Wayfinding | Aaravos x Reader |

CHAPTER 44

CHAPTER 44: LIVING IN REVERIES

"-vital that you connect with them but, more importantly, use the energy as an extension of your own body. Otherwise the elements will remain insentient. Understood?"

A beat passed. There was no reply.

"I said - is that understood?"

Ears, once ringing with the static of apathy, quickly discerned the sharpness of the mage's voice. Panicked, and finally sinking back to reality, you jolted upright to meet his gaze. The disappointment that smirched the pigments of his eyes felt like a slap across the face.

"Aye, of course-" you lied with a cocked chest, hoping it was enough to deter the male's suspicions. You tried to recall his last few words.

Aaravos didn't buy the act though. But he decided not to dwell on it.

"Turn to the second page of Wugaron's text."

As not to vex your mentor any further, you promptly summoned the wood-spined manuscript from the bookshelf with a silent phrase and a flick of the wrist. The document shimmed itself from the crowded racks, floated across the room, and neatly rested itself onto your desk. Once you were done preparing for the lecture, you noticed the elf's quirked brow. It was difficult to decipher what it meant, but after zoning out for the second time that evening, you figured you were not in a position to ask questions.

"Read line forty-seven."

"Uh . . ." you cleared your throat, skimming through the unfamiliar letters. "This is all draconic."

"I know. Read and translate."

You swallowed hard and concentrated nervously on the paragraph. The characters that once looked like mere scribbles, rearranged themselves on the page, revealing their secrets to you. "Incantations are the fuel and . . . pillage-"

"Passage."

"Passage. The passage of magic. Without them, the primal sources cannot be m-manipulated. But it is the runes and gestures of the body that cement the spell."

"Go on."

Another beat passed. You shifted your quivering orbs towards the archmage, knowing very well that you were about to make a scene. "Honestly . . . no. I don't understand the purpose of this."

As expected, the imp scowled at your brusque remark. But he wasn't necessarily surprised. Ever since you had walked through the study doors, he noticed you were not yourself. He assumed your passion for the mystic arts would have overruled whatever crisis you had going on in your life. But he naively overestimated you.

"If you had listened earlier, you would know that this is a primer for our lesson on alchemy."

"Which, if I may say, is the first thing I learned with my previous mentor."

There was no hesitation in your voice. No croak or tremor. Aaravos realized your insolence did not originate from sentiments. Rather, it was nurtured by restiveness - another key attribute he despised in people. Still, it amused him to see you in such a state.

"If you're not fond of my way of teaching, then you're welcome to leave."

Whatever confidence you had in yourself flitted away with the elf's reverse psychology. As he shut his books, and stored away the ingredients that were planned to be used for the seminar, guilt soured your taste buds.