The Legacy

Stumbling over the uneven ground, Azriel blinked a couple of times before he became able to see as normal. The teleportation felt instant yet not, as if no time had passed but also as if he had been stuck in a loop for years. Looking around himself, he took in the splendidly green grass, the vibrantly blue sky without a cloud in sight and at last, the warmth. Shrugging off his cloak, he basked in the sunlight, a satisfied smile spreading over his pale face. 

"Get a grip, it's not like it's your first time in this climate," Turve sighed from behind, stepping out from the portal with the man bearing the mysterious eyes in tow. Crackling noises spread throughout the region as the portal collapsed, a small shockwave pushing air onto Azriel's face. 

Taking off his cloak as well, Turve shook hands with the spacewielder, thanking him for the transport. A nod in Azriel's direction was all the boy got before the man shot for the sky, flying away from the duo. 

"Why didn't he just create another portal?" Azriel asked in confusion, watching as the man turned into a small dot and eventually disappearing over the horizon. 

"You say that as if it doesn't require strength to create one," Turve snorted in response, looking around himself as well, taking in his surroundings with a vigilant light in his eyes. 

"Does it?" 

"Immense, he is the strongest spacewielder of these lands, yet he can only create one per month, approximately." Turve began to stroll away, seemingly wandering off in a randomly chosen direction. Having no other options than follow, Azriel picked up his cloak from the ground and joined in besides the Magi. 

"Where is the testsite?" The boy questioned, his curious eyes noting every piece of his surroundings as they strove off into the distance. 

"About that," Turve began, "you won't be tested by normal standards, in fact, you've already, albeit unknowingly, joined the rebellion." Azriel turned his gaze to the man besides him, an irritated look locked on his face. 

"And you couldn't have told me that before I got scared shitless from that... thing?" He scoffed, putting his hands in his trousers' pockets. 

"I needed Sod out of this, she has no clue, neither do the Archwitch and the others," Turve chuckled, a sinister grin breaking his stoneface. "Their biggest mistake was thinking they had me on a leash. Oh how they will be surprised when we don't show up today." 

"But the spacewielder knows, no?" Azriel's face contracted as he thought about the potential leak in the system. 

"He's one of us, don't worry. We haven't spent all these long years in vain, have we?" The Magi laughed, pride flashing across his irises. 

"Who are we?" Azriel urged, a pondering look cladding his young face. 

"A ragtag group of your father's devotees. We rever him akin to a God, praying for his guidance and all that." Turve smiled, "we have waited for 15 years young one, 15 years have we waited for this moment, for you to finally obtain your legacy." He beamed down at the boy beside him, elation spilling over inside of himself. 

"What legacy am I to obtain?" Azriel bent down, picking up a stick from the ground. He had been debating with himself, whether or not to walk the same path as his father. If this legacy had something to do with him, he really didn't know if he was interested. Rather, he was much more interested in staking out his own path, creating his own life and not follow the laid out plan of others. 

"It's your father's, of course!" Turve exclaimed, a little bewildered at the sudden hesitation coming from the protege besides him. Hearing about his father's grand deeds had Turve thinking that the boy wouldn't stall. Apparently he was wrong. 

Azriel played around with the stick he'd picked up, swinging it back and forth, as if it were a sword. Having been taught by a passerby soldier a couple of years ago, the muscle memory hadn't really disappeared just yet. 

"Are you interested in swordplay?" Turve wondered, observing Azriel as he went on with the wafting. 

"A little bit. Will it hinder my progress in Magic?" The boy resputed, a bit snarky Turve remarked. Azriel didn't really seem in his right state of mind. 

"Most definitely not. There are many great warriors who dual wields Magic and weapons in a fascinating sense. Maybe you'll become one of those? I could always get a swordmaster to guide you." Turve smiled broadly at the sight of Azriel's eyes lighting up. — It looks like little master wants to forge his own path. Good. He told himself silently. 

"This is the Island of Evisceration, right?" Azriel looked around, taking note on the thriving environment, lush bushes and excited animals scuttering around the ground. 

"It is," Turve answered proudly, a sense of fatherly pride spreading throughout his body. He had worked hard to restore this place, even going in bed with a couple of Elven Elders in order for them to assist. 

"How did my father fight?" The boy asked yet another question, the hail of wonderings seemingly without end. — Although that is understandable, Turve nodded in his mind. 

"He was a pure Mage, wearing robes and one of those pointy hats," the two chuckled, their imagination painting comedical pictures. "Despite the norm, he was always in the frontlines, however. One could even call him a battlemage, because man he fought." Brotherly pride replaced the fatherly in Turve's body as he remembered some of the battles they had experienced. 

"I think it's good that you're striving away from that path, it won't gain you anything." Turve looked at Azriel again and smiled inwardly at the calmness he found in the young boy's eyes. "This day of age, everyone wants to be a pure Mage and those ridiculous hats are fashion, somehow." He laughed, Azriel joining in. 

"If you master the art of the sword, and combine that with whatever element you are granted, you shall become unstoppable. And if you get Earth, you have the greatest earthwielder on this continent to teach you." Azriel snorted at Turve's arrogant remark. 

"Ain't the dwarfs better at wielding Earth, though?" He questioned out of the corner of his mouth, a slight scoff escaping his tightly sealed lips. 

Turve looked away in embarrassment, locking his gaze on the distant horizon. "The best earthwielder outside the Dwarven Kingdom," he corrected quietly before stopping completely in his tracks, scaring Azriel who were lost in his own thoughts, laughing at the sheepish Magi. "We're here," he announced.