By the end of the previous day, Mirk had nearly strangled Theon who seemed to lack empathetic abilities to sense when people were about to murder him in cold blood.

Galahad appeared to be amused by Mirk's pain.

Before leaving for home that night, he had visited Razaël's office, the Fae was pleased and offered him to stay again but as before, Mirk refused.

The big bird had been gliding across the skies, following the pair to town. It had also picked at his face until he woke up in the morning. Mirk had left it outside, but somehow, the violent bird had gotten inside and ruined his sleep. Apparently, the bird did not let him fall asleep again so he had gotten up earlier than intended and made his way to the Fae's manor.

Galahad had instructed him to eat in the dining hall and then head off to Razaël's study again.

"Good morning, Mirk. I hope you're well rested. Magic always requires a lot of energy, especially when you're not used to channelling it. Do you feel comfortable here? Or would you like us to go into the gardens perhaps?" Razaël asked the moment Mirk stepped into his study.

He looked to be wearing more comfortable clothes, simple breeches and billowy linen shirt. It seemed awfully casual for someone like him. Although the numerous rings were still present.

"Here's fine," Mirk said, making his way to the already familiar couch and eyeing the books on the small table warily as he sat down. Next to the books were a bowl of water, a potted plant, a metal pole, and matches. The fae dragged a chair opposite him and sat down as well.

"I'm happy you feel comfortable here, now, before we dive into the lesson, you've never mentioned your ancestry. You have magic, so I suspect there's either a sorcerer or a fae somewhere down your lineage?"

It was unimaginably rude to ask a hybrid outright about their lineage. so Mirk just gaped like a fool. Was Razaël really this... oblivious? Or was he simply ignorant? It was like asking which coven or clan threw you out for not being pure enough for them.

"You don't ask that kind of question." Razaël seemed intrigued as he leaned in closer. "You don't? Why? I'm sorry if I insulted you, it wasn't my intention."

Mirk didn't even bother to be angry, the fae seemed genuinely oblivious to the darker side of the streets. He couldn't hold it against him for being born into a wealthy family.

"Because most of us don't know where we come from. Hybrids are often thrown onto the streets or left in the woods. There are groups who frequently scan the nearby forests for infants, and more often than they'd like, they come upon mangled babies." Mirk shrugged. This was his reality. He had once offered his help, but dead children always made him vomit.

Razaël looked horrified. Once again, it was no surprise that there had been a veil over his eyes.

"Were you... Did you..." It was almost comical to see the otherwise confident Fae so unsure now.

"Was I a forest baby? No." There was finality in Mirk's tone, signaling he wasn't willing to talk about his childhood anymore. Razaël seemed to understand.

"Okay, I apologize for being so insensitive about that. Thank you for telling me. But to help you with your magic, I need to know your roots. Do you know your heritage? Magic comes from different places and it acts differently. If you don't know, it's fine; we will figure it out." His hand twitched, as if he wanted to reach out to Mirk but decided against it.

"Sorcerer and a dragon," Mirk mumbled almost silently, looking away. People didn't admit these things out loud.

His eyebrow twitched, a clear glint of intrigue marring his face at the revelation.

"There's not too many dragons around." Mirk just shrugged, he wasn't going to dive into his past, it didn't seem relevant.

"Okay, this should make things easier for you," he leaned back, crossing his fingers and twirling his thumbs slowly as he got into their first lesson.

"Magic comes from different places. For example, for nymphs and sirens, it is the memory of magic in the water that they use. Water never forgets, so it retains the essence of magic that's been used on or near it, thus giving them the ability to wield it."

"So it's stolen magic?" Mirk frowned.

"Yes and no. The essence of magic is something different; it's a trail of sorts. It is not stealing, as it has been given away to nature and cannot be taken back. The water itself keeps recycling it, and water creatures act like a filter for that magic. Does that make more sense?"

"I suppose."

"We will get into water based magic more thoroughly, today we will just go over the basics. The Fae, what do you know of our magic?"

Nothing, Mirk knew nothing of their magic, he had never cared about it. "Nothing," Mirk admitted, shrugging and trying not to fidget. "Just that you all have it."

""It is nature that preserves it for us. We summon it from the depths of the earth. For a Fae, wielding magic expands the reservoir within us with each century. The more magic you practice and use wisely, the deeper the well becomes. But if you misuse it or use it against its intended purpose, nature can take it away just as easily as it has given it to us."

Mirk pretended a if he knew what reservoir meant. He was intrigued by Razaël's words, he's never heard of anyone losing their magic, "really? Has it ever taken anyone's magic?"

"Yes, but once it does, it will never give it back to them."

"That's brutal."

"It can be, but we believe that nature is the best judge. Magic needs balance, and nature keeps it in check. We, the Fae, assist the earth by using magic to its benefit. While we focus mostly on plants and soil, we do not shy away from other forms of magic." Razaël twirled his long fingers, and a spark of white light appeared, floating gently above his hand. The ethereal light cast a glow over the Fae, reminding Mirk once again how unearthly the male looked.

"Magic is not evil, it is alive and courses through everyone and everything, always looking for a way out." The light above Razaël's palm twirled and formed a dragon made of white smoke, gently flapping its wings as it flew towards Mirk, who stared in wonder.

The dragon flew over him, making an elegant circle before fading into nothingness.

"Even humans?" Mirk asked doubtfully.

"Yes, but over the course of many centuries, they have stopped using it and blocked it out completely. There are some who call themselves Witches who are trying to rediscover the Old Ways."

Mirk had heard of Witches; he was pretty sure that many humans visited them in secret for potions.

"Now, the magic of dragons is nothing like the memorized essence of water or the pure, earthy one that nature grants us. You have magic in your blood. Dragons do not need the approval of nature to wield it, you just need to master it, which can be tricky since your magic does not need balance. It can often be wild and unpredictable, like dragons themselves. Since nothing is filtering your magic, yours is the purest sort of magic there is, and only dragons can tame it."

Mirk knew very well just how unpredictable his magic could get.

"So how does one control it, then?" Mirk wondered aloud, hoping they'd get on with the lesson. The Fae raised an eyebrow at his impatience.

"Patience. Before you jump headfirst into your powers, you need to understand their nature. Every being has their strengths and weaknesses, a specific something that they excel at without trying. Has there been anything that stands out to you? Do you perhaps find flames intriguing? Or water calming? Maybe the plants respond to your presence?"

Mirk gave a side-eye to the numerous potted plants around the study. "Uh, all of the above? And plants don't behave," he remarked, unsure how one could not get lost in flickering flames or find water soothing. As for plants, he was convinced he'd ever seen a badly behaved one.

"But they do," Razaël insisted, gesturing to the greenery around them. "Plants have many different personalities, just like the people around you. They are always communicating, moving, and breathing alongside us."

"Uh-huh," Mirk said doubtfully, giving the greenery another odd look. "I don't think I'm the plant whisperer."

"Very well, let's try something," Razaël said, rolling up his sleeves. He inched closer to the table, pushing everything aside to place a bowl in front of Mirk, who leaned forward on the couch, watching curiously.

"Water is formless, unless influenced by the environment around it. It is emotionless and, as I mentioned before, it holds the memory of magic," Razaël explained. He sank his long finger into the water and gently twirled it around with two fingers, emphasizing its liquid nature.

Mirk wasn't stupid, he knew that.

"Yeah, I can see that it's pretty emotionless," Mirk remarked dryly, crossing his arms and glancing up at the Fae, who didn't seem bothered by his comment.

"Since it's so formless and flows along with you, water is one of the easiest elements to master in small quantities. However, oceans and fast-running rivers are another story. With water, one has to feel it, nudge it gently."

Mirk had missed the moment Razaël had stopped twirling his fingers, because the water kept on moving in a steady pace around the bowl. Mirk leaned in closer to make sure that it was really moving on its own. A droplet rose from the bowl, causing the hybrid to lean back in surprise. Another followed suit, gently floating in the air, soon joined by tens and then hundreds of tiny water droplets suspended around them.

Mirk watched in fascination as the light passing through the water cast ethereal, colored splotches around the room. His jaw nearly touched the floor as he beheld the delicate dance of floating water droplets, moving with graceful fluidity in the air. His wide-eyed gaze met a pair of silver eyes across from him.

There was no smugness or gloating victory on Razaël's face—just softness, as if he were genuinely pleased to share this magical little moment with Mirk, offering him a moment of wonder.

For a fleeting moment, Mirk was breathless, completely taken in by the sight of the pure, regal fae lounging on a chair before him, surrounded by hovering water droplets that cast a gentle halo of colors on his smooth skin and perfectly groomed dark hair.

In that moment, Razaël appeared ethereal, resembling a king. Mirk wasn't sure he had ever witnessed anything more beautiful.

Then the moment was over, the water was lowered back into the bowl and the silver eyes were lowered. Mirk felt his cheeks heat up, he cleared his throat and looked away.

He had been staring, Razaël had definitely noticed it. Mirk had been gawking like a fool! He wanted to groan and pull his own hair out, but he simply rubbed the back of his neck awkwardly and looked at the bowl that Razaël nudged towards him. He could see a small smile on his face from his peripheral vision.

"Go on, it's your turn," Razaël encouraged gently. Mirk refused to look up as he picked up the bowl and placed it in his lap.

He submerged his entire hand into the bowl, hoping the coolness of the water would calm the redness on his neck and cheeks. He was mortified.

"The best way to go about it would be closing your eyes. It helps to focus." So he did, taking a deep breath in and letting it out as he was willing to give it a try.

"Good, now try to sense its stillness, ask it to move, but do so gently. We don't want to command magic unless you know you're strong enough to control it," Razaël instructed.

Mirk cleared his throat nervously. "Uh, water? Move, please," he said aloud, still squeezing his eyes shut.

"Good try, but try with your inner voice. Unlike other elements like plants and wind, water doesn't hear your voice but senses your intent," Razaël clarified.

Mirk repeated the plea in his mind, begging for the water to move. But it remained just that, liquid in a bowl without any shape or form. He wasn't sure what the fae was going on about the water sensing stuff. Water was water, what was there for it to sense but the current it had to follow?

Please do something, water. You're making me look pathetic right now. Twirl for me? Pretty please? I'll find you a nice pond later on, you won't be boiled with potatoes I promise you that.

The water remained as still as the dead in their coffins.

He furrowed his brows and tried again, this time, he was wiggling all of his fingers underwater, hoping it would somehow magically work.

Water, move. He willed it in his mind.

"Sense it, Mirk. Feel it, connect with the element on a deeper level. The magic in you answers to you only, tug at it gently, form the connection between it and the water."

Although his voice was clam and one would say even pleasant to listen to, it only served to piss Mirk off. It wasn't like he wasn't trying.

"I am trying," he gritted out through clenched teeth.

Razaël could immediately sense the simmering frustration, and this was not a mindset one should have when learning to harness magic. "Put the bowl down, we will get back to water another time."

His eyes snapped open, overshadowed with the thin slits of his dragon shift, Razaël's face was stoic as he noticed the control slipping. "I can do it." Mirk hissed, closing his eyes again as he heard the screech of a chair being pushed back abruptly.

Move!

"I absolutely know you-" and then the bowl cracked into pieces and the water blew up, soaking Mirk, the books on the table and the couch. All belongings on the shelves and the desk scattered around the room due to the release of power, a few potted plants cracked.

He looked at the destruction the water had made, but he wasn't given too much time as strong fingers gripped his jaw and forced his chin up. He could feel the bite of his nails and the smooth texture of the rings that sunk into his skin as Razaël tilted his head back.

The grey in Razaël's eyes swirled like an angry storm of molten silver, threatening to overwhelm anyone who dared to look too long.

"If I tell you to do something, I expect you to listen." Razaël hissed, his canines were elongated, his long pointed ears that spoke of his full blooded heritage were pressed against his skull, a shimmer of sheer power seemed to wash over him, making him radiate lethal, unyielding power.

"Is that understood?" Razaël's voice was different, feral, as his other hand shot out to the back of Mirk's neck, gripping it firmly. A jolt of hot electricity ran down Mirk's spine, freezing him in place. He wasn't even sure he was breathing.

"I said, is that understood?" He snarled, lowering his face over the hybrid. Small droplets of spit fell on Mirk's face as he stared up at the creature who demanded obedience. It took him a second for the words to sink in, there was something soul gripping about the way the fae was holding him in place, it was as if he had cast his magic over Mirk.

"Y-yes, I... I understand." He breathed out, his voice was small as his gaze slid off the fae, unable to look any longer. He could sense the bubbling anger still there, the grip got tighter, he demanded more of Mirk. He demanded a promise.

And so, for the first time in his life, Mirk yielded to someone willingly, because something deep in his chest cracked a little.

He tilted his head back, an animalistic, primal part of him telling that baring his neck would calm the turmoil of anger.

The sound of quiet hissing ceased immediately, the fingers almost painfully tight on his jaw. The pain subdued as his hold shifted, almost cradling Mirk's cheek. He had pressed his eyes shut, refusing to look at the pure, burning anger before him.

The hold on the back of his neck got weaker as Razaël started gently massaging the the tense muscles in his neck instead, soothing the pain his grip had brought.

"Good, that's... that's very good," Razaël's voice was hoarse. The sudden shift in his mood startled Mirk, who snapped his eyes open to stare at the fae's torso looming over him.

The grip on his neck guided him closer, pulling him into an embrace of sorts. Mirk's face was buried in the fae's shirt as Razaël continued to massage his neck and play with strands of his hair. His breathing quickened, his heart threatened to burst from the panic coursing through him.

Mirk was in a state of shock and Razaël was trying to soothe it.

He couldn't find his voice. He couldn't believe he'd done that. Him and to Razaël at that! What had he done.

Baring ones neck was the ultimate sign of trust. It was admitting that Razaël now had an upper hand over Mirk, that even if there were things that he didn't want to do, he'd still be trying to please the fae and do his bidding. It was something that was practiced between the closest of bonds. Decades ago it was something intimate between a mated pair, nowadays mates barely existed so it was something between an alpha and a back, two soldiers willing to go to a war for each other, a family.

As far as Mirk knew, there was no familiar bond between Razaël and Mirk. Nothing.

"Shush, you're panicking."

His voice was controlled now.

Mirk took a deep breath in, he got a lungful of the fae's scent. The familiarity of it loosened his tense muscles. It was as if Razaël knew that it would calm him down. Mirk still couldn't find his voice.

"You have no reason to be afraid, Mirk. I won't-"

"I don't want to talk about it." He cut in, pulling away from the warm body. He wanted to pretend that it never happened, and he hoped Razaël would do the same.

The fae was quiet for a second before taking a step back. "You're not ready to talk about it. Very well."

With a flick of his wrist, the water was gone.

"We're done for today." Razaël said, grabbing the potted plant to place it back on the windowsill with numerous others.

"What?" Mirk asked, standing up to protest. He could do it. He wasn't useless!

Razaël raised an eyebrow.

"I mean, why?" He stammered, knowing that he was walking a fine line.

"Because you're upset. So we'll try again tomorrow."

"I can do it."

"I know you can, but if I keep pushing you right now, it's going to have a negative affect on the rest of the studies."

Mirk nodded reluctantly and backed down.

"I understand that you'd feel the most relaxed back at your own home?" Mirk nodded slowly.

"Then, you're dismissed for the day. We'll start again tomorrow, for now, go and rest up. Although the offer to stay here still remains."

Mirk didn't need another opening, he was somewhat annoyed with the fae for cancelling the lesson but felt embarrassed for his actions still. He wasn't sure if he should thank him or be mad for him not having enough fate in Mirk.

He grumbled under his breath as he made his way outdoors, Keldi was already waiting for him but Mirk didn't feel like riding today, so he walked right out of the gates and down the road.

The horse kept following him closely, head low and gait lazy. When he was sure they were far enough from the fae's place, Mirk shifted.

It had been too long since he'd worn his dark scales. He shook his whole body, enjoying the way the muscles rippled under his shiny scales. His talons were black and curved, he made sure to keep them sharp as knives.

His body was the color of onyx, with golden flecks running down his spine to the tip of his tail. There was two rows of small, golden ridges that ran from his neck down his back to his tail. Two horns adorned his head, running symmetrically with his body. The golden flecks ran ran down his snout to his nose, they shone beautifully against the sun.

When he was younger, his scales used to have more gold, but as he aged so did the colour. Mirk didn't mind, the darker shade helped him blend in with the night.

He pressed his wings close to his body, wiggled his bum as he lowered his front and eyed the path infront of him carefully.

Like a flash of light, the dragon was off, zigzagging through the underbrush as he moved his sleek body fluidly around the tall grass, every mangled root and over the thickest of logs.

Joy filled him as he raced the wind, he kept close enough to the road to make sure the horse wouldn't suddenly die of loneliness.

Mirk was covered in every substance of the forest that one could dig up once they made it to the stone walls of Rivenholm. He shifted to his human skin as he climbed back atop of unimpressed Keldi as she lazily made her way into the city.

He slid off the horse once he saw the familiar royal stables in the distance, knowing the horse would be completely fine from then on.

Being back in the city during the late noon was refreshing, the streets were buzzing with people. He snatched someone's cloak from a potato stand, pulling the hood far enough to hide his ears.

The ears were always a dead-giveaway. Hybrids tended to have ears the shape of catalpa tree leaves. Not long enough to look regal but with pointed tips nevertheless. They varied, some had ears that were a bit more upturned whilst others had them slightly floppier depending on their heritage.

However, every other full blooded magical creature had ears that were around an inch or two longer and not as round. That was the easiest way to tell someone's blood status.

And then there were the fae, whose ears were slightly longer and more pointed, giving them all the look of a higher species.

Bunch of stuck-up snobs.

To contrast that were humans, whose ears were pretty round compared to everyone elses.

Mirk glided past a pastries stand, snatching a glazed pretzel as he made sure the woman selling them was busy enough with a customer.

He licked his lips, the smell of the sticky goodness reaching his nose. He raised it to his lips but before he could take a bite, a whimper of pain caught his attention.

"I see ye here one more time and I'll be sure to skin ye alive ye dirty rat!" A man with a round belly and bald head snarled at a small girl, raising a stick to scare her away.

The hybrid didn't wait another second as she pushed herself up and disappeared into an alley. Nobody batted an eye, but simply made sure to walk around the child as if she had the plague. The man huffed and went back to his apple stand.

Mirk looked down at his pretzel, he wasn't that hungry he supposed.

He dragged his feet as he followed after the girl, he remembered well how difficult it got for him when he was a child. There was a time he was sure he was a goner due to the gnawing hunger, back then, he had wished for someone to give him anything edible. He hadn't mastered hunting then yet, and had to live off of rats.

For a trained eye, it wasn't difficult to spot the girl.

"Mouse." He called out, not getting too close.

Her head snapped up, a pair of amber eyes staring at him with fear. She had short, blonde hair and an open gash on her forehead. The man had gotten a hit in. She was hugging her knees, but when Mirk lowered his hood and made sure she saw his hybrid ears, she relaxed a little.

"I'm full for today and stocked for months, got this leftover though. Want it?"

The girl didn't even need to be told twice as she jumped up and ran towards Mirk. He nearly dropped the food but she was there, catching it and taking a step back, glaring at Mirk as if he'd take it back.

"The fuck are you glaring at me for? I just gave it to you."

"Go away." The girl then whispered, eyes narrowed.

"Didn't plan on staying. Stay alive, Mouse." He said, raising his hood as he turned to leaved.

A week ago he wouldn't even have thought about giving away his food. But now he had gotten more than enough from the fae's home.