officials from various cities, and even desperate citizens hoping for a miracle came to her with questions, requests, and gifts. The town of Miswick was put on the map, solely for Lyvia, who was coined as The Ascended.

Such attention did not come with fame and glory as one might expect beyond gifts and words. Mistwick was disturbed by the curious that wandered their streets, others envied, and her parents had tried to keep her under lock and key. It left Lyvia to daydream about the glory of the kingdom she thus far failed to see.

While kept away from those with sense, everyone around her filled her head; she was the one and only and fated for great things. She ascended beyond the norm, beyond the town of Mistwick, and that belief was strong enough to find its way to the Royal Court, and Lyvia would make sure that they saw her worth. They had to. She was not placed on this world to simply become a wife of a fisherman like her mother, no... she had much bigger dreams.

One day, everyone will know my name.
The elites will bow their head in my presence.
I have been chosen beyond the crowns of kings.
Blessed by the gods,
I am fated and thus
I shall bring help bring forward a new age.
A brighter age with magic where I stand center.
​

---

The trip to the Gargoyle Tower was a stressful one; it wasn't very often that Lyvia left Mistwick despite the endless requests to, but this time. Many saw her as high profile and some even believed that she was a witch, and thus traveling was rare. However, this time it was more than worthwhile. Finally, after years, she was invited into a possible mentionship program. Growing up in Mistwick, she didn't have many resources to grow as a mage, but she knew she was fated for greater things. Ever since she was a little girl, she dreamed of being noticed by the Royal Court and to one day become a member. Even to sit at the same table to discuss the arcane was enough to get her heart fluttering. If only they could get to know her, as it would not only better her as a mage, but the entire Kingdom. Additionally, she would get what she was told she deserved. While she looked both delicate and sweet, the desires for power, fame, unlimited resources, respect, knowledge, and the idea that she could leave behind a stronger imprint of herself in history drove her. The idea was grand, but oh-so dreamy. Nearly every commoner treated her like a goddess of sorts, the image was cemented in her warped head.

When they reached their destination, Lyvia slipped out of her seat with a hefty sack of personal items. Under her cloak, she was dressed in a gifted lavender magus robe tied together with a white silk bow. With her light brown hair that dropped to her mid-back smoothed out, it was hard to tell that she grew up as a commoner, yet in reality, she was one that relied on donations of her 'believers'.

Still, even without her apparel, a close look along her figure would reveal sparks and shimmers of pure mana that oozed from the woman with the same faint light idly dancing within her gray irises. Those with keen senses could tell she reeked with magic substance. Within the woman a sea of mana waited whicht flowed throughout her entire existence, but there was one downfall to her greatness; Lyvia lacked proper training.

She was a being tied with mana and only knew what she taught herself. While not completely clueless, she didn't have many resources to target her growth. She read all the books she could get her hands on, but there was only so much she could experiment without risking Mistwick. She could feel all the power within her, but how was she to utilize it beyond the passive magic she practiced? It was fair to say that her education was choppy, and didn't always apply to her since she was cut from a different cloth than modern mages.

Greeted by a servant, Lyvia followed along to drop off her bag and the dark cloak she had with her. "Thank you." The elderly woman seemed nice enough to offer her service, but it sounded like there would be little time for settling in. To meet Lord Malek in the testing chamber probably meant he wasn't one to waste time. While eager to prove herself, she also had many wondous questions for the man. Other than talks with fleeting visitors, this would be the only time the young woman even had the chance to properly work with another mage.

Following along, her brown shoes hardly made a sound as they made their way up the staircase. "I understand." As Lyvia - the Ascended or not, she understood that she was meeting with a very extraordinary man, and she was merely a guest despite her title.

Lyvia couldn't help but notice the shift in the atmosphere as they climbed; it was both cold and dark. She knew many in connection with the Royal Court lived mysterious lives, but this wasn't what she was expecting. The mild discomfort as well as her general nervousness regarding the meeting caused the woman to leave behind a faint trail of multicolored mana behind her.

​

The motes of color that slipped from her dotted the air behind her before fizzling out of existence; it was also her oneness with the mana that flowed within her that made her unique, but at times, an open book or more sensitive, but it also opened the door to spell mastery.

She could tell they were getting close, and so Lyvia smoothed out her soft purple robe that hugged her feminine yet slender body. Taking a deep breath to steady her nervous excitement, a bit more mana escaped her. It was now or never.

 

[Freezn]

"What do you suppose it means?"
"They just got lucky is all."
"It's not supposed to be possible anymore."
"Tell that to her. That'll stop it."
"We could strip her of it. It'll be nothing but rumors and lies before long."
"And what do we do if others begin to arrive?"
"…………………"
"We should take her in."
"Are you so eager to become a slave?"
"Give her to him."
"He won't take her. You heard him, we're too fragile."
"He'll have no choice if we stand united."
"…………………"
"….United.…"
"Are there any objections?"
"…………………"
"We are in agreement then. Let us see how far this Ascended can rise after he's through with her."​

---

Slowly, Deckard pushed open the door to the testing chambers. As his pale gaze roamed over the room it appeared unchanged from when it had last been used. No dust lay upon the dark wooden tables and cabinets. His tools and instruments remained polished and gleaming. The books upon the bookshelf were flush with the edge. Over his head a crystal the size of a man's skull hung from a cage of wire. It filled the room with a sickening green light that cast the edges of the room in shadow. The testing room was not expansive. There was no need for it to be. Yet, the dark void of light at where the walls began always gave Deckard the feeling of being out at sea on a moonless night. And there in the center of the room was the drift wood he would cast his apprentices upon. A singular chair of no real substance. It would have looked at home in any shoddy school house, with its foldable desk hanging over the edge. The seat itself was well worn, having supported a handful of Royal Court hopefuls thusfar. That was its only saving grace. Its back was thin and straight, giving just enough to squeak in protest should any think it wise to rest while within its domain. Its legs were uneven by barest amounts, requiring exact balance to keep the chair from balancing upon more than three legs.

The dark haired noble completed his lap through the room, reacquainting himself with his favorite tools, toys, and instruction materials. It would be a true shame to sully a good many of them by using them upon a weak blooded common born. He took solace in the fact that he wouldn't likely need to use many before she broke. The Ascended they called her. The rabble was prone to flights of fancy however. He would know. He had personally added tales of his own creation to their rumor mill over the years. Few things revealed how fragile people were compared to the leers and jeers of their peers.

Carefully, he pulled open a cabinet and drew forth the alchemical vials and bottles required for the first test. His long fingers aligned the glass tubes precisely, poured mixtures of cyan blue and deep purple. They lit a rich green flame of emerald within under a beaker. What a waste indeed. Resources. Time. Attention pulled to such monotonous tasks, all for a low born. There were true games to be about and here he was, caught in the combined will of the Court. In the back of his mind he wondered what it was Lord Alyster's daughter was up to these days. With those scars upon her wrists she'd only need a small push…

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Ravice stopped at a landing some many floors up on the verge of outright gasping for air. She borrowed a moment to smooth out her dress as she collected herself. The elderly woman cast a wrinkled grin to the woman in her care, "Oh to be young again." As her own common brown gaze flicked from Lyvia's face to the fading trail of multicolored light that led down the stairs behind them, her smile dimmed. She licked at the nearly invisible hairs just over her upper lip before speaking again. "Rumor is you're from the country side, yes dear?"

The hall that lay before the pair seemed to curve and elongate at the edges as they spoke. Marble stone warping in the dim light to lower the ceiling and round out the walls. "Just… remember your manners here dear." The elderly woman took a step closer to her young counter part, placing her hand upon the mage's bicep. Her grip was surprisingly firm despite the ravages of age. Her next words were delivered in harsh whisper, "And keep your composure. They'll leap on you like wolves if you don't."

Pulling back she patted Lyvia's arm gently giving another warm smile that never reached her dim eyes unlike moments before. "Afraid I'm not allowed to escort you through the Master's private hall dear. But you can find the testing chamber just ahead. Take the next left and it will be the open door on your left." With a withered finger she pointed down the hall, where a suit of armor slowly turned its helmet to stare in their direction. The tower gave substance to the Master's darker thoughts, tinged with annoyance and malice. The Gargoyle let manifest his impatience.

In the direction the old woman had advised, the walls continued to mold itself. It turned more and more oval in shape until it gave the impression one may need to duck to traverse its length despite the ceiling remaining well overhead. The stone seemed to groan in protest, like an old oak adjusting to the mighty wind's urging, yielding despite its stature of hardened stone. The wooden doors along the way strained to accommodate the changes, creaking out silent screams of their own. Portraits of various individuals decorated the wall, becoming more and more prevalent as the dim torches became less and less so. An escort of disapproving faces.

By the time the open door of the testing chamber was revealed, the windowless hall was nearly pitch black. Only the faint glow of the pale green light from within illuminated the way. The bitter tower had grown cold enough for one to see their own breath.

Past the doorway stood Lord Deckard Malek.

His hawk like features lended him a long, predatory smile as he stood expectantly in the back of the room. Alchemist instruments bubbled and fumed, giving off a low whistle as a luminescent purple liquid boiled behind his back. He stood tall, almost perfectly straight were it not for his subtle bend in his apprentices direction. His hands were clasped behind his back before he gestured towards the seat with a wave of his hand.

"Sit, Ascended. Tell me your name, followed by the how and why you came to be before me." The man's tone rang out smoothly over the bubbling liquid behind him. It was the practiced cadence of a caring guardian or parent greeting a rambunctious child. The complaints of the building fell silent. His pale blue eyes had been half lidded when she first appeared, though they widdened open at the sight of the leaking mana. Now that is a curious sight. And those eyes... His grin grew all the more prevalant as he took young woman in, pearly whites stained in the ill green of the room.

 

[Passion]

"Yes, I am. I'm from Mistwick; a small town near the Ashrose sea." The thought of home versus her current surroundings were truly night to day. The realization of how out of her element she was caused a chill to race up her spine, but there was no turning back. She would never forgive herself if she did anyway. Despite her nervousness, it was thrown into a blend of excitement and confidence. The very thought just being in the same room as a renown mage had her blood rushing, and Lyvia did know her value as a mage.

Although silent, Lyvia let the old woman's advice sink in. She wasn't exactly sure what kind of man Malek was, although she did hear rumors and tales. However, it was impossible to know fact from fiction when news had been passed around town to town. One thing she did know was that her origins already put her at a strong disadvantage in the eyes of the Royal Court. Elites were elites... as despite being a woman who ascended beyond current understanding of magic, she was not. The elites never were fond of those who lived much more humble lives. Although, Lyvia had been treated much like a queen in the countryside, it was still far from those in the capital, but that wouldn't dampen her fire. If the Royal Court couldn't see her as an equal when it came to class, couldn't they they at least welcome her as a mage? No matter; she would make sure they did.

Stopped near the hall's entrance, Lyvia returned the tender smile. "Thank you for your assistance. If I get some free time, I would love to have a tour you spoke of. I feel like I could wander these halls for hours in interest, but I'd probably get lost." The foreigner rubbed the back of her head at the sad but realistic thought.

After a polite bow of her head, she then walked alone down the shifting dark hall. WIthout company, it felt easy to get lost in the tower even with simple directions. She followed the flow of the obscure path, doing her best to not smack into anything or gaze too long at the decor, but there was no doubt that the tower was one disorientating place, but she could feel the magic within it, and it had a way of luring her right in.

As advised, she took a left and saw the open door that she was told about, but she had not been expecting an eerie green light accompanying it. She had maneuvered her way through the hall just fine, but her nerves stunned her as she approached the glowing doorway. Taking a deep breath, she forced her body to relax and recalled the advice given to her:

Keep your composure.​

After a few seconds of pause, she found her footing once more and pushed forward. Nothing was going to stop her.

Stepping inside, her currently, mostly silver eyes took a look around the supposed testing chambers. Eventually, that surreal gaze of hers landed on the other soul in the room. Already his words caused her to tilt her head; hadn't he been aware of her planned visit? Had the news not gotten to him? No, it had to.

"You are nothing short of a wise man, Lord Malek, but is it true that you know my title, and yet do not know my name?" For having an angel face, her words dripped with pride. She might have a poor background, but according to what was currently known, she knew she was truly one of a kind.

She walked deeper into the chamber, finding her way to the offered seat. "I am Lyvia Virmar, as you know, The Ascended." Some of the mana within her came to the surface, and her figure came alight with a radiance of pure mana. Pastel hues expanded out from her silhouette, and the gray of her eyes now replaced with the same soft tone of colors.

As she sat there, her signature magical presence stained and charged the area as if claiming it for her own even though it wasn't quite her intent. "I've been born with mana flowing through my body like blood. Magic is more of an instinct of mine than a field of logic and crafting. It is it was believed that she was a living example of the next evolution of human and mana." Bold claim for a low class woman, but it was hard to say that she was wrong. Her mana was different, it flowed different, it was an extension of self.

Feeling as if she proved her point, her aura of mana dissipated and her eyes turned a clear yet dull gray once more. "I have been recommended by many trusted officials of the western half of the kingdom for many years to be seen by the court. Finally, someone works for or who is on the Royal Court answered." She restlessly crossed a leg of hers over her knee to then smooth out her robe once more to remain proper. Yes, this was actually happening.

"While our magic may be different, I hope to prove the strength and value of my magehood and aid the Royal Court. I also hope to further my education as a mage." She had been mostly alone in her navigation in the arcane arts, but as the Ascended, it would be a waste for her to not learn and utilize her powers if that was for good or even deepening human understanding of flesh and mana. In the realm of arcane research, her very existence was laced with unexplored territory.

Reaching up, she tucked back some of the locks of her silky pale brown hair behind her ear. Her demeanor lessened and turning more feminine. A coy smile crossed her lips. "I must also admit, I have always wanted to meet someone from the Royal Court. I have seen many sad souls claiming to be mages, some offering me foolish beliefs as facts, but I trust the Royal Court and their knowledge. I've always dreamed of meeting other powerful mages." Socializing and trying to relate to fishermen and traders of her small town didn't cut it; she felt a black sheep. She had an eye for magic, and so did the Royal Court.

 

[Freezn]

Deckard's chin tilted upwards as the young woman gave her expected retort. His eyes were trained upon her own as he smiled down from above. Pride. It was the trait any true mage shared with their fellows. Whomever held no pride would have will that bent and folded easily, leaving them without the resolve required to change reality. His annoyance which kept the tower around them in a pensive state slowly melted away as the woman before him spoke. Oh yes, she had pride a plenty. Ambition, egotism, desire… emotions crucial to breaking the laws of reality upon one's will. He could practically see it radiate and stain the world around this Ascended Lyvia Vrimar just as her mana was.

In truth the raw power such a display required was fascinating to behold. Were he not before an audience, Deckard may have licked his lips with excited hunger. None had come before him who could reproduce such effects with so little care. At least none that had not gorged upon alchemical concoctions to strengthen their mana and then been given proper training on how to manifest it outside of their body.

It was like staring down a wild animal. Powerful, accustomed to being the king or queen of its own little realm. The idea of facing a predator greater than it so foreign a concept that it would never see the signs of its fate until it was far too late. Deckard could feel his own mana churn through his blood. It itched to be used in a primal display of dominance. But he was so much better than simple dazzling displays of color.

He allowed her to speak till she was spent. Every answer was filtered to a separate corner in his mind, stored away for later use. All the while his cheshire grin held as he looked down upon her. It was there at the end of her tirade that he found another emotion. Adoration. The seed planted in all common blood to keep them placid and at heel. The leash upon which even this font of power could be chained.

When she finished speaking, he remained silent, allowing the words to hang in the air.

Instead of responding immediately, he turned his back to the woman. His fingers wrapped around a glass syringe now filled with a blue iridescent fluid. With calm patience he walked back to stand just before Lyvia. "And now you have met one. Your dreams have come true. What use do you have for me to educate you, if you have already fulfilled your greatest aspirations?" He bent slightly, leaning over her smaller form while he pulled folded desk up over the woman's lap. His words were calm, soft, quiet. Hardly above a whisper.

He set the syringe before her, the glass sitting with a gentle 'tink' upon the wood. The Royal Councilor stepped back retreating towards the shadows along the outer edges of the room once again. His hands folded behind his lower back, his silhouette illuminated by the purple and blue simmering liquids behind him. His tone now carried a dangerous edge, "You walk into my home espousing claims that you are the next evolution of man and mana, and all you can aspire towards is to meet those you have claimed to surpass?"

The soft blue of his irises flexed and then narrowed as he focused his gaze upon her lips. The dark of his pupils slowly spread as he continued to speak under the ill green light. "You think yourself above the concepts of study and knowledge, needing only to rely upon this inane sense of instinct you have. Yet you wish for me to aid you in your quest to develop your education. To what end?" Drip by drip he channeled his mana outwards, coating it upon the metaphysical threads to which only those attuned to magic could pluck. Without any overt displays of focus or spellwork he found the cords that symbolized her body.

"Oh yes. I know all about you Lyvia Virmar of Mistwick." He felt his pulse quicken in his chest now. The primal urge to act teetered just on the edge of release. Carefully crafted webs of mana drifted out from him. It was subtle at first, like the thought of a breeze well imagined on an already frigid day. "I know all about your father, the fisher. Your mother the baker. The charlatans that came begging to bask in your radiance. The slop from which you have risen from thinking yourself better than they. Thinking yourself worthy as my equal." And then he pulled the final thread that bound the cords of magic tight. His eyes filled black, his spell attempting to grip her body in a vice. Strands of magic tightening, pinning down limbs, locking joints in place across her body and squeezing in an effort to hold her in place. Its effect bent on restricting movement to the point that even breathing was difficult if not outright impossible.

Taking two steps forward, he leaned down, the sharp grin from earlier having sunk into a knowing smirk as he bent closer to her face. "You are here because I have allowed you to prove yourself better than your breeding. You are here to service my will and to show my brethren that I can mold even a low born such as yourself into a Royal Councilor. You are here to do as I say, when I say."

Standing up to his full height, Deckard adjusted his tailcoat, brushing it down and pulling it taught once more. He reached out a hand, brushing the right side of her face with the back of his fingers, unraveling the magic that bound her head with a brief exertion of mana and will. "Are we of an understanding Ascendent?"

 

[Passion]

This was a meeting that she had dreamt of since she was a small girl and able to comprehend how special and rare she was. Given her position and how those treated her as she grew up, it was easy to get caught up in pride, even if she wasn't born into wealth or fame. Of course, she had been nervous, but she had convinced herself that no matter what, by the end of this all, the Royal Court would see her for her value.

It was now or never.​

"My dreams are much bigger than just a meeting." Much grander.

Her surreal hued gaze jumped up to his face when he neared. On her visual upward path, something caught her eye; what did he have in his hand? Still, she sat both calmly and properly in her seat, masking the fact that she was rather on edge. However, something didn't feel right.

An eyebrow raised as he left behind a syringe, but her focus remained fixed on him, especially as the tone in the room shifted. She could tell she got under his skin. Oops, but the woman was rather stubborn, especially when she felt just. It was as if he didn't grasp the depths of her words when she said that she wanted to grow and aid the court. Did he not see her as fateful? Why else would she born touched by mana so deeply? From her point of view, he should be honored that the admirable and unique mage was even this eager to work with the Royal Court.

Her eyes narrowed into a cold glare as he continued to try to attack her methods and pride. It was when he spoke about her family did she feel something more. No, it wasn't just the fact he was adding fuel to her fire to correct him or bicker back, but it was magic in the air and the look in his eyes.

He told her to rely on instincts with magic wasn't enough, but that was her strong suit. Spells were often weaved into delicate patterns. Those patterns that she could not only see and feel but disturb, alter, or even break. One thing that made her different was her sensitivity to magic, which was both a gift and a curse. So, while his spell gripped at her limbs, and her eyes went wide not only from the realization, but also the sensation.

Why was he casting against her? While she had dealt with some fools and their attempts to behead her as if she was cursed life, never had she felt another mage's magic against her. Her shimmering aura was the first to react, snapping into action without much thought from the caster. It came to life as a burst of raw mana to not only disturb spells externally, but her mana was now rushing through her, causing interruptions internally along the way.

In action, it was as if the woman herself was an untamed sea of fierce mana. Excessive mana spewed from her in overreaction. The loose mana littered the room in a stunning color display of particles of glowing pastels, and with her magical essence on overdrive, she claimed the room with her magical presence; it would feel as if the she was everywhere. Her once silver eyes now flickered with moving color like the aura that enveloped her. Her eyes like open windows with hints of the active flow of her mana within her.

As dazzling as she looked, a careful eye would see cracks; it was questionable for how long and how much control she had over this rare and potent power. The way she bled with impulsive color was a blunt sign of a lack of control; she was wasting fuel in her defense. While productive against his spell, it was messy, and this is when instinct wasn't as fruitful as she would hope.

Her method not only pushed the ties free from her, but it was a bit hard for her to stop once her mana got going. It was another issue that came with a lack of restraint, and so she continued to burn even after securing her freedom. - Despite the hiccups, it was clear, the girl was powerful, but she lacked discipline. At this rate, one day, her own magic may consume her. However, her blinding pride would say otherwise.

While he was near, she dared to lean in close enough that he would feel her hot breath against his face. Even if her magic threatened to slip from her control, her mind currently was stable.

"Go ahead, keep underestimating me, but you feel it in me, can't you?" Her pink lips curled into a confident grin. "A true mage's search for knowledge is never quenched. Teach me, study me, and I may open up new doors for you, the court, and I."

"You will see my worth.
Do you understand?"
​

Bold she was, but she had no intention of coming in like a typical guest since the beginning, she would go with the flow, just like her mana, as she always did. She did not care if she came from a lowly family, she deserved more and so she would have more. While she spoke of not underestimating her as a mage, it would also be a mistake to underestimate her determination or her fixation to make it as high as she could. While she had verbally stood up against him, it was also for him in a backwards way. Her passion to be accepted burned. Not only that, wouldn't the Royal Court want someone on her side even as a tool? If she was to go rogue or fall into the wrong hands, who knew what would come of it.

Leaning back in her seat to try to provide them a bit more of a personal gap, she looked off to the side and eventually her aura started to slowly but surely ease. "I'm not trying to be rude, but you must understand that I am not like the others, nor will I pretend to be. I can offer the court things that I may not have even discovered yet. You can help me discover that, and I want to help you. I will make sure you see for yourself that my title and claims are not empty. Give me a chance to grow and prove myself. I will not let you down." She would make sure of that despite the challenges it may bring, but little did she know of the possible depths and struggles that could come with such commitment.

 

[Freezn]

It was beautiful. The stunning display of prismatic pastels staining the chamber that came gushing out of this woman was simply beautiful. Deckard was confident that two or three of his fellow council members wouldn't be able to muster up such a display on an average day. This woman had managed to conjure it up out of instinct. Pure guttural reaction. For a breath he could feel her mana batter at his own protective shell as her spirit claimed the entirety of the chamber. This was a force of nature that could burn the rot of weakness from the Royal Court. Focused it could carve out a place in history that would rival Lambrac himself.

But it wasn't focused. It was wasteful. Disgustingly so. Already the shining display of power flickered in and out in places. Her overwhelming control of the immediate area dampened by the moment. It lacked the determination he saw in her eyes.

The world slowed to a crawl as Deckard saw two paths before him. He could burn this woman before him. Turn her in on herself and watch the wild uncontrolled forces create a catastrophe that would provide years of entertainment and remove yet one more rival. Or he could channel this chaotic mess of a woman. Refine and turn her to purpose. His purpose of course, but a purpose nevertheless. Which would be more entertaining? Which would be more satisfying? In his three decades of life, the man had seen many fires, set many himself, but none would be as beautiful as what she could produce.

When the brown haired woman leaned in towards him, his smirk turned back into a deadly grin. Her mirrored expression breathed life into the primal part of his soul that he had bound as tight as he could. There the mana begged to be let loose. It felt like fire in his veins, swelling up into a deep vortex of hatred and anger in his heart. It yearned to clash with her will, to release into a wild display of righteous fury that would leave her broken before him.

How delicious would it be to have shattered a will as strong as hers? What would the high of seeing the determination in those eyes break apart be like?

He decided then and there that he would find out. He would coax out what talent was within her, train her and bring forth her potential. He would give rise to the greatest mage to have walked the land in a millennia. And at the end he would bathe in the ecstasy of ravaged flame.

"Oh yes. I see your worth Ascendent. I see all that you will become."

As she gave him space, the hawkish grin on his lips flagged. His brow furrowed as the excitement in his once more normal pale blue eyes corrupted into frustration and anger. The feel of her mana dissipate left a gnawing void along his skin. A distinct lack of pressure that prickled at his skin and brought forth a sneer on his lips.

He had never deigned to give her the space which she provided him, having stayed close to the desk as she had challenged him. It was with a cold calm that he reached towards her face to wrap her jaw in a vice like grip caught between fingers and thumb. He needed find that look in her eyes once more. His broad-shouldered figure bent over the smaller woman's seated form. Smothering her in the pale green light of the dark room. There were multiple lessons to be taught in this moment and he would die before letting her get away without them.

"We seem to be of a misunderstanding Ascendent. You seem to think you have already proven yourself." Once more, his eyes began changing into the deep black void as he weaved a spell. It continued to be absent of somatic or verbal components and thus weaker than if it was fueled by more than his brute will and precise control over mana, but he didn't intend to overpower the woman. No he needed only to outlast her, to push her past what she could handle.

"If you are wishing to have me train you, to aid you in realizing your true potential then you will understand that every day in my care you will be fighting for your life." Deckard's focus narrowed down to a singular target, her throat. "You think yourself alone in the world, so unique and precious that I'd think it too costly to toss you aside as I have every other corpse the Court has sent me?" He clamped his will down, the mana pouring from his body like a viper. Precise, forceful, persistent. The spell would try to halt her ability to breath and was constant drain on his mana, but he had trained for years, taken potions and supplements since birth, and used only the very exact amount necessary for the spell. He could hold this spellwork for days if not weeks.

"You are neither as skilled nor as strong as any member of the Royal Court let alone me. I will teach you this difference every day, and every day you will learn this lesson or die." He pressed his own desire down onto her, his gaze as heavy as the grip around her jaw and the strands of invisible mana that wrapped around her throat. She would understand him, it was the only way the both of them were going to leave this room. "I will examine you as I wish not for my need to know, but because you can't stop me. You will help me not because you want to, but because since you entered this tower, that is your only way to see the next day." His free hand balanced upon the chair's table as he towered over her looking directly down upon the woman. His fingers wrapped around the syringe and pushed it off the table into her lap. "I will not ask if you understand. You do or you die. Prove yourself worthy to me."

He expected her mana to come flooding out once more. Wild and unreserved. What would she do when that defense drained her dry and he kept squeezing? Would she lash out physically? Would she accept his words and seek to appease him? Use the potion out of instinct? Whatever it was, he wouldn't let her run away now. There was nowhere to run anyways.

 

[Passion]

The higher you climb,
the harder you fall.​

Her breath halted when her face was taken. Much of this visit hadn't gone how she pictured in her head, but it continued to twist and turn in ways she hadn't predicted. She had many years to plan out various conversations, but she hadn't quite for any of this. No matter, her passion would lead the way, just as it had to this very tower.

What a blind fool.
My existence is proof.
He will see.
They all will.​

Even as she sat with her confidence untouched, her guard was up with her mana ready to once again flare. The darkness in his eyes could not be trusted, and she could hear the bitterness in his tone. Attempts to woo or impress appeared rather difficult on a surface level, but she was far too vain to let that deter her from this possibly once-in-a-lifetime moment. The idea of befriending her way through this was currently out the window. She would need to do this the hard way, possibly even harder than she initially thought based on his word choice.

The calmness she did her best to project melted as soon as she comprehended the tightness around her slender neck. Without thought, her colors around her appeared again in reaction to its' host. While her radiance could cause interference, Lyvia did not know how to direct the sea of mana within her well enough to break a tight-knit or complex spell with ease. She could make it difficult to cast and even be near her; to some, the very weight of her presence could be found as sickening and overwhelming, but to seasoned mage, her lack of training could be exploited. More and more, it would appear the woman was more of a vessel of mana than any kind of proper mage.

Her lips parted to gasp, but she was gifted no air. Her hands went to her throat to feel nothing physical other than the underside of his hand on her jaw. As panic started to set in as she struggled to think up an easy solution to get air, he had made it worse by making it sound that she may have gone from guest to captive. That wasn't what she signed up for! She was meant to be a woman of power, not a prisoner.

Honestly, the last thing she wanted to do was attack someone from the Royal Court. She would stand up for her title, but creating enemies wasn't part of the plan. However, Lyvia's determination refused to fizzle even under pressure, and with the lack of air getting to her, her instincts would again take front and center stage.

The bouncing color in her eyes momentary was flooded with bright light, and for half a second, there was an eerie stillness as if a wave had just rolled back. As if all the mana within and outside of her had froze in time, not even her aura shimmered. A mere calm before the storm as the stillness was then was purged by a violent pulse of raw mana that emitted from the girl. The force of mana was strong enough to dishevel the half of the room that she faced, knocking the syringe off her lap in the process. Chairs, tables, desk, possibly him, and all that stood in her path would slam against the nearest wall. She would create nothing short of a mess in retaliation.

The intensity of her mana did not only produce a forward shove, but the high concentration of mana ate away at all it touched and threatened to burn flesh much like a flame. With his hold on her, she might be going flying as well, but there was a lack of foresight.

Her spell was impulsive, excessive, and lacked control yet again. Despite the raw output of mana, she still had about half of her mana left. She would have even more if she knew how to weave properly instead of relying on oversaturation, but her magical might continued to be evident. However, the girl holding such an ample amount of mana within her also suffered from such unfiltered magic. Additionally, It wasn't often that Lyvia needed to exercise her mana in such a way, and so after such a blunt output, she felt dazed beyond the lack of air. To have that much mana flow through her, not attached strictly to a spell, was a lot for a single human to channel in one quick go. Her entire body was left tingling, her skin coated in a light layer of sweat, and her gaze appeared slightly glazed over as if intoxicated. If still rendered, her attempts to breathe were all the more desperate as she felt the need to pant. It was taxing on the girl, and rather embarrassing for one who came to the tower filled with pride to end up winded by her own magic's excessiveness.

 

[Freezn]

That sweet succulent glint of fear served to lure out a sadistic grin upon Deckard's lips. This woman had made a valiant effort to keep her calm, determined demeanor. However, she could not possibly understand what she had sought out. Deckard was only too eager now to show her exactly what that was. It would be a harrowing, soul forging process the likes of which she had never dreamed. She would come out tempered and irrefutable as steel, a true weapon that he could wield as well as any sword. Or she would come out shattered like brittle glass that exploded in the most satisfying of ways.

His enjoyment was made plain all the way up until he noticed the swelling stillness of the room. He had focused his control, cutting through the wild shielding of pure mana she gushed out. Had she been even the slightest bit able to focus her power, he was certain he'd have to apply another working. But she was still just a commoner with no training in breaking reality to her whims. He paid no heed as his skin began to crackle. A thin but solid aura of protective soft blue mana had come to life across his body which countered the storm of power she churned out.

In hindsight it was here his own hubris led to the proceeding excitement. The hawklike man leaned down into this gasping Ascendent, drawing his face so close that he pressed his forehead against hers. His grin parted to prod further when he noticed the tantalizing stillness in the air. The current of mana no longer flowed outwards from the embodiment of power he held tight in his grip. 'Shit.' Goosebumps rose across his skin as he had only a moment for his own breath to hitch before he was flung with the full force of the Ascendent's outburst.

The room was designed for such tantrums of magic. The ill green crystal above especially so. Still Deckard hadn't even considered such an outcome. Never had he thought this commoner would lash out with so much force, let alone do it blindly or wildly. Glass shattered as it struck the walls and floors. Pages were torn free of open tomes. Desks smacked against stone. Baubles and artifacts scattered across the room. Cupboard doors bounced open, then slammed shut with a deafening crash! The only solid portion of the room left unaffected was the glowing alchemy set behind Deckard himself.

Even the mighty Councilor was left stumbling backwards, catching himself on the lip of the counter. His slim shielding was enough to ward off the burning effects of the mana though it did nothing to stop the force of the blast. Thus when he was jerked backwards, his grip on the woman's jaw broke only after the initial impact, likely bringing both the woman and the desk she sat in across the room, if not crashing down upon the floor.

The Gargoyle Tower itself roared and shook with the indignation of its master being attacked. Its groans sent the servants in the lower floors scurrying about about in panic. The door to the room slammed shut and the ill green light of the room flickered in and out as the chaos of blast settled.

A dark chuckle slipped from Deckard's lips as he righted himself once more. The ringing in his ears faded as he reestablished his dignity. His spell around her throat was well and broken. The surprise of the attack having been more than enough to break his concentration. After he dusted himself off and smoothed out his jacket, the Councilor trained his black hate filled eyes on the embodiment of chaos before him. "You flail about like a child just discovering it has arms. Allow me to show you real magic!" His words dripped with vindictive condescension. He had never expected to be attacked outside the realm of the physical. The thought of someone attacking him with magic since his own ascendance to the Court was absurd. It had been sooo long. And now that it had happened, he could feel that eager surge of violence letting loose from his core once again.

Deckard could do great and terrible things with mana. His own tests had become fables of legends though he'd taken them little more than a decade ago. He wouldn't go so far today. There was no sense in showing a child a work of art they would never be able to comprehend. That however did not mean he would go easily.

In an instant, the Royal Court Councilor split his mind in three different directions. With a flair of his will Deckard's muscles thrummed with mana, enforcing them with otherworldly strength. He stalked towards the gasping woman reaching down for her throat physically this time. His black violent gaze bore down into her, as he bent to lift her up. He intended to enjoy the feeling of squeezing the desperation from her with his own hands. Now that his heart raced, eager for conflict, he craved the visceral submission of her body, mind and soul. To show her that however special she might be, she would still bend to him.

In another corner of his mind, he reached out into a recently slammed cabinet. There he pulled along the strings that connected a simple coil rope. A brief exertion of mana breathed life into the slender cord and it slithered out across the room in their direction.

Finally, the grin on his lips was wild and pleased when he next spoke, "Briseadh!" He focused past her eyes and tore into her conscious, slamming it with a focused cord of mana, willing her mind to twist the world around her into an illusion of madness and horror.

He conjured a mindscape of many mouthed demons and whispers of warning just over her shoulder. Screams of panic and grasping hands of the dead. Thundering beats of a coming footsteps and lecherous fingers brushing at her neck. A swimming cocoon of crimson red aura that spun and twisted the dark pit of a room around her.

 

[Passion]

Falling forward from the rippling impact she made, she found herself now finally gasping for needed air. The woman felt blessed when air filled her desperate lungs once more. Each breath brought back some of her awareness, brushing away the clouds that veiled her mind. Little did she know it would end up being short-lived relief.

The nerve of this man for laying his hands on her, not only a woman, but the one and only Ascendent.

It was dangerous to trigger the woman's instincts, not only for those around her, but even for herself and her social standing. Such rebellion could be seen as treason, even if he was the first to cast an aggressive spell, and Lyvia had been truthful about her need for training; her inability to unable to control her powers remained evident. At this rate, she was asking to be arrested, but she didn't care about classism, she knew she wasn't at the level she belonged. She needed his help to not only help master her powers, but to rise up. He could be so important, but for now, they would continue to try to communicate through magic and clashing.

While she didn't wish to harm him, she wanted to survive and for him to open his eyes. She would be as dramatic as she needed to. Fixated on proving herself one way or another, it wasn't just her powers that would be unwise to underestimate, but that unreal determination in her. Many admired her for it, but only from a surface level. Little did they know how deep and twisted it actually ran.

They had no idea of the restless nights she had either manic or depressed over the unclear path of becoming a recognizable mage. They were clueless to the fact that every star that she ever wished on since a small girl was for a chance like this. The others unaware of how many dozens upon dozens of letters she had written and coaxed others to write the High Court to be seen. No one knew of much her heart ached for acceptance.

As she attempted to gather her body and mind, he came towards her. "Listen, I-..." Again, she found herself breathless, this time by the grip of his hand. As she was pulled up, her hands raced to his and sought to pry his fingers off of her slender throat, but it was futile. Far too focused on escape, she hadn't realized he was using his magic for multiple uses. As she struggled, the bold woman locked eyes with him, still burning with spirit to both succeed and the will to survive; she was not an easy one to snuff out despite the fact she was now trembling in his grasp. However, she was not prepared for the next trick up his sleeve.

Why is he looking at me like that?​

Her pupils then dilated as it appeared the room was shifting...
At least from her perspective.

Where am I?!​

Trapped in her mind, her vision was taken over by a shadowy red overcast. Paranoid eyes look away from him to eye the moving shadows in the room. As she stared into the dark unknown, it started to take the form of a demon as dark as a void. Screams shattered the silence, as well as threatening footsteps that neared her all while she was incapacitated.

Glancing behind her shoulder, the sensation of hands along her figure caused her heart to start pounding at such hammering pace, he would surely feel her rapid pulse in the very palm of his hand. Her lips parted open to scream, but with a hand still coiled around her throat, the only sound she produced was the pathetic muffle of the final spill of her last gifted inhale. Her silver eyes watered in both fear and confusion, and Lyvia's impulses grew once more.

Maybe he was ready this time, but the girl came to life with another vivid round of her mana that poured for her, but this time with tears rolling down her cheeks and her body trembling fiercely. With the high amount of fear she succumbed to, the floodgates were open for oversaturated mana to yet again pulsed from her petite frame towards the faux demons and the one who dared mixed hell into her reality.

Her will and hopes were laced with the blast to not only try to push away the monsters that came from her, but the man who refused to let her breathe. The room was again left to rattle and fall victim to the disarray from her outburst of mana.

With two ample outputs close together, the air in the room was charged. While it wasn't intended, the passive effects of her uncontrolled, yet pure mana that lingered would make spell casting even easier in the area. The environmental effects could be used in her favor or against her, making her also an ideal support or amplification tool. Even so, she couldn't use to to her advantage. She was not only unaware, but her mana was now near depleted from her overly excessive use.

Her head dropped like a doll, and the burn of magic, spirit, and fear fell dormant in her once colorful gaze. Her now limp body was forced into a recovery stage, her mind even more dazed from being so low on mana. It offered her a small escape from the spell on her mind, as fear momentarily was unable to be comprehended, but she was even more vulnerable than before.

With her system shut down in an attempt to recharge her mana, it was another trait on display that made her somewhat different from the rest. The was not only the way the girl shut down, but the fact she could recharge without aid of potions and could do it rather quickly on her own. Even so, it was not quick enough; if he kept his hold on her like this, she would surely on her way to unconsciousness or go back to trying to scream at the hellscape that awaited her to snap back to the warped reality he made for her.

 

[Freezn]

Deckard could feel her unprotected mind shatter. His mana flooded inside and warped her every sense leaving a greasy sensation in the binding he had laid between them. Such enchantments were a favorite of his as they left a scaring effect deeper and longer lasting than simple blows or burns to the body. The mental anguish of his victims had always left a sweet satisfying taste in his mouth. Often, he had to apply significant power to cut through the shielding other mages would weave around themselves. Anyone in the last thousand years who called themselves a mage was well aware how incapacitating it could be to allow another's will affect their mind and built up staunch protections to avoid it. The fact that she held no such protections was just another reminder of how far below him and every other Royal Court Councilor she was. At least when it came to skill and wisdom.

With minimal effort he held her aloft, her feet dangling in the dank chamber's air. As mana thrummed through his muscles, Deckard was conscious to hold back. If he had wanted to outright kill this girl he could have. Her absolute lack of control was easy to subvert and the openings she provided endless. He did not want her dead however, at least not by his hands. Not this way. If she proved less than what he expected or if she didn't rise to his challenge and desires, then perhaps, but not today. Today he needed only to squeeze and crush her will, to find that shining diamond of resolve. To show her that left to her own devices she was small and defenseless. He suffocated the freedom she was thus far used to, so that she could note the profound difference of his guidance.

The panic in those watery silver eyes led to a sick and twisted upwards curl at the edges of his lips. He would be untruthful if he didn't admit to enjoying feeling someone's life literally course under his grip. The intoxicating thrill of control that was the only light of enjoyment he received in a life absent of rules. His fixation on enjoying the moment brought into focus what he had been waiting for, that slight disruption in mana that came before her flailing tantrums of magic. He could feel it well up inside her, just beneath the surface of her skin. He set his legs and spliced his mind a fourth time, a task that was beginning to be taxing, as he provided ample will and mana to the slim layer that coated his entire body.

It almost wasn't enough.

The shockwave that tore through the room wrenched at his arm so forcefully that the bones within ached. A cabinet door shattered in on itself while his last standing alchemy set was tossed back against the wall. It shattered releasing purified mana into the now super charged room.

The cords he had bound between his mind and hers severed instantly, snapping apart as easily as floss brought before blade. Even the rope that slithered in his direction was thrown askew, the simple spell to animate it burned alive as whisps of smoke eviscerated the mana that had been contained within.

Deckard's own protection nearly shattered before her blast of chaotic energy. Across his entire body he could feel shimmering vapors of blue mana drift away in the ill green light of the room, his protections clung to him with all the strength and assurance of an infant's grip. Everywhere except where he contacted her directly. Where his hand wrapped around her throat, he was left open. Her instinctive force of will burned its way through his magic and then ate into his palm. It threatened to sap the mana that reinforced his muscles to leave him as little better than any other mortal man.

Instincts honed in tests not unsimilar from this quickened the Councilor's reaction. He surged his will back out towards the gap in his wards. It didn't take much mana, most of her blast had been consumed in breaking through his defenses, but the fact it required any at all to force her working out of his body was commendable. She held such astounding possibility. He was resolved more than ever to forge her into a weapon that would seal his place in history. He would tame this wild beast of a commoner and break her to his will. Then he would set her loose upon his rivals. He could already hear their screams of terror and the pained grin on his lips flourished.

She hung their spent and slack in his hand. The faint scent of burning flesh filled the room, mixing in with the ionated tang of the magically charged room. Deckard recalled few times it had seemed so easy to break the laws of reality as he did now. The mana all around him was eager to work, eager to break, change, build and destroy. A single, heavy breath fell from Deckard as he surveyed the damage of her most recent blast. He would have to send for a cleaner often in the coming days it seemed.

Still, he did not release the vice like grip he held on the barely conscious woman. Instead, he dragged her along like a toddler might their favorite doll, bringing her to the edge of the room she had flung his rope. There he dropped her unceremoniously to the floor, providing a small reprieve from which she could gasp for air. While the dark haired magus shook out his hand to ease the slight burn to the palm and fingers, his will reached out to the rope once again bringing it to life.

"Three. I counted three workings you managed and now you can't even hold your head upright. Invalid children could do better." The rope jerked back to life as he poured mana through the hemp. It slid around first one, and then the second of the Ascendent's wrists, attempting to bring them together tightly behind the woman's lower back. "If that is all the focus and mana you can conjure up then your time here will be very, very short."

Deckard bent down to one knee, his broad shouldered frame looming oppressively over the silver eyed woman. With one hand he pushed her onto her back, the palm of his hand planting itself firmly into her sternum. He made no movement to acknowledge the impropriety of such a placement. They were well past that. "Today's lesson will begin to rectify this." The rope continued to work its way across her limbs, wrapping itself four times over her wrists and up her forearms before sinking through the small space between to form a knot as it reached for her ankles.

"You flailed about needlessly with your mana. Your magic was unfocused, inefficient, cumbersome, and lackluster. Until you can do better, your arms and legs are to be bound, as a reminder that true magic is about control. Not mindless temperamental flailing's." His dark gaze filled with the black void as he channeled his man and brought his focus upon her mind once again. The spell twisted and writhed as he spoke, filling her with images and sensation of madness as he commanded her mind to break. "Briseadh!"

This time as images of slavering demons crawled out of the shadows of the room, and skittering spiders danced across her legs under her skirt, Deckard pushed down with his mana infused strength. He pushed and pushed and pushed, drawing the fear out of her until only the instinctual coals of survival were left. Until the only thought that could possibly be in her mind was the need for the next breath, the need to meet his expectations.

As the room itself began to warp and twist, leaving them sliding down into the dark pit of red and empty black, he released the pressure. It was a slow process, allowing her lungs to expand a millimeter at a time. "Breath. Focus on my voice." His words were whispered into her ear, calm, commanding.

 

[Passion]

When was the last time I was this low on mana?
Had I ever been this low?​

Lyvia knew how to cast by tapping into her emotions, intuition, and drives, which all tied in with instincts. While she had issues with her excessive outputs due to inexperience, lack of reasoning, and left to discover untraditional ways to cast, usually she could conduct herself better. She had to show off every now again; proving that she indeed was Lyvia, The Ascended. However, this was much... different.

In the past, there were some out there who threatened her life because of her powers, as if she was secretly a demon in the body of an angel, but she had never felt so threatened by air and by mind than now. Her mana was too attached to herself, and it lead to her magic mirroring her fear and her will to survive, which was currently on overdrive.

Released, she dropped to the ground, and Lyvia gasped to replace the lost oxygen. Her once styled, light brown hair curtained her defeated face, but her inability to quickly return to her feet was telling enough. Her crumpled body tensed at his words; well aware that she did not put on the display she had hoped to. She was capable of much more, but the way she bled out with mana while under pressure hindered her potential greatly beyond the dazzling blasts. While she didn't know the high degree of the lack of control she had, Lyvia still knew it was a problem. She knew she lacked proper training and resources, but that was exactly why she was here.

Before she could even get a word out of her panting mouth, she instead would yelp as she found herself tangled in the rope. Her wrists pulled behind her back, the woman tugged to test their unyielding hold. He lowered himself down to her level, and she managed to find the strength to look up at him between misplaced strands of hair. Shockly, she was bare enough to look him directly in his eyes. Her gaze still appeared glazed over. She hadn't yet recovered from the hellish experience and the amount of mana that she had just released in a single go. Even so, he would bright a spark of life back into her eyes when he pushed her to her back.

What now?!​

The rope continued to tangle her, now wrapping around her ankles as he spoke poorly about her conduct. With the position she was in, it was harder for her to tap into her pride, but it was ingrained in her. So, she assumed he didn't understand since she was a different kind of mage, that his elitism had blinded him... but in actual reality, Lyvia had plenty of work to do. She had the power, but didn't know how to harness it or even where it truly belonged in this world beyond her daydreams of power and fame.

When his eyes turned black, her blood ran cold. She threw her head side to side, her disapproval of what was to come was clear. With his hand so firmly on the center of her chest, she could hardly raise her chest to even speak, but she managed to exhale a single word. "D-...Don't!" He would, and he did.

Again, shadowy red took over the environment, and the poor soul couldn't help but shudder. Moving shadows threatened her, and the phantom sensation of spiders crawling up her magus robe was sickening. Panic again struck the woman, and she tried to scream again, but only it was lost within silence. Even though the spell had broken briefly enough for her to know what she was seeing was more than likely just magic trickery at play, it all felt too real, and she was not in a grounded mindscape anymore to attempt to tackle it with logic.

Unable to breathe and with the room turning more horrifying by the second, Lyvia did what she did best, and her system forced mana out of her. This time, it only took the form of a harmless shimmering cloud that looked more like a final exhale of mana than a spell. This wasn't quite true, there was still some mana in the women, as being born with mana, it was theorized that a true zero would damage or kill the girl, and not even her urging instincts would let go of the small amount that still coursed through her. However, the attempts to release did not stop, but without the mana to back it up, the girl suffered.

Her body jerked each time an unsteady output attempt was made, one every few seconds or so. It more than likely looked as if she was having a seizure, since each time she tried to pulse with mana she didn't have, her body recoiled. Without fuel, the sensation was similar to a full-body heaving without the stomach being involved. It caused her muscles to strain and ache as she struggled. Her limbs tugged at the rope until the hemp bit at her skin, but it appeared even without physical or magical strength, the girl would not give up.

Tears blinded her as she stared up at the silhouette of his image. With a blink, tears fell from her gray eyes to stream down the sides of her face before getting lost in her hair that was sprawled out across the floor. While trapped within misery, he leaned down and spoke down to her. His whisper sounded so loud and yet so far away... The surreal nature of his spell, while she neared the line of unconscious again, kept twisting her perception in more ways than one.

He told her to focus, and out of all the nightmares in the room, he appeared much lesser than the evils that surrounded her, yet he was the creator of this cursed reality. Closing her eyes, she did her best to focus on him and not the shadows, demons, and spiders that hunted her.

This is not real, only he is.
This is not real, I need calm.
This is not real, he is my only escape.
This is not real, I need to restore my mana, not use it.​

Finally, she noticed small and shallow breathes restoring to her, and after a few minutes, there was a change in the girl. - The futile attempts to release her mana ceased, and her once convulsing body stopped to ease some. This allowed her mana to start trickling back to her, not at full speed as she was not so calm that she could meditate, but she was gaining instead of losing.

With light breathing came her soft voice, "Lord Malek..." Something about her tone was drenched with heart. Was it in understanding? Hate? Pleading? Admiration? A verbalization of her given focus? More than likely a mix, but did it even matter? Her very fate was in the palms of his hands.

 

[Freezn]

"It's okay Deckard. Do it."
"She's crying."
"That is what they do."
"…."
"Do it."
"Will she stop crying?"
"That is what we are going to find out."​

---

Her boldness did her credit. In the coming years she may even deserve to meet his gaze with that prideful glare of hers. As it stood currently, all that look provided was a hint of amusement as Deckard saw the pride warp into fear. That defiance would be crucial in the coming months, but only if it were appropriately channeled. He had often heard the experience akin to breaking wild horses or dogs. The wild spirit was prized and valued beyond any other trait. After it had learned its place beneath the master.

Over the years, Deckard had grown adept at breaking the spirts of men and women. It had turned from a learned lesson early on, into something of a personal hobby. Of course, none had perhaps been quite so worthy of his personal attention as the prize that writhed before him now. When he had first read the initial reports regarding this Ascended, he had assumed they were the overblown tavern tales the commoners shared amongst each other. They were so unaccustomed to seeing true magic might that everything seemed miraculous to them. Having now experienced this woman's magic personally, he thought it was a miracle she hadn't absconded out of the Empire to start her own petty kingdom.

It was too late for her to chase down that option now. Her pleading gasp for him to stop fell upon deaf ears. Deckard had come to enjoy the suffering of those under his care. There was no sweeter melody than desperation. No chorus more divine than the raw evocative frenzy of soul cracking under his menstruations.

When her magic burst forth from her spasming form this time, Deckard could scarcely feel it. The prismatic cloud crackled along the protective coating of his skin before fading away into the ether of the super charged room. The grease like connection that bound his mind to hers didn't quiver in the slightest and even the rope binding her limbs remained unaffected. If the reports he read regarding her nature were accurate, now was when the lesson would begin to set in. The fight had come to its inevitable conclusion. It was time to see if this Ascended would break like all the rest.

He watched her convulse again and again under the weight of his will. He watched her uselessly strain against the hemp bindings. He watched her gasp for lung fulls of air that he would not let her have. He watched as her body expelled every last drop of mana it could scrape up as soon as it could.

And he felt her fight on through it all. Most of those whom had been sent to Malek for apprenticeship turned to mush at this point. Their minds dissolved under his pressure and they gave up attempting to breath. In other cases it was their minds which broke and ceased to process anything further, leaving them drooling husks.

Not her though. Deckard loomed overhead, grinding her down with physical and magical force until all that was left was his desires. He watched as pale terror born eyes slid shut and hid away behind stray brown strands that were strewn about over her face. He felt as her brittle and small torso began to work in rhythm with his hand. Gradually his palm moved to guide her breathing, providing a shallow grounding from which she could begin to center herself and focus.

He did not relent as her voice broke through the struggle. Despite that twitch of satisfaction that curled at one corner of his lips, the Royal Councilor would not end the lesson until he was absolutely certain she understood. He ignored the electric sensation that rose across the back of his neck as his name slipped from her lips with poignant meaning. Instead he called once more upon his mana and drew forth that tiny shimmering blue syringe that had come to hide under a nearly shattered cabinet.

The glass vial flew to his hand as he spoke in a low, calm, slow, purposeful tone. "Good. Focus upon your breathing. Do not succumb to your instincts." With a sharp jerk, his fingers wrapped around the material of her right sleeve and tore it down. The fabric shredding along the seam near the shoulder to expose her the soft muscle of her bicep. "I am going to provide you mana. Focus it upon the rope around your wrists. Free yourself with intention. Fail and I will drain you dry and you will need to rely upon your own power to recover enough to escape these bonds."

The tip of the needle slid into the young woman's arm, piercing a vein and flooding her with mana. He pressed out only a quarter of the concentrated concoction into her body. More than what a skilled mage would need for such a simple spell, but certainly not enough to be considered comfortable when so devoid. He wanted her to still be familiar with the empty sensation of her body pressed to the edge of collapse. He still wanted her hungry power.

At the same time he injected her system with mana, Deckard also reinforced his enchantment upon her mind. He poured forth with his will and power as the illusions grew more real, the sensations they provided more intense. Where once it was simple spiders crawling across her skin, there were now dozens of hands grasping and clawing for every bit of flesh they could find. They dragged her into stone floor that hand become suddenly solvent. The demons twisted with wretched forms of teeth, mouths, tongues and sharp pointed limbs. The gnashed and chased after her as she swallowed by the red tinged void of the floor. Now below its depths the stone threatened to pour through her nose, her mouth, and ears like liquid cement. Whispers rose from all around that she wasn't good enough. That she would die here because she wasn't in control. Her body would fail her. Her journey would end here. Malek was going to bury here in stone where she would be forgotten for all of eternity. She would never have the chance to show the world what she was capable of.

Deckard continued to apply pressure to his apprentice's chest throughout it all. His weight a guiding reminder as his mind pushed her to the edge of horror. He would expel all thoughts that he didn't provide. In the dimly lit room, he would ensure he was her guiding star. "Breath Lyvia. Listen to the sound of my voice. Focus on me. Exhale… In… Now. Show me."

 

[Passion]

After she managed to whisper his name, she couldn't read even a flicker of pity on his face. If anything, was she picking up a sense of joy in him, or was it the working of the spell against her? It was getting harder to tell reality from fiction while so mentally and physically compromised.

If there weren't more pressing matters taking place, he would have earned her ire for ripping her favorite robe that she purposely picked out for their meeting. She was beyond the point of worrying about such vanity items, and instead remained fixated on him.

He explained himself, but she didn't have any say in the matter as the needle pierced her skin. Mana rushed into her system in a way she hadn't felt before. Up to this point, all the mana Lyvia ever carried was internally made, but having it from an external source had her eyes falling half shut in surreal delight. She enjoyed the feeling of the small yet quick restore; such a sensation could be rather addictive compared to her natural yet safer process. Her body felt warm and light for a few seconds before stabilizing once more to face again the horrid sight of fears coming to life. After the short-lived calm followed her instincts and the amplification of his spell.

It was obvious when the intensity of the spell hit her. Her body flailed, her captured legs kicked, and she did what she physically could to try to throw him off of her petite figure. The mana within her rapidly boiling, she could feel its desperate attempt to protest and try to burn away all that threatened her, illusions or not. She tried to scream, and even when she closed her eyes, she still saw demons, spiders, and red. There was no escape.

The whispers that taunted her failure had gotten under the skin more than any monster. If she was to die from a foe was one thing, but to die unable to reach her true purpose was unacceptable. It was exactly why she tried to shut him down when he spoke lowly of her. Her identity was tied directly to her title and her grand dreams. To attack her pride or to hint at failure would ruffle the woman's feathers more than anything. It was what kept her going even with the odds stacked up against the birthed commoner.

The mana within her was barely within her grasp. It twisted and turned just like her body, all while she did her best to hold on to the fierce reigns. It yanked viciously to have another onslaught against Deckard and the faux voices and images that plagued her.

I have to...
I have to show him!
He needs to accept me!
I can't fail...
Even if it tears me apart.
I can't!​

Her gifted mana continued to try to recklessly protect and defend its host. While she kept most of it in, a small amount of mana leaked from the metaphysical cracks. Sweat beading from her forehead as it felt as if she was holding back a storm. At one point, Lyvia's mouth opened wide to scream, but she hardly had enough breath to hit a volume, but she felt like she was about to lose control over more than just her mana.

Pulling on the ropes so hard her skin was turning pink and raw, she tried to focus on the bite of them but still struggled. With monsters crawling up her body, and images of demons beyond human comprehension, she continued to slip...

I won't FAIL!
STAY IN CONTROL!​

Lyvia raised her head, and the maddened woman abruptly slammed her head back down on the floor. It was loud enough that it could be heard, and she saw scattered stars afterward. Her determination refused to burn out even if that meant bringing her own pain and suffering. Luckily, or perhaps unluckily, the pain went unnoticed as the anguish she felt holding back and being subjected to his spell were far greater. More tears flood her silver eyes that now flickered off and on with color as the overwhelming and internal war between chaos and order took place within her.

Within the delirium, she heard his voice again. He reminded her to breathe, which allowed her to notice that she could. It was hard to note as if it wasn't for his restrictions, she would be hyperventilating. At least while under his control, she could still get oxygen. She did her best to ignore the twisted room around her, trying to only pay attention to his hand on her chest and the tingling of her sore wrists and ankles. Finally, she felt a slight separation from herself and her mana, just enough to turn a storm into a breeze, but she might have lost a piece of mind within the process.

With a shaken exhale, she was able to grasp the mana within her and focus stictly on the ropes that bound her. With a calm mind, Lyvia wouldn't have any issues with such a task, but it was evident that she didn't work well under pressure or disturbed. However, with her eyes glued to him, the rest of the world melted away; he would stand center of her unsound world.

The rope dissolved under the shimmering power of magic to her freedom. Once she picked up on the fact she could more, her hand shot up and grasped his forearm. Her fingertips gripped so hard, her arm trembled and her filed nails threatened to break the skin even through cloth. With her eyes open wide, a sly smile crossed her pink lips; the cracks that formed within her continued to spread.

I won't fail. I won't fail. I won't fail. I won't fail. I won't fail. I won't fail. I won't fail. I won't fail. I won't fail. I won't fail. I won't fail. I won't fail. I won't fail. I won't fail. I won't fail. I won't fail. I won't fail. I won't fail. I won't fail. ​

The powerful yet inexperienced mage was successful, but a part of her had shattered in the process. Even so, to succumb wouldn't bring hopelessness nor defeat as it would for most. The conviction within the woman was to the level that it was dangerous and self-destructive, and yet it allowed her to push beyond normal means. Truly, almost nothing mattered more to her than fulfilling her both rightful and prideful desires as long as she still breathed. If he played his cards right, that very passion could burn... burn for him.

 

[Freezn]

The air distorted with a prismatic haze as Deckard's weight kept the bound Ascended beneath his palm. Mana in its purest form escaped her body like hissing whisps of gas slipping through fissures in a brittle glass container. It dissipated in the air quickly, rapidly being absorbed into the super charged essence that hung all around them. But he could feel it churn within her just beneath touch as well. It was so much fiercer within. The mana burned for release, to run wild. From the way his apprentice's body convulsed and shook upon the ground, Deckard wouldn't have been surprised if part of her body literally cracked and spewed out another violent torrent of power. That would be a disappointment so early on. A waste of such potential. A waste of his time.

That was unacceptable.

And so he willed to not be so. To the common man, willing something to occur or not to occur no matter how strong the desire was a fruitless endeavor. But to a mage, there was very little a simple matter of will could not resolve. And Deckard was among the greatest of all mages.

He refocused his efforts upon pushing the weakness from her body. His reinforced muscles squeezing every emotion through her pores, and out lungs, leaving only resolve in their wake. He did not relent, did not release, did not adjust. When her skull cracked against the stone tile, his harsh black gaze didn't falter in the slightest. If anything he seemed to grow amused at her torturous state, as a crooked smile wrote itself plainly upon his lips.

His mind shunted the head trauma away as an issue to deal with later. Instead he focused on the task at hand. To pushing every useless thought from her mind. Cleansing her of everything but the yearning for success. Purging all that was not his to give. It was he that gave her air to breath. It was he that would end her journey if she did not meet his needs. "Exhale… In…"

That greasy slick connection between himself and the Ascended was thick and only growing stronger. He poured mana through it, determined to give her no easy escape. She would do as he demanded, or she would leave a broken husk. Those were the only options. Those were the only options ever presented to anyone within these halls.

The Royal Councilor stared down into the tear stained silver eyes that slowly grew to focus on him, intent on taking up her entire field of vision. Like a bird of prey, he loomed over her, eclipsing all else in the ill lit room. He claimed her from all existence and was surprised to feel her claim him back. Messy black tangles of hair fell to one side of his face as glanced down to the sudden digging pain in his arm. A grunt of discomfort broke through his throat as she dug into him to the core. He should have known the danger in that wild smile that arrived with her victory. But all he saw was potential and for once, an apprentice her could make use of. All he saw was a path towards greatness. For him. For her. For the future.

Slowly, he began to cut off the mana that kept her locked in a state of horror and madness, keeping just a sliver of the spell ongoing. The demons and ghoulish hands fading to vapor. The spiders crawling away into the blackness where the taunting words faded. Only the off-kilter positioning of hell pitted room remained. Deckard's hand upon her chest stiffly worked its way upwards to wrap once more around her throat. He drew her up from the ground, pulled her up to meet him eye to eye while he kneeled upon the floor. His forehead pressed into hers imprinting upon her with all the force he could gather. He met the Ascended's maddening eyes and gave his ultimatum. "Now say it to me. Beg me to show you more. Beg me to take you to greater heights. Allow me to show you what you can become." Deckard's words were tight, demanding and full of the unshakeable weight of a man accustomed to speaking his will into reality.

In his free hand he pressed the tip of the needle into her arm once more. The final reinforcement that would seal the lesson. One did not break a person with the whip alone. To truly bring another to heel, Lord Malek had become well aware of the high that would leave them forever chasing.

 

[Passion]

In this man's hands,
never had she ever felt so weak
but never had she ever felt so vivid.​

The strength behind his spell fizzled away to only a haunting crimson outcast, but it wouldn't have mattered if it fully remained. Lyvia had set her focus only on him; the only piece of reality that she could trust as real, and the only one who could make her dreams come true or pulverize them. While it took some treasonous acts, a sprinkle of torture, a dash of destruction, and mixing in a mild concussion, she could see it now; only he mattered.

With her tight grip still on his arm, his hand found a new home around her slender neck. She felt the pressure of fingers on her throat with each breath she was able to muster; a reminder that he was in control of even the very air that she breathed, yet it was that control that kept her grounded enough to endure and to see beyond reason.

While her clutch remained tight, the rest of her body was limp when he pulled her up to meet face to face. She groaned as the movement made her head spin, but she remembered one of her lessons, and her gaze fixed solely on him. Forehead to forehead, her light panting breaths lapped against his face. Her body was unusually warm from the rise of emotion and magic that he got out of her.

With their fates now crossed, two great souls were already writing history. The rumored Ascended was real, and with a tear-stained face, she trembled in his unwavering hold. However, this time her quivering wasn't in fright. It was a mix of anticipation, the sensation of nearing emptiness, and it was from a deranged sense of liberation that Lyvia found in the epicenter of it all.

B e g .​

"Ples... please!" She blurted out in emotion between unsteady breaths. There wasn't much thought as she tapped into her impulsive side yet again. "I ne...need you to show me. Show me how incredible I could be! Please, Lord Malek! You are the only... the only one who can!" ... and the one who could shape or break her. Her eyes started to water again, but this time in heavy desperation for his approval. Rejection wasn't an option in her mind, and it looked as if her heart was about to break.

"I'll do whatever I have to!" Would she? Well, while most would have already tapped out or at least second-guess, but the core of Lyvia's will refused to bend even if some of her pride eventually did. However, he gave her an inch, and the girl was going to go the mile. If he was to accept her, there would be no stopping her fire unless he was to tame it. To be associated with the erratic woman's grand dream in support or against, were equally dangerous. - After all, it was her dream... and thus he would need be hers.

Even after all she had already been through since their short time together, she was blinded by her fixation for success even with a needle in her arm. Also, while low, she craved mana on an instinctive level. Her restoration speed couldn't keep up with her outpours, and she wasn't used to being low on mana. It made her feel so diluted, as if she may fade away or a profound piece of her was missing, all while he held the cure to bring back her color.

"Give... me...," her words were slightly slurred. Did she even know what she was asking for? "please..." With a blink, a pair of tears trailed down her cheeks as her needs for him and mana. Her desires were clawing her from the inside out.

 

[Freezn]

Face to face. Nose to nose. Her breath upon his lips. Her voice, it quivered with broken need. Her silver eyes stared back into Deckard's voids of darkness. He drank her in. Lured her ever forward. Caught her within his breath and corrupted her to his will. She would be a burning fire that threatened to consume the world. While he would be the cold wall that would contain her. He was solid, unchanging, a constant in the ever churning chaos he had already introduced into the woman's life.

Her pleading struck all the right chords within Malek's own shriveled soul. The desperation within was a gospel chorus that set him alight with electricity. In his hands he held her throat. In his hands he held her future. He could crush it if it was his whim. He could crush her should he desire. He held control over her that only those accustomed to ruling over concepts greater than themselves could appreciate.

She was his now. She would be his forever. He could hear it in the cracking of her voice. In the urgency in which she begged for him. For his guidance. For his help. For his approval. For the potential only he could release within her.

And he would give it to her.

His hand around her throat drew her in, closing that breath of space that had laid between them. His lips pressed against hers, parting as his tongue forced its way inside. It wormed its way between them, invading. Conquering. Claiming. The tears that fell from her cheeks collected across the top of his fingers as his grip tightened. He squeezed until he could feel the beat of her heart struggle to pass his tyrannical grasp. His other hand pushed forward, injecting the remaining mana into the life blood that struggled move through his restrictions. It flooded her system with power. The luminescent blue liquid glowing under her skin as it broke down to fuel her preternatural gifts.

At the same time Deckard threw one last working together. It was easier than he thought it would be and he accidently overcharged the spell. In the back of his mind he noted that he would have to grow accustomed to the benefits of her magic in the air. He was not concerned for the Ascendent’s safety. The spell would not harm her. Physically. That grease like bond that connected their minds BURST with power. This time, the illusion he placed upon her was not meant to invoke fear, but pleasure. Passion. Lust. All that an empty mind, body and soul might crave.

Suddenly millions of kisses pressed across her body. The crimson of her vision grew sensual, the shadows turning into men and women of unparalled beauty. Each reached out with tender, loving fingers fingers. Disarming smiles and joyous laughter trilled from their lips. Warm oils dribbled across her back, down her legs, over her chest. They suckled upon her neck. Nipped at her inner thigh. Tongued at her inner folds. Purred across the sensitive nub of her clit. The immaterial writhed within and without her. Like a warm weighted blanket they pressed down upon her very being.

Through it all, it was Deckard’s touch that remained the most profound. Where his flesh met hers, senses screamed, and burned out in a flame of ecstasy. Through it all his grip did not give. The dark void of his eyes did not stray. The needle inside of her arm continued to inject her with more and more power.

And then just like that he pulled away. The spell shattered leaving only the cold empty gasp of reality in its wake. He tossed the spent needle upon the counter as he rose to his feet. His fingers slid away from her throat. “I will grant you this opportunity Ascended. You have earned your place in my tower for the night. Let us see how you fare tomorrow.” The corner of his hawkish expression twisted into a smirk as he regarded her upon the floor. Amusement danced within his once more pale blue eyes. “Go and find your room. Clean yourself up and then go to the library. You have until dawn tomorrow to study as much of Entori’s theories on proper casting posture as you can.”

Deckard was not concerned over whether she would be able to find her way around. The Gargoyle had heard his desires. It would ensure she arrived where she was required to be. Reaching upwards towards the green crystal above their heads, he spoke the activation phrase, “Glan,” and a pulse of cleansing magic roiled outwards, dispersing the lingering mana in the air.

 

[Passion]

He demanded her to show control, but yet he kept unleashing her instincts. There was no balance to keep in the state. Second by second, she had to adjust to his whims and desires as she found herself at the mercy of not only him, but her own powers and needs. It caused a whirlwind, both inside and out, but in the center of it all, he continued to stand. With his central position in her perception, it filled her with awe to gaze into those dark as void eyes, but he would ignite even more fascination in the woman. Their lips touched, and the rosy hue that hung within the room had a new meaning.

Her pulse hammered, the last thing she expected was a kiss from the member of the Royal Court. While the contexts were questionable, the act alone was more than flatter the woman who not only grew up in the small town of Mistwick, but as a budding mage with exotic powers, it brought her pure exhilaration to get positive attention of a Royal Councilor. While they were barely more than strangers, he gifted her with more than a fleeting kiss. Instead, he kissed her with a raging fire, and as his tongue found hers, and Lyvia couldn't help but fall right in. She kissed him back, poured her own dazed but ablaze heart into it, trying so desperately to communicate her need for him. She managed to whimper weakly within the breathless kiss; his lips were ever-so-sweet after the horrors she had just faced.

How could she kiss back such a cruel soul?
Had he already broken her?

Not quite; Lyvia did not show up to his tower of sound mind despite the way many viewed her and how she carried herself. So, instead, there she was, kissing back a twisted version of the very heart of her unstoppable fixation; to be recognized by the Royal Court. Her dedication was as strong as a knight defending their kingdom, and so, she gave up on the very need to breathe just to submerge herself deeper into the kiss.

He sees my worth.​

There was a moment of inner peace from her interpretation, but with another round of mana injected into her, her entire system felt like it was on overdrive yet again. Mana rushed through her system, and Lyvia got another dose of her high. The sensation of instant mana racing through her system was like nothing other. It not only restored some of her pool of mana, but it also allowed her system to temporarily speed up her natural restoration, somewhat like an enchantment. However, that wouldn't be all that would be sent her way. There was a buzz in her mind, before a jolt. Her heart dropped, for a moment, she was expecting the shadows and monsters that hunted her once more, but a much different sentience filled her.

While lip-locked, the warm of pleasure nearly consumed her whole. Just like she was once drowning in fear, now she was saturated with her desire and lust. The touch of hands, lips, and tongues stimulated her even with her robe still tied around her small waist. With her feminine instincts awakened, the heat between her thighs became almost as maddening as enduring his illusions. Her hands gripped at his shoulder, clawing for him to relieve her of the burning need he caused to bloom.

If it wasn't for their kiss and the hold on her neck, she would have sung him a lustful song of moans and pleas. Instead, some of her new mana burned up, giving her an aura of expelled mana. Her control still wasn't there, but it wasn't pouring from her system this time, and instead, it expressed itself as whimpers of shimmering light. The purity of mana once it was taken in by the Ascended was unmatched. She worked as a filter and with her ability to restore kicked into overdrive, she could keep blooming with mana. Her rich and raw mana took the form of a breeze of magic that caressed his form like a divine blessing for showing her. Within it all, her body attempted to twist and turn from the surreal stimulation, but he kept her in place; he demanded her full attention even in the heat of it all, much like he had just taught her to do while captured with fear.

She felt so close to a nirvana of pleasure and magic, and so when he let her go to face cold reality, it further proved he was the one with the key to paradise. He got to his feet, and Lyvia remained on the ground gasping. She hung her head, panting as he spoke. Why did she feel so... cold now?

"Thank you, Lord Malek," she breathed. Still unable to look up at the towering man as she was left dazed and confused by all that just happened. She felt so empty now... but yet her magic and body continued to burn? There was much to say, but nothing else was said. The woman took her time getting off the floor, and avoided eye contact while at it. Unlike her arrival, her exit was quiet. - She needed to gather herself and think.

---

Where am I going?​

Walking down the shifting halls, Lyvia was lost. She wondered if the tour she had hoped for would even be useful for a place like this. Luckily, the Deckard's will was heard. Eventually, she found a dead end with a single door, and behind the door looked like a guest bedroom. If it wasn't her room, it would do, but it looked like her belongings had made it to her room as the servant promised.

Taking a seat at the edge of her bed, Lyvia lowered her head and palmed her face.

What the hell just happened?

While her mana had settled down with time and passive release, her pounding head served as a lingering punishment that came with a lack of control. It was punishing but also experiencing the high of it all was rewarding. So... Conflicting. Her fingertips brushed her lips as reflected on the ending of their first meeting. There was a temptation to relieve herself of the ache between her thighs, but there was no time for such a selfish act. There wasn't making sense of anything of this now... The aggression, the spell, the kiss, the injection...

No, she didn't have the time to process and critically think about it. Dawn would be here before she knew it. It didn't matter if the rest wasn't clear, what was crystal clear was that she would never forgive herself if she foiled this rare chance. Already, she had not performed as she hoped. If only he would let her properly show her abilities... but that would be rather boring, wouldn't it?

Lyvia found her belongings after washing up, and changed into a dark blue magus robe with a black sash. Feeling refreshed to get out of her sweaty robe and wet undergarments, her next stop was the library where she would end up spending the rest of her day and night. On a normal day, she would be elated to have so many books and tomes at her fingertips; a resource a simpleton was only left to dream of, but she was on a mission. She located all the books written by Entori or about that she could find/carry. Making her own tower of books at one of the tables as she started to read through the books. Not one by one, she was smart enough to pull from other books to deepen her understanding, but it wouldn't take long for her exhaustion to start catching up with her.

The night before this was almost sleepless out of anxious excitement, and while she wouldn't admit it, she needed to recover after the amount of fear she was subjected to and injuring her head. She could tell after a couple of hours of studying, she wasn't comprehending much of what she was reading. Her eyes were heavy, mind fogged, and the concussion sure wasn't helping.

Focus, Lyvia.
He saw, but he needs to keep seeing.
If he is proud, he has to show me more.​

She kept trying, but her head kept lowering. Half asleep at times, she saw his face and felt his lips mingling with the rush of mana... "Snap out of it, Lyvia! Focus!" In frustration, she ruffled her hair and grabbed the heavy book in front of her, and threw it in a spurt of rage. The book slammed against one of the shelves causing a bookcase to wobble and spill some of its books on the floor. The girl was clearly good at leaving messes behind.

Oops; there went her effort with her best behavior.

By the time dawn approached, Lyvia had a basic but a slightly spotty understanding of Entori's core theories. One that she found interesting was about the channels within humans, and how they could even be mapped, and so posture mattered for the most optimal casting. While it was helpful to read and she was thrilled to learn, she felt like shit.

It had to be close to dawn, where was she to meet him? Would the tower guide her? She stood from the wooden chair, stretching her back with a groan before wandering out of the library. Her body felt heavy and her head felt light. While she should probably crawl into bed, instead she searched for Deckard. The thought of seeing him again made her heart flutter out of anxiety over what was to come, but also out of excitement to see the awe-inspiring Royal Councilor once more.

 

[Freezn]

What a difference ten minutes of time makes. As the ill green light of the crystal washed away the lingering super charged air, Deckard watched his newly accepted apprentice. When she had entered the room she had radiated pride; self-assured in her own supremacy and greatness. Now she wouldn't look him in the eyes. It was progress. The first step among many to both sharpen her skills, and break her to his will.

Though he would never admit it to himself, for the pride of a Royal Councilor was every bit as unyielding as that of his newest apprentice, but Deckard was surprised with how well the woman had performed in his test. He had given tasks to Lyvia ensuring she would not fully recover what sanity she had lost in their confrontation, at least not if she intended to impress him tomorrow, but Deckard had become accustomed to none of his play things ever passing his tests these days. He had grown accustomed to the feel of shattering each and every individual that sought to ride his coattails to greatness. He had grown accustomed to grinding their mediocrity beneath his heel. That fevered look in this Ascended's eyes as he did was new however. The way she had clung to his shoulders as though separating would have been a fate worse than death. Nearly all who survived his little games couldn't wait to run as far and as fast as they could, regardless of how futile the attempt may have been. Not this one though. No, it felt as if she had relished his attention in all its many forms.

This commoner from some backwater little hamlet had merely been bent where inheritors of Royal Councilor's extending as far back as the rise of the empire had broken. She had even found it within herself to unconsciously reward him for his efforts. The way her mana had washed over him like a heavenly wind that nurtured his rotten soul... He tried to ignore that slow stiffening ache of desire that would be left unsatisfied as she slowly rose to her feet and slunk out the door.

In the warped and twisted crevice of his heart, Lord Malek burned with an eagerness to further push this young woman. To see just how much he could make her scream and whimper. To see just how much she would be willing to take and still try to please him. He tried to remind himself this was all for a purpose. To rip apart the mediocrity of his fellow Councilor's, to establish his place in history. But another part of him just wanted to see just how much he could abuse his new toy before she was useless like the rest.

It would be a war within him then. Until he had either ruined the rest of the Royal Council or his newest apprentice. Who would crumble first?

He brought his own focus back to reality now that he was left alone in the room. His cruel grin slowly receded as he turned towards the future. This woman, this Ascended, could be the key to his every want, whim and desire. Now he had to lay out a proper plan to ensure this was the case. Lord Deckard Malek strolled from the broken and shattered testing chamber and made for his room. Along the way he rang a bell that would summon a servant. He'd need supper in his quarters tonight, and someone would have to fix the mess his apprentice had caused.

For the rest of the night the Royal Councilor plotted. Letters were sent, dates were set, equipment and artifacts were ordered and goals were neatly plotted out. The sun had well and truly set by the time Deckard set his quill down, but by that time he had before him a thorough script that would lead to subjugation of his rivals, and the leashing of the world's most power magus. Failing that, he had a script on a most entertaining way to shatter his newest apprentice.

---

The following morning Deckard awoke before dawn as was the norm. He cleaned and properly prepared himself dawning a dark green jacket with filaments of gold, and black pants which clung comfortably tight to his calves and thighs. With his hair tied back once more he made his way to the dining hall. Along the way one of his servants, a scrawny looking man with a rat like face, informed him of his apprentice's activities over the night. Once more Deckard was met with the surprise that this woman could achieve his standards. She had not rested long within her room, nor had she allowed herself to sleep. There was the annoying matter that she had thrown a book and nearly toppled a bookcase, but even this Deckard met with approval. Such slips of control this early would allow him to make clear that such outbursts were unacceptable.

With a nod and quick instructions, Deckard sent that rat faced servant on his way to find and bring Lyvia to the dining hall upon the second floor. Once more the living tower provided small comforts that eased the lives of those under the Councilor's claim ensuring the servant and his apprentice would meet each other somewhere through the halls. The grand chamber of the dining hall was decorated in the similarly ostentatious décor of the lower floors. Gold trimmed gilding laid around the edges of the room, with bright smoothly buffed wooden flooring muted his steps as he strode across to the table at the center of the room. There was entire wall consisting of full bodied mirrors that stretched from ceiling to floor while the other walls bore paintings, windows to the surrounding land, and trophy cases showing off House Malek's considerable wealth.

Breakfast was served nearly as soon as Deckard had sat down at the head of the long black lacquered table that resided within the room. It was nearly long enough to hold fifty diners but it had been some time since the Malek's had hosted so many guests. A place for his apprentice to sit was set six chairs down on his left, and he ensured a plate consisting of a luxurious meal by a commoners standards would be awaiting her.

Off to the side of his own plate consisting of his own rich and hearty foods, lay a spool of rope similar to that which he had used upon Lyvia the previous evening, a quilled feather and a pot of ink. He would finish his lesson on posture this morning and prepare her for facing the xyquirtsel afterwards. He didn't have much hope for her to come out of the latter experience without begging for his assistance but that would be a lesson in its own right.

When the rat faced servant returned with Lyvia in tow, Deckard wiped his lips with his napkin and gestured towards where his apprentice was meant to sit. "Good morning Ascended. Sit, eat. You look exhausted." The statement was not untrue. It was clear his apprentice was sweet on the eyes, even with her magus robes providing a sense of homeliness. The gentle features of her face, and the exotic look of her eyes would have enticed a blind man. But here in the second day at the Gargoyle, signs of wear were already beginning to show. Nearly two days without sleep was difficult for any to hide for anyone. "Take better care of yourself and ensure you are properly rested for what I have planned for you from now on. Or do I need to treat you like the low born you are and plot out how you should be spending your time down to the minute?" The corner of his lips twisted upwards into a challenging smirk. He dared a response, eager for an excuse to give into his sadistic nature. Not that he needed one. Already he made steps towards punishment as his chair slid back from the table.

 

[Passion]

Lyvia would find her way thanks to the servant, but she wasn't sure what she led to. Would he have ill words to say? Would she be upset or happy to see his face? Even though her goals were clear, she was blind to what would come out of her second day at his tower. Blind to his cruel intent, but would that even matter? She had no plans on leaving, and none of it mattered to her as long as he guided her one step closer to a position worthy of an ascended being.

The rich decor was enough for Lyvia to take a pause so she could feast her curious eyes. Despite having her title, she didn't leave Mistwick much, which left much luxury a foreign and distant dream. Eventually, her silver gaze settled to the man waiting at the table for her. Her stomach filled with butterflies of excitement and anxiousness to be in his presence once more. It was the same feeling she had during her ride to meet him, but after their shared experience, it was amplified. She had thought of speaking about their questionable first encounter and the lack of magical and physical modesty, but she had no room to talk after she was caught begging for another hit.

"I can say the same to you." After all, proficient mages weren't often known for their restful nights of sleep, but it didn't change the fact that the woman was rather weary. The bags under her eyes and tangles in her locks were telling enough, but she was still full of spirit, proving that even if she was to crack, she was rather enduring.

She took a seat, smoothed out the cloth along her thighs as she did so. "I cannot sleep when I know there are tasks to do. I also have been anticipating what today would bring." There was that fixation again; chances were that if she tried to sleep, the urge to sate his wishes for his approval would be too high to make it possible. She hadn't yet cemented her stay in his tower, there was no room for lax.

As she looked over the food, she noticed something else on the table. Her eyes settled on the rope and some of the fresh memories of the night before replayed in her head. He wouldn't plan on using that again, now did he?! Didn't he already prove his nonsensical elitism over her? Apparently not.

The sound of his chair pushing back caused her body to tense, ears to ring, and a small amount of mana to leak from her to take the form of faint shimmering lights. It seemed it wouldn't take him much to get a reaction out of her, but for now, she sat there quietly with her hands on her lap. "I've already told you, I'm not a mere low born," her words soft but laced with the venom of her reinvigorated pride.

"Wouldn't you have been disappointed if I slept? I wouldn't have the proper time to study if I did." She glanced over to his moving form. "Based on my connection with my mana, if I learn how to advance my powers enough, I may not even need sleep anymore." A possible benefit of being ascended. While it was an interesting thought, she could tell the air in the room was already reading heavy. No, he had an itch to tame wild.

 

[Freezn]

"If I am exhausted, it is only due to finding failure and mediocrity in those who seek my tutelage time and again." The words slipped from Deckard's lips in a calm, almost soft tone. There was no malice, no vindictive retort to the words. A statement of fact as he regarded the newly sat apprentice. With fingers laced together, and his elbows set upon the armrests of his chair, his steal blue gaze set upon Lyvia. The Councilor's smirk curled deeper with cruel amusement as he noted the vague shimmer that roiled out from her. He was far enough away from the table to get up with ease now, but he intended to give his apprentice time to relax before the lessons began. After all, she really did need to eat. She would be neither useful nor entertaining if her body gave out early.

His brow cocked upwards sharply at her claim of not needing sleep. Oh, how she gave him excuse after excuse. It was everything Deckard could do to not grin outright at the defiant prey sitting safely out of his reach. "Are questioning my guidance, Ascended?" The Royal Councilor really had intended to allow her to eat comfortably. At least until he was prepared to broach her little tantrum in the library. Now though, as danger edged its way into his voice, and a grin sliced across his lips, he couldn't resist. With casual ease he rose to his full height, though his expression bespoke anything but. "Did you learn so much in one evening of study, that you think yourself my equal already?" Each word dripped with razor like hostility. Her points were clear, valid, and anyone not looking to do her harm would have likely accepted them as such.

Lord Deckard of House Malek was not so sensible an individual. His desire to hurt Lyvia raged deep within his soul. He could feel his heart burn with the desire to make her scream. His body tensed and his jaw gripped tightly through his smile. "Are you not here to do as I say? Are you instead here to challenge the word of the Royal Council?" He stalked around the table, a beat of time resting between each footfall as it clacked across the massive nearly silent room. His finger brushed around the corner of the table, nails audibly peeling at the varnish of the wood.

His hawk like gaze darkened, the void slowly filling into his eyes as he let mana once more pour through his body. Like rivers of lava it battered at his senses, urging him to use his power, to break reality itself into how he saw fit. His grin could be described as nothing short of malevolent as he approached the back of her chair, intent on doing nothing more imposing than settling his hands upon her shoulders. A spark of mana crackled across his thumb and into the back of her neck as his fingers dug into her small figure. His thumbs moved in strong, persistent strokes from between her shoulder blades up to the back of neck as he massaged the assortment of muscles there. As he reminded her of his authority in their relationship.

With a harsh whisper of command, he bent forward, pressing she cheek to the side of her head as his lips brushed against her ear. "Eat."

 

[Passion]

"I trust your guidance, but I'm ascended. You keep speaking as if my blessing is meaningless all due to my birthplace." It was as if yesterday didn't change her mind, but it actually did on a few aspects. She was aware he was more experienced than her, but besides that, she still refused to embrace the themes of classism; she was too special for that. She wouldn't stop until he saw her in such a way too. She had hoped he saw it yesterday inside of her, but was it just the intensity their meeting getting to her? Moments of yesterday hit such a startling height, that there were some gaps in her memory. Unsure what was real, illusion, or a part of a waking fever dream.

Believe it or not, she forced herself to bite her tongue, as what she really wanted to say may get her kicked out of the tower. At the end of the day, she wasn't trying to upset the man, if anything, the opposite, but her title was tightly tied to her identity. If it wasn't for the fact she was born with these powers, she truly would be nothing more than a pretty commoner and more than likely a simple baker like her mother.

Her eyes lowered to the table as she was accused of challenging a member of the Royal Council. "That is not my intent. I will listen to your direction to grow as the mage that I'm fated to be." He could give her one of the biggest gifts of all, purpose.

She knew she had to tread water carefully, but she was not fond of willingly surrendering her pride. Maybe, after a few more days, he would marvel at her greatness like almost everyone she crossed did. He had made her a mess a day before, how could she be expected to cast properly? Little did she know he had plans beyond sharpening up her skills with his rigorous teaching methods.

Her skin crawled as he fumed with mana. Already quickly learning to raise her guard, as she wasn't looking to be plagued with fear once more. Instead of speaking her mind or trying to talk her way out of the matter, she went silent, which was rather telling for an often outspoken woman. To balance her pride and to be seen fondly in his eyes seemed like an impossible balancing act.

He found his place behind her, his strong hands on her shoulders, and the touch alone made a chill run up her spine. Color appeared in her dull eyes, and more of her mana escaped her to dance in the air around the pair. The kiss of soft glowing color highlighted her petite yet womanly frame with raw mana. Again, it was a sign of her lack of control while around him, but it felt the most natural for her to be both liberal and expressive with her magic.

Her eyes widened, and a whisper of a whimper slipped from her lips when there was a spark of his magic against her. She couldn't help her newfound paranoia, but her sensitivity to the arcane continued to act as a gift and a curse.

He leaned in close to her, demanding that she ate, and not only was this not a battle worth picking, but she also wasn't looking to sour his mood further. So while caught under his looming presence, the ascended started to eat her breakfast. She could hardly taste her food as he stole all her focus, but at least the food would provide her with the energy that she needed.

When she just about finished her share, she decided to question him, "could you give me insight on what we will be doing today?" She found her pulse quickening from her own question; her gut warning her that today would more than likely come with its fair share of surprises as well.

 

[Freezn]

Deckard basked in the subtle aura of Lyvia’s fear turned mana. The sadistic councilor would have sworn he could taste the terror as he pressed behind her loomed behind her chair. The multicolored hue pulled into his lungs as he breathed in. It was like swallowing a storm, as soft as a cloud and as potent as a thunderbolt. It mixed with his own internal reserves, and he could feel the hairs stand up along his arms as a shiver rand down his spine. Her magic only making it that much harder for him to invoke control over his own restless mana. The inherent need to cause her to scream, to dominate and ruin the woman beneath his gaze held in check only through years of his own upbringing in proper society, under familial tutelage.

The panicked and soft whimper that she unwillingly gave up was like music to his ears. It brought his devilish grin up towards his ears. He bent over her slightly. His presence a constant threat. She had been given a chance for peace however short it may have been, but instead her prideful comments had invited more of his attention. He would pit himself against that pride. Until she was his equal that pride had no place in his presence. By then, he intended for her to be well and truly broken. Like soft putty in his hands willing to pour her pride out at his feet. That or she’d be so insane as to never have her pride taken seriously anyways. Either result would be a masterpiece that could keep him happily entertained in the days afterwards.

He stood there, content to move one hand around the back of her neck. His claim like vice as he massaged the muscles within. It was a steady reminder of his control over her fear, her future, his role as her center and how quickly he could once more bring violence upon her. The silence stretched between them as he watched her eat, his remaining hand worked along the muscles of between her shoulders. Powerful fingers breaking down the tension within, loosening her up for the lessons that were to come. Keeping her on edge for the impending torment he was sure to unleash upon her.

Her slight submission earlier had warded off the immediate threat as his mind danced with heinous crimes. The sound of her head cracking upon stone replaying in his mind as his grip upon her spine tightened briefly. It would undoubtedly been satisfying to toss his little toy again, but he was not so lost to barbarism as to allow such acts to be common place. No. Besides, it was far more entertaining when such wounds were self inflicted.

“We will be working upon your control again. Just like we shall every moment of every day until your first trial.” His tone had lost its violent edge, calmed as he was by her silent subordination. His eyes were once again the pale blue, free of the void like darkness of his own mana. He had brought it to a calm while the young woman ate, dissipating the violent charge her excess had provided him. “You have four weeks to prove yourself the master of your own mana. If you cannot do so by then you will lose the right to call yourself my apprentice, and you will have no hope of ever joining the Council.”

Deckard’s hand slipped from the back of her neck to glide around to her jaw where he steadily lifted upwards. “Come. Let us begin before your position as Ascended make my lessons moot.” He needled the young woman while the shadow of a smirk pulled at the corner of his lips. He began to walk towards the mirrored wall of the room. His eyes filled into black pits as he reached out with a tether of magic to draw his inkwell, quill and rope through the air after him.

The Royal Councilor paused several paces from one of the full body mirror in the center of the wall. With a wave of his hand he gestured for his apprentice to stand in front of him facing towards the mirror. “I assume you have read Entori’s theorem on mana channels within the body? I shall illustrate where these channels are within your body Ascended. Take off your robe.” A salacious grin crossed his expression as he looked into her eyes through the mirror.

Having been born and raised among the nobility Deckard had learned early on the intimate nature of another’s body. Furthermore, Royal Councilors and even their apprentices were often hosting or partaking in revelries of hedonism that pushed the boundaries of the senses. Flesh in all its many offerings was something each mage of their standing was intimately familiar with. But Deckard was not so far removed to not know of the common man’s sense of taboo around the subject. He was well aware of how inappropriate such a demand would be for someone raised and surrounded by other those who were slaves to laws of nature. It was this knowledge that made the demand that much more enjoyable to give.

He would train his apprentice. He would turn her natural gifts into weapon that would make the heavens tremble. He would give her knowledge so valuable and insight so keen that she could ravage the world with his secrets. But he would not be kind about it. He certainly would not be gentle.

 

[Passion]

Four weeks...
to learn to control the stirring sea of mana within her. ​

"I will do it. Maybe even before then." While on the surface, it appeared the woman was brimming with confidence, but it wasn't exactly that black or white. Instead, she believed in the intense effort she was willing to bring. His approval was vital to her grand plans, and she planned on giving it her all. Of course, she ran into limitations like any human, but she was willing to push beyond her comfort and skills to not only learn but to show the Royal Court that she was meant to sit alongside them. She would prove that she would do whatever it took to show that others lacked not only her innate talents but her commitment.

Guided by her face, she left the table to follow his lure. His touch and looking directly into his eyes caused a surreal sensation in the woman. While she was victim to his show of power, she still found herself impressed with the fellow mage, and it made her desire for his guidance even more prominent.

Led up to a mirror in the room, she has spun to view the reflection of her puzzled face. Some practiced magic and mirrors, but that didn't fit what she had studied the night before. If anything, it made her anxious that somehow she managed to mishear him, and read the wrong books.

Looking at his reflection within the mirror, she nodded her head along. Relieved to find out she did read the right books, but that relief was short-lived when he commanded her to disrobe. There were no comforting words or further explanation as one may expect. It was also impossible to not notice that grin. Was he acting this way due to her birthplace? Was this even necessary? Questioning him wasn't an option.

Her gaze cast down, and the woman that once beamed with confidence turned timid. Other than having a few rebellious nights as a teen, no one else had seen her without her clothing. Not only that, it was very unladylike. However, she was here over matters of magic and not flesh. While body and magic could connect, they were also separated. Clothing or none did not make her less nor more of a mage. Her fingertips dropped to the sash around her waist where she hesitated.

Without my robe in front of not only a man but...
a member of the council...?
At least a man of his status is more worthy of seeing me without clothes....
but... it is so flustering.​

Her face lit up with a soft rosy shade, and she took a breath. "I must say, studying the theories was fascinating, and I'm eager to learn, but I do not think this is the best lesson for such an early one." Despite her mild protest, she tugged at the sash, and the heavy robe of fine fabric would unravel and fall to the floor. What remained was a nearly bare woman with a pair of lower white undergarments.

They called the woman ascended for her mana, but it appeared she was blessed as a woman as well. Her light skin was soft and radiant, well-groomed and free of any blemish of hardship or battle. Well, that was other than the dark red marks left behind on her wrists and ankles as she was left to fight demons within her mind. Her figure was much more slender than her robe would suggest, and while sleepy towns like Mistwick were known for their disadvantages, one advantage they did have was their fresh foods. Leaving small-town women like herself toned, as there also weren't any excessive surpluses to promote gluttony. However, most notable about her body was the path of curves. The woman who ascended beyond humans had a body of a goddess. Her wide hips, narrow waist, and her perky and full bust would leave most women envious. Especially with the nervous glow of her leaking mana, it looked as if she was flaunting.

Uncomfortable being near-nude, her knees bent in slightly, and she used one of her arms to cover the pink of her breasts. Unable to look at herself or him in the mirror, she dropped her hair while some of her long, light brown hair fell over her shoulders. While she was curled up to hide, she still showed signs of her obedience. She did not speak out, nor did she chase after her fallen robe. She was being pushed, but she was trying. With her breathing heavy and more mana spilling from her core, there was no hiding the heavy layer of embarrassment.