In the Hall of Masters
Lithian stared at the orbs laid out before him. Nine kiandri. Ten firani. ‘Ready’ his mother had said. He was ‘ready’ to move on to the next stage of his training. Ready to grow. Ready to begin doing some of his training alone.
He breathed out, fingers just barely steady as he selected one each of his orbs and tucked them carefully into a small satchel at his side. It felt good to be home. He’d made several trips down to Eowyn since his first — most not nearly so eventful, thank the fates — and progressed steadily in his training for the year or so since, working directly now with peisio clan instructors in the various ways of fine tuning his art: his magic.
His healing had improved rapidly, almost effortlessly. The physical aspects of his training, however, always seemed to lag behind. His ability to tap into the raw force of his magic was strong, his tutors told him, but his fluidity and confidence when executing the stances necessary to give that magic shape and power was still severely lacking.
Lithian ushered those thoughts from his mind. Today was not a day for training.
He was freshly washed, dressed in some of his best clothes with his hair braided back from his face, ornamented for once with beads etched with his family’s symbol. Today, he had a scheduled meeting at the heart of the Celestial Fortress with none other than Marcus Ysaride himself.
A soft tap sounded at his door, and Lithian stood, carefully wrapping and tucking away the rest of his orbs before moving to answer it.
“Father,” he said, blinking — surprised to see his father at this time of day. Usually his parents were busy for the bulk of the daylight hours. If his father noticed his surprise, however, he said nothing about it, simply laying a hand on Lithian’s shoulder instead and smiling, eyes warm.
“You grow taller every day, Lithian. It is a miracle to watch you…and you do your family proud on this day.”
Lith flushed, dipping his eyes and folding his hands. “Provided I don’t lose myself on the way, Father.”
His father chuckled, a soft, rolling sound, and patted his shoulder gently. “Lose yourself as many times as you need, Lithian. So long as you find your once and are pleased with where you end up, that is all that matters.”
Lithian smiled and, with a kiss to his forehead, his father dismissed him, urging him on his way. The trip from his parents’ estate at the far outer edge of Astral City and out to the Celestial Fortress was not terribly far, but distant enough still to validate riding instead of making it a walk that could otherwise take half the day. Thus, he saddled Iwana — his hastar, named after his youngest sister thanks to his childhood opinion that, as a colt, her wobbling reminded him of his baby sister’s toddling and precarious sense of balance — and set out for the temple.
It
was a familiar route, made time and again for purposes of both study and worship, his parents having impressed spirituality and duty to their god on he and all his siblings from very young ages, and Lithian did not — as he had teased — manage to lose himself on the way. When he came upon the looming shape of perhaps the largest structure in all of the Plane, however, he did feel his breath catch, pulse hammering harder in his throat than during the ride.
It wasn’t that it was a new sight to behold, clearly, since he’d been so many times before, but the gravity of why he was here
this time, alone for once, set on his own personal to present his badges of merit to Marcus — that, beyond anything else, intimidated him. Steadying his breath and rooting himself mentally, Lithian made a careful descent from Iwana and left her with a waiting stable hand after handing the woman several pieces of coin in tip for her service. Paying extra was not necessary, seeing as those who ran the upkeep at the temple saw to it that stable hands were actively paid for by the budget, but his parents had always taught that sparing a few coins when applicable for those who did good work was never a waste of earnings.
When he stepped inside the front gates and into the main hall, the sounds of study distantly audible and the scents of worship all around him — incense and eldorai berries with their sweet, bitter smoke — Lithian remembered his fear, but focused instead on his inner remembrances of peace. He had lived with these sounds and smells all his life. They were a part of him, his memories, and his history as much as his horns or his hair or his scales. As such, he let himself pause there, shutting his eyes and narrowing his focus to all the things that gave him strength. Made him calm.
After a long moment and a touch of his fingers to the center of his chest as he sent up a brief prayer of thanks to his god, Lithian opened his eyes and moved forward again, navigating the arched hallways, marbled floors, and winding staircases towards their racial leader’s waiting chamber.
“Lithian Bhardvaris,” he answered, when questioned for his name, family, rank and clan by guards outside the main door. “Peisio apprentice.”
The guards conversed briefly with a standing scribe before turning their attention to him, nodding, and giving him entry. They had to clear their throats before Lithian could convince his legs to move again, and his pulse was, at best, wild and distracting in his throat as he forced himself to move in.
He should have pressed harder for one of his family members to come with him. What if he stuttered? Or tripped? Or said something ridiculous? Or couldn’t remember how to speak? Or—
“Breathe.” Marcus’ voice filled the room in one word. Not booming, precisely, but full and commanding, immediately making itself the center of attention, and Lithian’s feet stuttered to a halt, his breath rushing out of him in a staggered exhale. “It’s good for your health, you know.”
Lithian flushed brightly, eyes darting over the proud man from his sweeping horns to his massive but tucked wings. “I-I-I…” He forced his eyes to the floor. “Yes, sir. I know it is. Thank you, sir.”
Marcus chuckled. “Relax, boy.” When Lithian managed to make himself look up, the man tilted his head, waiting. “You have something for me?”
Immediately, Lithian swallowed, jerking his head to nod, and hastened forward, fingers fumbling at the satchel at his side but then impeccably careful as he laid out his orbs before his leader. Marcus’ eyebrows arched a fraction.
“Kiandri and firani. From an apprentice?” He brushed his fingers briefly over each of them, expression thoughtful before he pinned Lith again with his stare. “I am more accustomed to seeing hard earned ysali and ayrala orbs from apprentices your age.”
“I-I, I had help. But I
did fight for them, sir. I learned much on Eowyn.” He dipped his eyes again. “Whether I intended to or not, sir.”
“Hn.” The dovaa leader’s expression relaxed a fraction, amusement edging in over his fleeting, pensive disbelief, and he waved Lith’s staggered commentary off. “I’ll believe you. Fortunate, that you were able to train with willing tutors in the field. Besides, it seems you have braved enough simply coming to see me. Dangerous and intimidating as the encounter may be.”
Lithian’s face — if possible — heated further, and he opened his mouth, but found his words congealed in his throat, too petrified to make themselves heard.
“You are dismissed, apprentice, and may progress to the next stage of your training. But do remember what I told you about breathing.”
“Yes…yes, sir,” Lithian blurted, dipping into a low bow.
“Perhaps we can even make eye contact next you come here.”
Lithian shut his eyes, blush spilling over from his cheeks and down his neck, seeming to gather at the back like a pool of hot liquid. “Yes, sir. I will try.”
“May Abronaxus guide your footsteps.”
“And yours,” Lithian breathed, and quickly made his exit.
Perhaps, he thought after making his way out, rubbing at the back of his burning neck the entire way, it was more fortunate than he’d ever imagined that he’d chosen the peisio clan instead of firani. Had he chosen the latter, he considered that the possibility of him combusting into
actual flame might well have been a plausible outcome. Seconds after imagining accidentally burning all his clothes off in front of the racial leader due to embarrassment, Lithian choked on his own breath and forcibly shut
that train of thought down for good.
Word Count: 1,489
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