The Demon Lord And His Hero

Elder Toka had risen to his feet and it was a sign to the avians that the old man was not dying.

Their immediate concern being ameliorated, the avians had time now to pay attention to what Altaire had to say. The older alchemist had been waiting for the avians to settle down so when they did, he wasted no time.

"I pronounce my judgement," the alchemist spoke without preamble. The acoustics of the amphitheatre carried his voice with impressive resonance. "My investigations reveal no evidence of foul play in Syryn Nigh'hart's alchemy. His potions are outstanding and exceed the benchmark set for entry into the fold of kinetics." Altaire allowed the avians a few moments to absorb the shocking information. The kinetics were amongst the most elite of alchemists in the world. It was a standard that broadcasted their status as superior potion makers. Every kinetic was a master of mathematical alchemy. But Syryn had never been a member.

As an alchemist, Syryn was an anomaly. If he tried hard enough, the teen could, without complicated formulas, produce a level of purity that mathematical alchemists could not. But on the other hand, Syryn hadn't learnt to precisely calculate higher grade potions. He relied on his fine-tuned intuition, excellent tools, and the best of quality ingredients to achieve high grades of purity. Altaire's declaration of his ability to become one of the kinetics served to wake up the sleeping ambition in Syryn.

"Syryn Nigh'hart wins the test." To Altaire, it was a simple matter of informing the avians about the winner. But to the horrified birds, it was a sentence that separated them from their heart feathers. Regret was a bitter medicine to swallow. The avians had assumed that Syryn was a pretty boy without any skills to back up his claims. How could they have known that he was a master alchemist? And suddenly, the teen had risen in status in their eyes. Such a charismatic young man who had been blessed with heavenly beauty and skills, how high would he soar in the future? It was a terrifying realisation for the Nuans, especially for elder Toka.

-----

"Congratulations, Syryn. You sure showed him." Red's sarcastic words were a backhanded compliment. His implications alluded to Syryn's high abilities and how he was using them to bully small fries.

"I did. And I got these too," Syryn showed off the basket of heart feathers cradled between his arms. One feather particularly stood out to him. It was a shimmering green colour and had bright patterns of blue and brown on it.

Akida looked at the basket with distaste scrunching lines on his nose. "What are you going to do with it?" He asked Syryn as they walked back home.

"Sell them back to their owners of course." Syryn's mind drifted back to Altaire. Before the man departed with elder Toka, the teen had requested him to spare Nua from the punishment that Syryn himself had asked for. Altaire hadn't given him an answer but elder Toka had at least appeared relieved. The old man had then invited Syryn to his home, letting him know that he would send Utsui to act as his guide the following day.

"You're evil," Akida said but there was a smile in his voice, and Syryn took that as an approval. The guard had been in the amphitheatre when the avians had degraded Syryn. Taking their heart feathers was the teen's payback for the callous words they'd said to him.

---

When Syryn fell asleep that night, he had a strange dream.

Syryn found himself inside a broken-down temple that had seen better days. Half of the stone pillars that had held up the temple were broken. Green shoots were growing between the seams of stone tiles on the floor that lay cracked and split apart. And high above, where the ceiling stretched out in a dome, a large hole exposed its inner sanctum to the sky. Shafts of sunlight fell into the temple and lit up the inside, making it appear abandoned and lonely.

Syryn took a few steps forward, looked around his surroundings, and that was when he noticed a figure kneeling by the altar that still remained intact. Within the rays of bright sunshine, Rowan was on his knees, his dark blue fur cloak spread out on the cold stone floor.

"Ro?" Syryn could tell that something was wrong with Rowan. A forlornness surrounded the figure of the blonde anti mage whose head was bowed in defeat.

Silence.

Syryn's heart sped up as he walked towards the man on the floor. Gripped by a desire to turn and walk away, he pushed himself to move forward one reluctant step at a time. The distance between him and Rowan was engulfed too soon by Syryn's steps. He stood right behind Rowan now.

The teen reached out tentatively to touch the anti mage's shoulder. Retracting his hand when he was just an inch away from touching Rowan, Syryn curled his fingers and took a step back.

Those strong shoulders that Syryn had expected to hold up the fate of the world - trembled for a second and it was like a punch to the teen's guts.

"Rowan?" He spoke much louder now.

"Syryn," the familiar voice called out softly and it was a broken sound like the anti mage was falling apart inside.

The teen suddenly realised that Rowan wasn't talking to the him that was standing behind the anti mage.

"It was my fault, Syryn. I wasn't ready to say goodbye." The words that came out of Rowan were laced with pain.

"Rowan, what are you talking about?" Syryn rushed over to stand in front of the kneeling anti mage. Words could not form between his lips when he saw the blood pooling on the ground.

"No, no, no, no!" Syryn's hand flew to his hip where his satchel usually hung. The comforting weight of the satchel wasn't there. "This is a dream," Syryn reminded himself. "It's not real. Rowan is not dying."

"Forgive me, Ry-" a choked sob. Rowan pressed a hand to his eyes. "I miss you, Ryn."