"You haven't answered my third question, Aravelle of the Dragons…" Astaroth pointed out.
"Oh please. Aravelle is fine. No need to add my title at the end. It'll get tiresome pretty fast, I assure you."
Astaroth clicked his tongue.
"Fine, Aravelle. But answer the question, please. Why are you here? I doubt someone of your… prestige would wander here in a small upstart kingdom, for no reason."
Aravelle smiled once more.
"Good deduction. Indeed, there is a reason. The reason is that you beat up one of my mages. At least, that is the official reason. Let's say this was a good timing and cover story for why I needed to be back in this tower."
Astaroth remembered how Argos had called the palace a tower as well. And how the other one, that he had given to Nalafein, was also called a mage tower.
But he still wondered what was so important about these structures, or why their creators suddenly needed to come back to them, especially if the old proprietor of the thing was as strong as he claimed to be.
Since everyone was back in their seat, Aravelle straightened up his wrinkled robe and grabbed his teacup. After a long sip, and a sigh of appreciation, he rested the teacup on the table again, looking at Astaroth.
"Where do you think magic comes from, young one?" Aravelle asked, setting his hands on the armrests of his sofa.
This question took Astaroth by surprise. When had this become a quiz?
"I don't think it comes from anywhere. I feel like magic is more of a natural force of the universe."
Aravelle became pensive at his answer.
"Your view isn't entirely correct, but it is close to the truth. Did your master teach you this?"
Aberon shook his head, saying, "I only taught him how to use his talents. I have nothing to do with what he did with them and the development of his understanding of magic."
Aravelle gave a sharp look toward Aberon.
"Let the boy answer for himself. I believe he is smart enough to respond to his own questions without a chaperone."
Aberon shut his mouth, clenching his jaw. If this hadn't been one of the ten most powerful people in the world, he would have already blown up in anger, from being talked to like he was a child.
"What old man Aberon said is the truth, though," Astaroth said, to take the conversation away from Aberon.
He could see how his old teacher was uncomfortable in the presence of this mage and tried to help ease the situation away from him.
Aberon eased up a bit when Aravelle's gaze left him and nodded ever so gently toward Astaroth.
"In that case, your perception of the world and its guiding forces is very astute. You aren't far from the truth," Aravelle commented, taking another long sip of tea.
"Magic is a binding agent to the universe. It is what holds its multiple facets and powers together, in as much harmony as the laws of nature allow. When a world is born, it is magic that binds all the elements needed to make it thrive. This means magic, by definition, is also the world's lifeblood."
Astaroth listened to his words and tried making sense of them.
"I don't see what that has to do with why you are here, Aravelle."
"Sir, Aravelle," Aberon interjected, looking at Astaroth with a stink eye.
He feared that if Astaroth kept not using due respect, the old monster might anger and get rid of him. This was a less-than-desirable outcome.
But Aravelle raised his hand at Aberon.
"Let him speak how he wants. It's refreshing to be talked to like an equal. As for your confusion on the matter, young one, it is natural. This isn't something that every mage learns. If every mage knew about what I'm about to tell you, the amount of uncontrolled mages in the world would skyrocket. So I hope what I tell you here never leaves this room."
Looking at his body language, Astaroth quickly understood it was less of a request, and much more of an order. He nodded his head, swallowing his dried saliva.
"When you first met me, hundreds of years ago, through whatever means you used to travel back, did I seem weak to you?" Aravelle asked.
Astaroth nodded his head.
"I assumed as much since you threatened me the way you did," the elf chuckled.
"You threatened a progenitor of magic?! What the hell is wrong with you, boy?!" Aberon exploded.
But before he could keep berating Astaroth, Aravelle let out a long sigh and snapped his fingers. As the snap resounded, Aberon disappeared with a flash, his voice vanishing from the room with him.
"He still is as explosive as hundreds of years ago," Aravelle sighed, shaking his head.
But Astaroth only felt more intimidated now that he was alone with Aravelle. He doubted many people in New Eden could simply whisk Aberon away with a snap of their fingers.
Once again, the power level difference was made very clear.
"I apologize for threatening you back then, Aravelle. My friends' lives were on the line, and I spoke without thinking."
Aravelle left out a soft chuckle.
"From where I stand, you do a lot of things without thinking. But think nothing of it. I understand how you felt. I had friends I would have fought the gods to protect as well, long ago, so I took no offence at your words. On the contrary. They showed incredible loyalty. As well as stupidity, but I have noticed in my long life that those two concepts are rarely exclusive to one another."
Astaroth felt a weight shift off his shoulders.
"But let us get back to what I was saying, now that we have some quiet. Shall we?"
Nodding his head, Astaroth switched from his wooden chair to Aberon's more comfortable-looking sofa.
"As I was saying, this knowledge I am about to impart upon you must never leave this room's secrecy. You would be unleashing upon the world a wave of berserk mages and sorcerers, and this is not a desirable outcome, given the world's current circumstances. Understood?"
Astaroth nodded his head once more.
"Good. Then the class is in session," Aravelle said, waving his hand.
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