5. Tristan: The Inner Eye

  Flaghern didn’t hold back. He straightened up and fired the first question.

  “A foreign merchant is selling a bundle of goods for 80 gold pieces. The buyer requests a discount of 6%. Additionally, the city imposes a 12% trade tax, and a separate 5% levy on foreign merchants. After all deductions and taxes, how much does the merchant take home?”

  Tristan barely had to think. He knew many ways to quickly calculate using his mind alone. “Sixty-two point four, one, six.”

  Rosalina snorted. Flaghern’s smirk widened slightly.

  “Good. Now, for something more theoretical.” He folded his hands together. “If an object is falling at a steady, constant acceleration, what happens to its velocity over time?”

  “It increases at a steady rate.” Tristan answered immediately, recalling all his physics classes from school. “Assuming no resistance, it will continue accelerating until something external stops it.”

  Silence followed.

  Flaghern still smiled as he nodded slowly.

  Rosalina clicked her tongue before winking at Tristan. “Tch. That was too easy for him.”

  Tristan chuckled at her reaction.

  Flaghern nodded, releasing a low chuckle as well. “As expected of the son of Ifrit…”

  Tristan rolled his eyes.

  ‘That has nothing to do with that man…’ He thought, irritation growing within him.

  But then Flaghern continued, moving to the interesting part, and Tristan’s anger faded.

  “I was merely testing you, Young Master.” Flaghern adjusted his sleeves. “You see, magic in our world, aside from being hereditary, is heavily reliant on our understanding of the world itself.

  “There are many ways one may perceive the world, but I am a firm believer in the scientifical approach, and that is the approach I will be teaching you. Your early and remarkable success in your studies only proves that you are well-suited for this method.”

  Tristan remained silent, his curiosity burning hotter than ever.

  ‘This was real magic. Not tricks. Not sleight of hand. Real. Magic.’

  “Young Master, do you remember when we spoke about Cognition Threads before?” Flaghern asked.

  Tristan nodded excitedly. “Yes, Maester. You told me our understanding of the world builds our magic. Each understanding creates a Thread.”

  Flaghern smiled proudly at the title Maester – exactly what Tristan had been aiming for to feed the old man’s ego.

  “Exactly.” Flaghern clasped his hands together. “To put it simply: for each concept we truly understand, we – unbeknownst to us – weave a Cognition Thread in our mind. This allows us to use magic related to that concept and our level of understanding of it.”

  Tristan’s excitement was immediately dampened.

  ‘That was so…vague.’ He thought.

  His expression must have given him away, because Rosalina sighed and ran a hand down her face. “You’re terrible at explaining this, old man. Give him examples or something.”

  Flaghern’s eye twitched. “Ah, ah, ah! I allowed you to stay, but do not interfere with my lesson. You’re not a mage, you silly Ostian.”

  Rosalina rolled her eye but backed off.

  Flaghern turned back to Tristan, taking Rosalina’s advice and choosing a different approach.

  “Let’s talk about fire magic – your father’s signature.” A smile spread across his face.

  Tristan nodded, eager to hear more.

  “There are five levels of understanding of any concept in our world.” Flaghern explained. “Let’s break it down from the scientifical approach perspective, starting with level one – basic understanding of fire.”

  He reached for a small, unlit candle that had been resting on the table beside him.

  Tristan eyed the candle, then Flaghern, curiosity rising within him.

  The old mage checked his pockets as if looking for something for a long minute before resigning with a deep sigh.

  He turned toward Rosalina. “Do you have a…some sort of fire starter? I know you smoke…”

  “Oh, so now you need this silly Ostian to interfere?” Rosalina exhaled, rolling her one eye theatrically.

  Tristan was surprised by her reaction. He never saw her trying to joke with anyone, especially not with Flaghern of all people. But she quickly showed she wasn’t joking – she was actually growing angry.

  Flaghern rolled his eyes. “Just be helpful, would you? It’s for the Young Master’s sake.”

  Rosalina twisted her face in displeasure but eventually yielded. With a sigh, she reached into her back pocket and pulled out a small, wooden matchbox – not a flimsy carton like the ones Tristan had known and used in his past life, but a sturdy case of some light-colored woods, with a roughened strip on the side for striking.

  She tossed it to Flaghern, who caught it easily. “Much appreciated, dear Ostian.”

  The old man slid the box open, took out a matchstick, and struck it against the coarse edge.

  With a faint hiss, a small flame bloomed to life at the tip. Then, Flaghern brought it closer to the candle’s wick, flickering it on fire.

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  Tristan leaned in, his eyes locked onto the fire as he waited for the magic to happen.

  Flaghern began his lesson. “At its core, fire is the result of a chemical reaction between oxygen and fuel in the presence of heat. Without one of these three elements, fire cannot exist.”

  He brought his fingers next to the wick and snuffed the flame out.

  “That is why a candle can be snuffed out by removing oxygen, why wet wood refuses to burn, and why an ember dies if it lacks heat.”

  Tristan nodded, knowing these principles from grade school.

  “Before Level One, a mage must understand these principles to even begin manipulating fire. When he does, he’ll weave a single Fire Magic Cognition Thread and become able of using it…to an extent.”

  He pulled out another matchstick and lit the candle again.

  Meanwhile, Rosalina coughed nervously, whispering. “Stop wasting my matches…”

  Flaghern continued. “With a single Fire Magic Cognition Thread, a mage cannot create their own fire. They can only control what already exists – a candle, a torch, a bonfire.”

  With a slow motion, he raised his hand upward, and the flame twitched.

  Suddenly, it stretched, narrowing and rising higher than it should’ve been able to.

  Tristan’s eyes widened in excitement. Outside of simple cleaning spells the house servants had used, he was yet to see magic with his own eyes. Well, until now that is.

  Then, Flaghern slowly moved his hand to the right, and the flame bent sideways, then curled in a spiral, hovering just above the wick.

  Then, just as quickly, it snapped back to normal.

  “The first Fire Magic Cognition Thread is what allows you to interact with fire at all. But having it doesn’t mean you can control fire well. That part requires skill – training. Sometimes a mage will have a deep understanding of a magic discipline – one that matches higher levels of mastery – but his skill is too low to implement what he knows. That is true to all magic – not just fire magic.

  “Take invisibility as another example.” Flaghern continued, running his fingers through his long beard. “A scientifically inclined mage must understand invisibility as light bending around oneself in order to gain the required Cognition Thread. But if he does not practice his knowledge, he won’t be able to apply it, either way.”

  He paused, eyeing Tristan carefully. “Do you understand, Young Master?”

  Tristan’s mind raced. There was something he couldn’t quite grasp, but before he could open his mouth, Flaghern pressed on.

  “Back to fire magic – the extent of your capabilities will only grow higher as your understanding deepens.” He folded his hands behind his back. “Once you reach the third Cognition Thread, you will no longer need to rely on external conditions. Your flames will burn using your mana – your life force – as fuel.”

  Flaghern gave a small smirk at Tristan’s annoyed expression.

  “Now, Young Master, your father, Ifrit, has woven five Fire Magic Cognition Threads – the highest possible mastery of flame.”

  Tristan stiffened slightly. He never saw him in action but he already knew his father was powerful. Hearing it framed that way – that he had reached the peak of mastery of something as dangerous and volatile as fire – made him even more fearsome in his eyes.

  “Ifrit does not summon fire, child. He is fire. He understands it – truly understands it – better than nearly anyone in our world.” Flaghern exhaled. “For comparison, I myself have only four Threads, with no real hope of ever reaching the fifth. Not at my age.”

  But Tristan wasn’t focused on Ifrit or Flaghern anymore. One thing still bothered him.

  “Maester Flaghern, there’s something I don’t understand.” He reached a hand toward the candle’s flame.

  Rosalina snorted. “Well, that’s something I’ve never heard you say before.”

  Flaghern simply nodded. “What is it?”

  Trsitan stared at the flickering fire, his brows furrowing.

  He focused.

  He understood the fundamentals of fire – fuel, oxygen, heat. It was grade school knowledge. He even understood heat transfer – how fire spreads through conduction, convection, and radiation. Surely that was enough to grant him multiple Cognition Threads.

  So why wasn’t the flame yielding to him?

  Tristan gritted his teeth, frustration growing.

  His patience snapped.

  “I understand fire, but I can’t control it!” Tristan barked, his small hands curling into fists.

  Rosalina tensed at his reaction. Stepping closer, Tristan could see her worried expression.

  Flaghern, on the other hand, merely chuckled. “Slow down, Young Master. We haven’t even opened your Inner Eye yet.”

  Tristan’s eyes widened. “My…Inner Eye?”

  “Yes.” Flaghern nodded. “At the end of the day, magic is a gift humanity wields because the God of Magic, Eludranth the Great, granted it to us. But before a mage can use magic, he must first open his Inner Eye – his connection to Eludranth.”

  Tristan’s heart pounded, he was growing impatient. “Well, how do we open it?!”

  “Slow down.” Flaghern repeated, sounding amused. “Before we get to that, I need you to understand something important.”

  He held Tristan’s gaze. “Thinking you understand a concept does not mean you actually do. If magic were that easy, mages would simply share knowledge with each other, and everyone would reach five Cognition Threads in every magical discipline. But that’s not how it works.”

  He tapped his temple.

  “A mage must understand a concept down to the very fiber of his being – not just read about it in a book and assume he had grasped it because he understand language.”

  Tristan barely heard any of that. His focus had narrowed to a single thing.

  “The Inner Eye?” He pressed.

  Flaghern sighed, shaking his head before gesturing to the wooden floor before him.

  “Come. Sit there in a lotus position.”

  Tristan practically jumped from the chair and did as he was told.

  Flaghern’s expression turned serious. “To unlock you Inner Eye, you must enter a tranquil state – a heightened form of meditation in which your mind and soul open to the flow of mana within your own body and around you.”

  “That’s it?” Tristan asked, raising an eyebrow. He was no stranger to meditation.

  “Yes.” Flaghern nodded. “Once you reach this state, you’ll feel a tingling sensation – that’s when you need to mentally reach for you Inner Eye.”

  “What happens then?”

  Flaghern chuckled, folding his arms. “Oh, you’ll see. I wouldn’t want to spoil the experience for you.” His smirk faded slightly as he added. “The first dive into the Inner Eye is merely a formality. Speak to it, and it shall grant you magic. There is nothing to fear.”

  He gestured toward Tristan. “Go on, Young Master. Close your eyes and reach for it. The next time you open them, you will be able to wield magic – and we shall officially begin your training.”

  Tristan exhaled slowly and did as commanded.

  He closed his eyes.

  At first, there was only darkness. But soon, as he reached for his Inner Eye, there was something else.

  He felt like he was becoming weightless. His body relaxed, his breathing slowed. His thoughts quieted, slowly fading away.

  And then, he felt the world around him shift.

  When Tristan opened his eyes again, he was somewhere else entirely.

  He stood in an endless abyss, surrounded by a vast, endless cosmos.

  Everywhere around him, countless bright lights shimmered in the distance like stars.

  Tristan’s heart raced. For a fleeting moment, this place reminded him of his meeting with Gartan – the same vast emptiness, the same endless darkness.

  But then he noticed the differences.

  First, he could see his own body. Unlike in Gartan’s void, where he had felt like a pair of floating eyes, here he had form, presence, weight.

  Second, there was something before him.

  A massive golden circle floated in the air – a perfect ring, glowing brightly, hovering above him. Surrounding it – making its circumference – were thousands golden lines that resembled threads.

  Tristan took a step forward, his eyes locked onto the mysterious object.

  And then, he remembered.

  ‘Flaghern told me to speak to it…is that the it he referred to?’

  Tristan swallowed, steadying himself.

  Then, carefully, he addressed in. “Are you…my Inner Eye?”

  For a long moment, nothing happened. But then, without warning, the ring pulsed once – an unnatural, resonating hum vibrating to the very fabric of this space.

  Then, it spoke.

  A voice so powerful, so commanding, that Tristan felt it shake through his little bones.

  “YOU SHOULD NOT BE HERE.”

  Tristan’s breath caught.

  The voice was neither male nor female. It was something beyond human comprehension – something ancient, absolute.

  Despite his fear, he took a step forward. “What? What do you mean?”

  The ring pulsed again.

  “YOU SHOULD NOT BE HERE.”

  He took another step toward it, his heart threatening to jump out of his chest. “Explain yourself. I don’t understand.”

  The golden ring began to glow even brighter, fiercer.

  Then, suddenly, it turned red.

  The entire space trembled as the ring’s glow flared violently, coloring the entire cosmos with its crimson aura.

  And then, the voice thundered once more.

  “YOU DO NOT BELONG HERE, TRISTAN CLARK.”

  “I DENY YOU ACCESS TO THIS WORLD’S MAGIC.”