The Servant Of Chaos (WIP-New Part Every Monday/Friday)

Chapter VIII | Part 1

Tyler paced back and forth with his arms crossed, throwing glances at Anaya every now and again. The heel of his shoes clicked on the library's marble floor, echoing in the wide space.

"Would you stop that?" Synthia said, shooting him an annoying glance.

"What's the magic word?" He retorted, mimicking a small child's voice.

Her eyes were defiant. "Murder, that's the special word."

Tyler stopped immediately and sat atop one of the large wooden tables.

"Fine," he said, "but we need to get this straight before I leave the room."

Caleb sighed and looked at Tyler with an almost defeated look. "What else is there to be said?"

"Everything!" Tyler widened his eyes. "How can this... this girl, show up in a gigantic castle, which was, by the way, hidden under another huge castle, and tell us that we only could've opened the entrance to this place because we're long lost descendants of an extinct race of freaking wizards?"

"Magicians," corrected Anaya.

"And technically, almost extinct," Synthia added.

Tyler's look of despair was one of a kind.

"If," he began, his voice sounding like he was soothing a mental patient, "we actually are magicians, then why haven't I done any magical stuff?"

"Well, spell magic is a level that requires practice and technique, but magic can nevertheless manifest in a myriad of ways."

"The whip..." whispered Synthia.

Anaya raised her brows.

Synthia slowly got up from her seat and delicately presented her right wrist to the woman.

Anaya's blue eyes studied the silver metal that circled her forearm. Her fingers methodically fiddled with the texture, running around the smooth, metallic, but light material.

"Of course," Anaya said, her eyes glistening silver. She made her way back to the table, and hurrying after her went the tail of her dress.

The three kids found themselves as newly made apprentices, listening cautiously to the lectures of their master.

"There are many kinds of magic. Ways that the watered down energy from the gods can manifest. The most powerful one, of course, is spell magic. Spells, they drain you, take the power out of the very thing that gives you life. Use too much of them, and not much of you will be left."

"Are you saying... it could kill you?"

"Yes, if you're not careful. But still, magicians found ways of using their powers without exhausting their life source. They found the manifestations of magic."

Anaya extended her hands in front of her, delicate palms facing up.

"First and foremost, were the elemental magic. Flama, Aqua, and Terra. With time, the tribes noticed that each of them had a certain affinity for one. The Egyptians adopted Flama, or fire. The Greek adopted Aqua, or water. The Norse adopted Terra, or earth."

"So wait," interrupted Caleb, who had been silent for most of the conversation, "how do we know what root we belong in?"

"You'll see," Anaya answered with a smug grin.

From the palms of her hands emerged three orbs, translucent and ghastly. The first one, a gassy ball of fire, shone with tones of orange and red. The second, a liquid ball of water, reflected beams of blue-tinted water on them. The third, a crackling ball of green gas, shone with a faint neon green.