The Legendary Mage (Alavin)

"I'll heat food up. Care to join me for supper? There's meat tonight," Alavin offered, untying a wild fowl from his belt, an unexpected catch from his training in the backwoods. He didn't ask about the maiden's identity or purpose. He had an understanding with the old man. Silence was their pact, for eight years, it had been so.

The old man barely lifted his eyelids, offering no response.

After washing and changing into clean clothes, Alavin kindled the fire, prepared some vegetables, and stewed the wild fowl. The warm, inviting aroma filled the humble storeroom.

"Smells good, doesn't it? Old man, have some. Let it be our midnight feast," Alavin called to the old man.

The old man paid no heed, continuing to lounge lopsidedly where he lay.

"I'll eat first, then I'll leave some for you." Alavin was truly famished, and he started to eat without further ado.

But after just a short while, the old man propped himself up and wandered into the storeroom.

Alavin shrugged and carried on eating. "I'll be stepping out for a bit, so don't go locking up in a hurry, eh?"

He planned to sneak out at midnight to pluck the Viper's Berry before anyone from Botanic Haven got to it first.

Before long, the old man emerged from somewhere with a large, dark jug and sat down at the wooden table. "Fetch two cups," he ordered.

"Are we drinking?" Alavin raised an eyebrow, slightly puzzled, but he fetched two cups all the same, along with a plate of pickled vegetables. They weren't fine ingredients, just leftover roots from his cooking that he'd washed and soaked in a brine jar. Sometimes, when he was too tired or busy, he'd just grab some pickled roots to gnaw on with some bread for a simple meal.

The old man uncorked the jug, and the pungent aroma of strong liquor filled the storeroom. He poured himself a cup and filled one for Alavin, too.

"Something troubling you?" Alavin asked, eyeing the clear and fragrant liquid in his cup with even greater curiosity. What was so special about tonight?

The old man lifted his cup and drained it in one go, tilting his head back and letting out a long sigh before topping up his drink.

Alavin swirled the cup, taking a big gulp, and immediately, the fiery spice filled his mouth, burning its way down his throat and into his belly. There was a searing heat in his chest.

"Hoo, that's a strong brew," Alavin grimaced, for he had never drunk before. He hastily ate a few bites of the pickled vegetables to quell the burning sensation.

The old man filled his cup again, then tilted his head back and downed another full cup.

Alavin had known the old man for eight years and had never seen him like this. Could it have something to do with the girl from earlier? He glanced at the cup in his hand, clenched his teeth, and gulped down the contents, feeling a rush of heat surge through him, warming his entire body.

Upon reflection, the drink wasn't half bad.

The old man filled Alavin's cup once more.

"Have some food." Alavin said, pushing the plate of vegetables toward the old man.

The two of them, young and old, continued their meal in simplicity. Other than the occasional word from Alavin, the old man remained silent, ever so silent.

The girl from earlier hadn't gone far. She had intended to leave, but when Alavin called out 'old man,' she stopped just outside the rainy storeroom door, watching the shadowy reflections in the window from a distance.

"Who is that lad?" Two figures appeared before the girl, a man, and a woman, both middle-aged with an air of formidable power. The drizzling cold rain seemed unable to wet their clothes; before it truly touched them, it evaporated in an invisible aura.

Beneath their cloaks, their expressions were of shock. Could that boy really be sharing a table for food and drink with him? They could hardly believe their eyes. This old man had a past shadowed with mountains of bones and seas of blood; his notoriety terrified the world. Who would dare sit with him?

"He's only a Novice Mage, Stage III. Far too weak," the girl assumed Alavin was just a servant the old man kept, but what kind of servant would dare address him in that casual way? And what kind would have the privilege to share a drink with him? Could this boy have another identity? But then, why was his power so weak?

The middle-aged man spoke gravely, "No one in the Cobalt Strike, including the Commander, knows his identity. This youngster probably doesn't know either and just sees him as an ordinary old man."

"He vanished ten years ago; the world thought him dead. If not for the Lord's arrangements this time, we wouldn't even know he was still alive." The woman looked toward the unmarked, solitary grave in the corner of the courtyard. Considering the legends, she sighed lightly. The saddest thing in the world, perhaps was this.

The middle-aged man said, "The Shadowlord's Tower needs him to return; it's his duty to bear."

The woman snorted, "If he refuses to go back, what can you do? Take him by force? You know his temper and his power. If he gets displeased, he could wipe us out with a flick of his hand."

The girl murmured softly, "Let's wait a little longer. I believe he still holds some affection for the Shadowlord's Tower."

"My lady, we're taking a great risk being here; we can't stay long. If the Cobalt Strike finds us..."

"He won't make us wait too long."