Rise of The Greatest Mage of all Times

Chapter six: The storm that answers

The dawn came pale and cold over Thornwood, carrying with it the scent of ash and dew. Kael awoke to find Orin already at the edge of the clearing, drawing symbols into the dirt with the point of his sword. Each motion was deliberate—measured like the ticking of a great clock.

The lines gleamed faintly, runes humming with restrained power. They formed a perfect ring about three strides wide, etched with sigils that seemed to twist and breathe when Kael looked too long at them.

“Get up,” Orin said without turning. “Today we bind chaos.”

Kael rubbed sleep from his eyes, his body sore from yesterday’s lesson. His palms still bore faint burns, and the mark of the Aetherheart on his chest pulsed faintly beneath his tunic.

“Bind it?” Kael asked, standing. “You said magic comes from will.”

Orin’s gaze cut toward him, sharp as steel. “Will without structure is destruction. The Circle teaches obedience—to your magic, and to yourself. Step inside.”

Kael hesitated but obeyed. The moment he crossed the circle’s edge, the air thickened. The runes began to glow brighter, threads of gold and crimson weaving through the soil beneath his feet.

“It feels… alive,” Kael murmured.

“It is,” Orin said. “The first circle you draw binds your essence to form. It becomes your tether to the world. Fail to control it…” He dragged his sword across the edge of the circle, and the rune flared—then exploded outward, a blast of air knocking Kael off his feet. “…and it consumes you.”

Kael coughed, picking himself up. “You’re a wonderful teacher.”

A faint smirk tugged at Orin’s lips. “You’re alive. That’s lesson one.”

He handed Kael a piece of chalk—the kind used by scholars to trace mana geometry. “Now, draw your own. Use your instinct. Let your pulse guide the pattern.”

Kael knelt, unsure. His hand trembled as he began to draw. The symbols came unevenly at first, jagged, but as he worked, something strange happened—the lines began to move with his breathing. Each stroke aligned with his heartbeat, each curve whispering faint echoes of power.

The Aetherheart mark burned faintly on his chest, syncing with the rhythm of his hand.

When he finished, the circle shimmered faintly—unstable, imperfect, but his.

Orin crouched beside him. “Rough, but functional. Now, channel the spark through it. Slowly.”

Kael exhaled and extended his hand toward the circle’s center.

The mark flared. Magic surged.

At first, it was like a river flowing through his veins—warm, alive. The runes around the circle began to glow, forming patterns of light that spiraled inward. But then the flow quickened, roaring like a flood. The symbols warped, melting into shapes that shouldn’t exist.

Kael gasped. “It’s—too much—”

“Focus!” Orin barked. “The circle answers only to your intent! Command it!”

Kael grit his teeth, forcing his trembling hands to steady. He could feel the Aetherheart’s power clawing at him, eager to burst free—raw, ancient, untamed. It whispered like a thousand voices in unison.

“Release us.”

“No!” he shouted. “You obey me!”

He slammed his hand down, and the runes froze mid-distortion. The ground vibrated. The energy condensed into a sphere of light hovering above the circle’s center—unstable but contained.

Sweat streamed down his face. His whole body trembled with the strain.

Orin’s eyes widened slightly. “He’s… doing it.”

Kael held the light steady, every muscle in his body screaming. “What… now?”

“End it before it ends you,” Orin said quietly.

Kael forced a breath, then released the spell. The light dissipated, fading into a whisper of heat. The circle’s glow dimmed.

Kael fell to his knees, gasping, half-conscious.

Orin walked over and crouched beside him. “Congratulations. You’ve just drawn your first living circle—and survived.”

Kael wiped sweat from his brow. “It felt like it wanted to tear me apart.”

“It did,” Orin said simply. “The first circle tests your worth. If you falter, it consumes your essence and collapses your soul back into the weave. That’s how most apprentices die.”

Kael looked up at him, startled. “You didn’t tell me that.”

“You wouldn’t have tried if I had.”

Kael glared weakly. “You’re insane.”

“Probably.” Orin stood and extended a hand. “But so are all mages who reach the top.”

Kael hesitated, then took the hand and stood. His knees wobbled, but his spirit burned brighter than ever.

Orin studied him a moment longer, then added, “You have something the others lacked—defiance. The Aetherheart feeds on it. But remember this: every circle you forge strengthens your control… and your chains.”

“Chains?”

“Power is never free, Kael.” Orin’s gaze turned distant, haunted. “Each step you take will bind you closer to the very force you’re trying to master. Someday, it may choose for you.”

Before Kael could answer, the ground trembled—a deep rumble echoing through the forest. The runes in his circle flared violently, responding to something beyond his will.

“What’s happening?” he shouted.

Orin’s face hardened. “Something’s calling your power.”

The forest darkened. The wind died. A shape began forming within the circle’s fading light—a shadow stretching upward, long and thin, its eyes burning crimson.

Orin’s sword was in his hand instantly. “Get back!”

Kael staggered away as the shadow solidified, a twisted creature of smoke and bone emerging from the circle. It moved like mist but hissed with the hunger of something ancient.

Kael’s pulse spiked. “Did I summon that?”

“No,” Orin growled. “It found you.”

The shadow lunged. Kael ducked, barely avoiding a strike that left claw marks in the dirt. He stumbled backward, instinctively raising his hand.

The mark on his chest flared—and a burst of fire exploded from his palm. The shadow shrieked, recoiling.

“Again!” Orin shouted.

Kael focused, but the energy came too fast. The flame spiraled out of control, scorching the trees. The circle cracked, breaking the barrier between the material and mana realms.

Orin leapt forward, driving his sword through the shadow’s chest. Light flared, and the creature dissolved into ash.

Silence returned—heavy, tense.

Kael collapsed, chest heaving. “What… was that?”

Orin pulled his sword free, eyes dark. “A wraith. Drawn to instability in the weave. You’ll meet more of them as your power grows. The world can sense imbalance—and it hungers for it.”

Kael looked at his trembling hands. “So I’m a beacon for things like that?”

“For now,” Orin said. “Until you learn to mask your mana. We’ll work on that next.”

Kael stared at the shattered remains of his first circle. The runes had burned themselves into the soil, faintly glowing even as the light faded.

Despite his exhaustion, a grim smile spread across his face. “It’s ugly… but it’s mine.”

Orin chuckled lowly. “A mage’s first scars are always ugly. What matters is that you wear them.”

The older man turned toward the horizon, where thunder rumbled faintly beyond the forest. “Rest well tonight, Kael. Tomorrow, you’ll learn to call the storm.”

Kael’s gaze lingered on the broken circle. His body trembled, but his eyes blazed with something fierce—resolve.

If fire was his first trial, then thunder would be his next step toward greatness.

The wind carried the faint echo of his whisper, soft but certain:

“I won’t be the boy without light anymore.”

The Aetherheart pulsed in answer, glowing faintly beneath his skin—silent, waiting.