Kaer'Zhul hesitated only a moment before the low threshold, then forced himself to follow the old man into the hut. The contrast to the bright clearing outside was stark. The interior was dim, illuminated only by the light filtering through a small, single window and the warm glow of a fire burning in a simple stone hearth on the opposite wall. The room was small and rustic, but surprisingly clean and orderly. The floor was packed earth, the walls made of rough, unhewn logs. It smelled of woodsmoke, dried herbs, and something else, undefinable – a mixture of ancient knowledge and the wilderness outside. Bundles of herbs hung everywhere from the ceiling beams to dry; clay pots, strangely shaped roots, smoothly polished stones, and a few leather-bound books with faded and worn spines lined shelves along the walls. It was the dwelling of a hermit, miles away from the palatial halls of obsidian and starlight that Kaer'Zhul had once called home. The simplicity was almost insulting. The old man went to the fireplace, added another log to the embers, and poked at it briefly, sending sparks flying. Then he gestured curtly towards a simple wooden stool standing beside a rough table. "Sit down, boy. Warm yourself." Kaer'Zhul did as he was told, though he was reluctant to follow instructions. He sat on the stool, which creaked slightly under his weight. The warmth of the fire was pleasant on his skin, but he felt out of place, a fallen god in the humble hut of a mortal. He eyed the old man suspiciously as he filled a cup with steaming liquid and handed it to Kaer'Zhul. It smelled strongly of herbs. "Drink," the master said simply, sitting on a similar stool opposite him. He did not take a cup himself but folded his hands in his lap and regarded Kaer'Zhul with his piercing blue eyes across the table. The silence stretched, broken only by the crackling of the fire and the distant rush of the waterfall. Kaer'Zhul eyed the cup. Poison? A test? He could sense no obvious danger, only the strong herbal scent. Reluctantly, he took a small sip. The liquid was hot, bitter, but strangely invigorating. It seemed to drive the cold from his limbs and clear his mind a little. "You spoke of an inner fire," the master finally said, his voice calm but demanding. "Describe it to me. When did you first feel it? How does it feel? What happens when you try to... touch it?" Kaer'Zhul set the cup down and gathered his thoughts, trying to make the lie as convincing as possible. He looked down at his hands as if seeking the answer there. "I... I don't know exactly when it started, Master. It's always been there, I think. A feeling... deep inside. As a child, it was just a faint tingling, a strange warmth that sometimes flowed through me." He looked up and met the old man's gaze. "Over time, it grew stronger. Sometimes, when I was angry or excited, it seemed almost to boil over. The people in the village noticed, they became... uneasy around me." He paused to give the story weight. "One day, a traveling merchant came through our village. An old man who had seen much. He noticed my... unease. He said it might be a gift, a predisposition to magic." Kaer'Zhul leaned forward slightly. "He gave me some advice. Said I should try to focus on it, direct it outwards. I tried, again and again. After many weeks... I succeeded." He raised his hand slightly. "A small spark jumped from my palm. Just for a moment, then it was gone again." He lowered his hand. "The merchant also said I should meditate, listen inward, to find and control the power." He sighed deeply, a feigned expression of exhaustion and frustration. "I did that. For years. Every day I meditated, tried to grasp this power. It was incredibly draining. But finally... I managed to create and hold a small flame." He glanced at the hearth fire. "But that's all. I can't do more. I know there's more inside me, much more! But I can't reach it." He described the feeling, trying to weave truth into the lie. "It feels warm, Master. Like a sun hidden deep in my chest. I can feel it, it's tangible when I concentrate. But it's as if it's... locked away. As if I'm standing before a huge, underground lake, but only a tiny trickle makes it to the surface before immediately seeping back into the sand. I can feel the power behind it, sense its depth, but I can't release it. I'm stuck." He looked imploringly at the master. "That's why I set out. To find someone who can help me break through this blockage." The old master listened silently, his light blue eyes never leaving Kaer'Zhul's face. When he had finished, the old man slowly stroked his long beard, a thoughtful gleam in his eyes. "A lake from which only a trickle flows," he murmured softly. "A blockage... yes, that describes it well. I haven't heard such a precise definition from any of the young hotheads who have shown up here over the years." He chuckled slightly. "Most come with empty hands and big dreams, wanting to become powerful mages overnight, without the slightest idea of the power they are trying to awaken." He leaned forward a little, his gaze intensifying. "But you... you already feel the power. You have touched it, given it a name. You have even learned to manifest it, albeit only as a small flame." He nodded slowly. "That's more than most ever achieve. You are on the right path, boy. And yes, perhaps you are in the right place." The master stood up and nodded towards the fireplace. "Show me. Go over there and call your flame. Let me see what you can do." Kaer'Zhul hesitated briefly. A demonstration in front of this mortal? It went against his grain, but he had no choice. He stood up, stepped before the stone hearth, and raised his hand. He concentrated, reaching for the familiar glow in his chest, for the faint whisper of his essence. He coaxed the energy forth, shaping it into a flame with his will. But this time, something unexpected happened. The flame that appeared on his palm was not the small, thumb-sized tongue of light he was used to. It was larger, brighter, almost twice its usual size, and it burned with a noticeably greater intensity. It cast dancing shadows throughout the hut and radiated a distinct warmth. Kaer'Zhul stared at the flame in surprise. He felt the energy flow – it was still limited, the trickle hadn't widened – but the energy itself seemed... more concentrated, more powerful. "It... it's never been this big before," he murmured, confused, looking at the master. The old man chuckled softly, a dry, crackling sound. "No? Well, perhaps it's the company." He winked and gestured to the empty cup in Kaer'Zhul's other hand. "Or more likely the herbs in your tea. A little boost for the inner fire never hurts." He became serious again. "But size isn't everything, boy. Control is the key. Hold the flame steady." As Kaer'Zhul focused on taming the unexpectedly strong flame on his hand, preventing it from flickering and licking, a realization shot through his mind, cold and clear. This old man was far more than just a hermit. Kaer'Zhul couldn't pinpoint it exactly, the senses of this body were too dull, but he felt it. An aura of power surrounded the old man, subtle but deep-rooted like the oldest trees in the forest. It wasn't a threatening power, not an aggressive presence, but it was unmistakably there, calm and self-assured. In his current state, trapped in this prison of flesh, he wouldn't stand a chance against this master if it came to a confrontation. Caution was necessary. But at the same time, another thought sprouted, nourished by the stronger flame on his hand. Fenrir had been right. This place, this master, might be the key. Within minutes of his arrival, after drinking that simple herbal tea, he had made noticeable progress – more than in all the days of solitary meditation in the cave. As humiliating as it was to submit to the guidance of a mortal, this might be his best chance to loosen the bonds that held his true power captive. Even if the progress was slight, it was real. He had to stay here. He had to learn. Whatever the cost. He forced the flame to stillness until it burned steadily on his palm without flickering, a small, bright star in the dim hut. Satisfied, he let it extinguish and turned back to the master. The old man nodded in approval. "Good. You have a feel for it." He gestured back to the stools. "Sit down again." Kaer'Zhul obeyed and took his seat once more. The master also sat down and regarded him intently. "One last question, boy, before we decide how to proceed." His voice was more serious now. "You say you want to understand and control this power. But to what end? What do you intend to do with this power once you have mastered it?" The question caught Kaer'Zhul off guard. He had thought about his lie, but not about the deeper motivation he should reveal. The truth – revenge on Aeliria, reclaiming his divine status, subjugating this world – was impossible to state. He searched for words vague enough to reveal nothing, yet containing a core of truth. "I... I want to reclaim what was taken from me," he finally said, his voice quiet but laced with suppressed intensity. "There is... an injustice that must be avenged. This power is the key. I must master it to... claim my right." He avoided the master's gaze, staring instead at his hands. He wouldn't reveal more. The master was silent for a long time. Kaer'Zhul felt the old man's piercing gaze on him, as if trying to see behind the vague words, to sense the truth beneath the surface. Kaer'Zhul was sure the master sensed there was more to it, that the story was incomplete. But to his surprise, the old man seemed to accept the answer. "Reclaim what was taken," the master repeated slowly, stroking his beard again. "A strong motivation. Better than the greed for mere power or the desire for prestige that drives so many wannabe mages." He nodded again. "A clear goal, even if fueled by pain, can be a powerful focus. It can help muster the discipline this path requires." He laughed briefly again, that dry, crackling sound. "Very well, boy. You have potential, more than most who knock on my door. And you have a reason. That's enough for me for now." He leaned back. "I'll take you on. I will teach you what I know. But be warned: the path is hard, and I demand absolute obedience and tireless diligence. Failure will not be tolerated." A spark of triumphant satisfaction shot through Kaer'Zhul, though he hid it behind a humble facade. He had done it. The first step towards reclaiming his power was taken. "What is your name, boy?" the master asked then. Kaer'Zhul hesitated. He couldn't use his real name. He needed a human name, an inconspicuous one. He thought for a moment, choosing a name that seemed foreign and meaningless to him. "I... they call me Kael," he lied. The master nodded. "Kael. A simple name." He stood up and extended a weathered hand to Kaer'Zhul. "I am Elmsworth. But most here in the forest, the few who know me, just call me the Old Man." Kael, as he now had to call himself, hesitantly took the offered hand. The old man's handshake was firm and dry, the hand of a man used to hard work. Elmsworth released his hand and his gaze became businesslike. "Good, Kael. If you want to be my student, you must adapt to my rhythm. Life here is simple, but demanding." He began to outline the daily routine. "We rise before sunrise. Your first task: chop wood, enough for the day. Then build the fire, here in the hearth and outside at the cooking spot. After that, you prepare breakfast." He paused and studied Kael. "We dedicate the entire morning to the body. Running, climbing, swimming in the pool beneath the waterfall, exercises with the staff. Your body must become strong and resilient to hold the magic." "At midday, you build the fire again and cook," Elmsworth continued. "After the meal follows work on the mind. Breathing exercises, concentration, meditation. We will try to understand your inner fire, find your blockage, and perhaps resolve it. That will be the hardest part." "In the late afternoon, you take care of the household – keep the hut clean, gather and sort herbs, maintain tools. Then you prepare dinner. And in the evening, before darkness falls, there is one last session of strength training to tire the body and calm the mind." Elmsworth crossed his arms over his chest. "That is the daily routine. Every day. Without exception. If we keep this up for a year or two, adjusting the exercises to your progress, then you might become a capable mage. I sense the potential in you, Kael." Kael listened silently, inwardly seething. Chop wood? Cook? Clean? He, Kaer'Zhul, was to perform the menial tasks of a servant? For a mortal? It was an outrageous insult, another level of humiliation inflicted by Aeliria's curse. Yet he forced himself to remain calm, merely nodding outwardly. "I understand, Master Elmsworth. I will do what is necessary." He cleared his throat. "Just... the cooking. I must confess, I never learned how." Elmsworth burst out laughing, the sound echoing off the wooden walls. "I thought as much! Don't worry, boy. The first few days I'll show you the basics. How to properly tend a fire, how to prepare simple stews, how to bake bread. But after that, you're on your own. The household is your responsibility." Kael nodded again, while a storm raged within him. A slave! He had been degraded to the slave of a human hermit! Aeliria! he screamed inwardly, you will pay for this! But he knew he had no choice. This path, however thorny and humiliating, was his only hope. He had to pass these trials, learn, grow stronger – and then he would take what was rightfully his. After the terms were settled, Elmsworth pointed to a simple pallet in a corner of the hut, covered with dry leaves and a coarse woolen cloth. "That will be your bed. Not much, but dry and warm enough. Rest, Kael. Your training begins tomorrow before first light." With these words, the old master turned to his own simple sleeping place on the other side of the room. Kael remained seated for another moment, gazing into the slowly dying flames in the hearth. The hut was filled with the silence of the night, broken only by the crackling fire and the eternal rush of the waterfall outside. He was now a student. A servant. A god in chains, forced to bow to the whims of a mortal. The humiliation burned, but beneath it lay cold determination. This was just another step on a long road. A road that would ultimately lead him to his revenge and back to his true power. With that thought, he rose and lay down on the pallet assigned to him, eyes fixed on the rough wooden ceiling, waiting for the dawn of his first day as an apprentice.

  This story originates from a different website. Ensure the author gets the support they deserve by reading it there.