They sat in silence for a mont longer, not out of awkwardness—but respect.
When Faeryn finally spoke again, her voice was lower, more curious than formal.
"And what is it you hope to make here, Argolaith?"
He t her gaze without flinching.
"A place to think. To learn. And maybe… to teach."
She tilted her head.
"You want students?"
"Eventually. But not in the traditional sense."
He reached for his own cup and took a slow drink, eyes never leaving hers.
"I want a space where learning isn't forced by danger or urgency. A space where thought has ti to take root."
Faeryn folded her hands in her lap.
"I see. And you believe private lessons here would help cultivate that?"
Argolaith gave a single nod.
"I don't need structure. I need conversation. Direction."
"Not instruction?"
He smiled faintly.
"I learn quickly. But I listen better when I'm not being lectured."
Faeryn laughed quietly.
It was not the sound of mockery—but recognition.
"You sound more like an old scholar than a first-year."
"I've lived longer than most would guess."
"And you've walked farther than most will."
She set her cup down again.
"This realm… Elyrion, is it?"
"Yes."
She spoke the na softly, as if testing its shape on her tongue.
"Then let Elyrion be a place where thought breathes."
She looked back at him.
"If you wish to et here, I will co. Not as a formal teacher—but as a fellow observer of what's possible."
Argolaith bowed his head slightly in thanks.
"Once a week?"
Faeryn nodded.
"No schedule. No pressure. If the tea is warm and the frogs are watching, I'll stay."
A small smile tugged at his mouth.
"They always watch."
Outside, the stars drifted slowly across the sky, casting long, gentle shadows through the cabin.
No bells.
No summons.
No spells pulsing at the edge of his vision.
Just light.
And quiet.
And sothing that felt like the beginning of sothing far more lasting than a lesson.
Argolaith sneezed.
It echoed lightly through the stillness of Elyrion.
He blinked, then rubbed his nose with the back of his hand.
"Soone's probably talking about ," he muttered, half amused, half wary.
The breeze stirred through the tall grass.
The frogs croaked softly by the creek—unbothered.
He stepped outside, gazing at the open space just beside the cabin. Morning light spilled across it like a blessing.
"This could work," he murmured. "Better than keeping everything inside."
From his storage ring, he summoned smooth planks of pale timber—sourced from Elyrion's own trees. They were light yet durable, with a subtle glow running along the grain.
Not ordinary wood. But then again, this wasn't an ordinary place.
He rolled his shoulders and got to work.
The table ca together first. A wide surface, round and slightly elevated. The legs were runed—etched with faint glyphs to anchor it to the ground and resist weather, though Elyrion rarely stirred without his will.
Then the chairs. Five in total. Enough for one instructor… and a few guests, should he ever open the realm to more.
When the last chair was carved, he set them around the table.
Not perfectly aligned—but intentionally relaxed, as if inviting thought to flow without walls.
He stepped back and looked at what he'd made.
Simple. Elegant.
Exactly what he wanted.
Nearby, a frog hopped across the moss and stopped under the table, croaking once before blinking up at him.
Argolaith chuckled.
"You approve?"
The frog blinked again. Argolaith took that as a yes.
He spent the rest of the day cleaning the surrounding area—trimming back vines, flattening the grass, and placing a few enchanted lanterns on rune-stones near the path that led from the cabin.
By sunset, everything was ready.
Tomorrow, Faeryn would arrive.
And the first lesson would begin.
As night fell, he didn't light a fire.
He just sat by the table, under Elyrion's twin stars, and watched the sky breathe.
He was no longer just a student.
He was building sothing.
Argolaith didn't return to the cabin that night.
Instead, he lay on the soft grass beside the outdoor table he'd built, surrounded by the chirps and croaks of his spectral frogs.
The ground was warm. The air was quiet. And the sky above felt closer than it ever had.
He stared at the twin stars of Elyrion—glimring like eyes that watched kindly from the void.
Ti moved slower here.
Or maybe just gentler.
A frog hopped onto his chest, blinked at him, and nestled into the folds of his cloak.
Argolaith sighed with a smile and let his eyes drift closed.
This realm was still young.
But already, it was beginning to feel like ho.
He woke just before dawn.
Light filtered through the realm's trees, golden and soft. The frogs were already awake, scattered in small clusters near the creek and under the roots.
Argolaith stretched, rubbing the sleep from his neck.
Today, Faeryn would co.
He prepared a pot of elvenleaf tea—its aroma sharp and floral.
It wasn't the strongest blend, but it helped with clarity, and he wanted to be focused.
As the tea brewed, he adjusted the chairs again—half from habit, half from nerves.
A ripple passed through the air.
A silver shimr split into a thread of stardust.
Faeryn stepped through the portal.
Her robes were light and soft, flowing like woven mist. Her nebula-filled eyes scanned the realm in silence.
And for a long mont, she said nothing.
"I hope the frogs didn't scare you," Argolaith said, half-smiling.
"They didn't," Faeryn replied softly, stepping forward. "But the realm… it feels alive."
She looked around—not just with her eyes, but with her magic. Her expression was calm, but Argolaith could feel the weight of her thoughts.
He poured the tea and handed her a cup.
They sat in silence at the table while the realm breathed around them.
"It's beautiful," she finally said.
"Still rough," he replied. "Still learning. Like ."
Faeryn studied him. "You created a realm before mastering your fourth spell. That says sothing."
"Does it?" Argolaith sipped his tea. "Or does it an I just don't know how to stop pushing forward?"
Her lips curved. "Either way, you've changed the path."
Their conversation flowed like a quiet river.
They didn't talk about class structure or lecture halls.
They talked about presence.
What it ant to make sothing lasting.
How realms weren't just made of mana—but intention.
Faeryn shared old theories—whispers from astral historians and long-lost cosmic texts.
She spoke of constellations that could only be seen from within created realms.
Of magic so old it forgot its na but still rembered how to sing.
Argolaith listened, not taking notes, but rembering everything.
Sotis he asked questions.
Sotis he simply looked at her with the steady gaze of soone who was beginning to understand.
When the lesson ended, Faeryn stood.
The frogs gathered near her feet, blinking up as if they recognized her.
She gave them a small smile and looked back at Argolaith.
"Keep growing," she said. "But don't forget to rest."
Then she was gone—slipping through the shimr of a portal, leaving a faint trail of starlight behind.
Argolaith stood there for a mont longer.
The tea still warm. The chairs still humming faintly with magic.
He looked at the frogs. One jumped up onto the table and sat beside the empty cup Faeryn had left.
"Guess we're not done learning yet," Argolaith whispered.
And then, he started gathering his thoughts for what would co next.
Reviews
All reviews (0)