Frosty

Steven stood in Rebecca’s office, the faint echo of his golden vision still shimmering in his mind as she pressed a rune on her desk. A soft chime rang out, and moments later, the door creaked open. An elderly mage shuffled in, his robes a deep indigo threaded with silver runes, his long grey beard swaying with each step. Rebecca handed him the parchments bearing Steven’s sigils—Fists of Holy Fury, Feet of Holy Fury, Saiyan Fury, and the new dark-vision trick. The old man peered through thick spectacles, coughing raspily. “Intriguing,” he murmured, voice like gravel. “Welp, I’ll give it a whirl.” He cleared his throat again, a wet hack, and closed his eyes, focusing.

Nothing happened. His brow furrowed, and he turned to Steven, leaning on a gnarled staff. “Young man, how’d you say you made this work?” Steven shrugged, casual but clear. “Focused mana to my eyes, intended to see in the dark—didn’t budge at first. Then I added holy magic, like my other stuff, and it clicked.” The old mage’s eyes twinkled, stroking his beard. “Ah, my boy, that must be it.” Rebecca arched a skeptical brow, but he ignored her, shutting his eyes again. This time, he wove his own affinity—ice magic—into the intent. A faint shimmer passed over his face, and when he opened his eyes, they glowed a pale, icy blue, like polished stones glinting in the dim corners of the room.

“Ah, my boy, it seems it worked,” he said, turning to Steven with a triumphant nod. Steven burst out laughing. “What’s so funny, young man?” the mage asked, bemused. “Your eyes—they’re like blue rocks!” Steven grinned. The old man shuffled to the mirror beside Steven, peering at his reflection. “Hahaha, you’re right, my boy—quite right! Odd, indeed—they look like stones, but no pain, just clarity. Well done.” He clapped a frail hand on Steven’s shoulder, gentle but firm, then faced Rebecca. “Any mage can learn this, I reckon—just tweak the sigil to their affinity. Fire for fire, ice for ice, holy for holy. I see the dark in a light blue hue. My boy, what color do you see?”

“Golden,” Steven replied, smirking. The mage stroked his beard again, thoughtful. “Ah, I see—the element ties it together. We’d always pegged dark vision as its own school, or basic arcane—never thought to bend our affinities into it. This’ll make the guild a fortune. Rebecca, get a minor tome printed—quick now.” She shook her head, scribbling the task with a resigned sigh. The old man turned back to Steven, eyes gleaming beneath bushy brows. “My boy, I expect great things from you,” he said, his voice warm as he hobbled out, staff tapping the floor.

Steven blinked after him. “Rebecca, who was that?” She glanced up from her notes. “That was Eldrin Frostvein, head of the Mage Academy—strongest mage in the city, top six in the nation. A legend in robes.” Her tone held a grudging respect as she returned to her scribbling.