"The magic that constitutes itself in one's body…" the young boy read loud enough to hear himself. His light eyebrows scrunched up in concentration as his eyes flitted over the ancient language of the casting book he currently held in his palm. "Must be associated with human emotions to reach its full potential."
Rahkeid frowned. Human emotions? Twisting a light blond strand between his fingers, Rahkeid re-read the line he just decoded, making sure he had interpreted it correctly. No, that letter with branch like arms and two stairsteps translated as 'human' in his notes taken from Lord August's teachings.
Human...emotions?
Turning to the ceiling, the young prince laid back in his velvet cushion, settling his book down on the copper table and gripping the armrests gently. What did the casting book mean by 'human emotions'? Why specifically human? Was there some special connection between magic and natural-born reactions from humans that made spell-casting strong enough to reach its supposed full potential?
"So many questions, young man." A deep, wise voice orated from behind Rahkeid. The young boy jumped a little at the sudden sound interrupting his thoughts. He lifted his black eyes to meet with the red ones of the Magic King, August.
"Ah," Rahkeid stood and bowed to his mentor and teacher. He rose to smile up at the elderly man slightly. Fiddling with his pendant, the young boy shyly glanced down at his collarbone. The older man waited patiently. "Well, child? Speak."
"My lord…" Rahkeid started, but was interrupted by a hand. "Ah, yes, I forgot. I should call you August, should I not?"
August blinked. "It is not a matter of 'should', boy. You 'must' acknowledge me as but a mere servant to your father's offspring and nothing more. Now then," Red eyes scanned the prince's desk, eyeing the neatly stacked papers and several thick books opened and unfinished with bookmarks stuck between countless pages. "I take it you have finished your studies for today?"
A confused glint appeared in Rahkeid's eyes. " Lord August?"
August took a few quiet steps towards Rahkeid's desk, tapping his staff along to his walking rhythm. He thrust an outstretched palm towards the book Rahkeid had settled down a few moments ago. A white aura surrounded the book and levitated towards the old man. Once it was settled into August's palm, the Magic King studied the lines Rahkeid had tried to interpret with the help of other books at his disposal.
How utterly insignificant he felt.
While Rahkeid was studying magic books and cooped up in a palace he covered 5% of in his entire life, other students of Lord August, like Brandish, Lady Eileen, and Dimaria, were practicing magic on levels he could never begin to comprehend. Their magic levels exceeded the expectations of that of his father...and Zeref was more than pleased at the result.
More magic was always better. Although Zeref had never personally taught Magic to Rahkeid, the prince felt a special connection to his father. After all, he was the offspring of the Emperor of Alvarez. What a supreme honor!
But...no one acknowledged him as the sired heir to the throne because there would be no need for any heir. The Emperor himself was immortal. What good was a son?
"Rahkeid."
Blinking his long white lashes, the young prince looked up at the towering man above him. Something in August's eyes told him that he had probably read his thoughts at this point and was ready to contradict him on his senseless fantasies.
"Forgive me, teacher." August's eyes dimmed a bit. He sighed deeply and settled the book he held naturally onto the copper surface once more.
"My boy, you know very little of this world and its possibilities." August gripped his staff tighter, the smile lines around his eyes crinkling. "I suppose it's time we teach you to practice in the art of Magic."
Rahkeid's heart lifted. His eyes shone brighter and his smile grew with each passing second. Even his brilliant pastel hair seemed to glow with ecstasy. "Oh, Lord August, do you mean it?"
August grinned. "I don't see why not. You've mastered reading the ancient language with a single book, and you rarely use it when interpreting the ancient text. You have also shown to be diligent in understanding and recognizing most of the magics of Earthland...but your fantasies…"
Rahkeid gulped a little too audibly. The Magic King was right; his dreams of Heavenly attributes and granting pleasure to sinners...it was all a little too much for a thirteen-year-old boy. He lowered his eyes, ashamed of his teacher's discovery to his incoherent dreams, but he was not ashamed of fantasizing them. Constantly.
"It is very strange…" August stroked his snowy beard thoughtfully, as any old man would do. "You are, indeed, a young prodigy in the art of Magic, just like your father."
My father…
"Come now. It's time for you to start your training in the Magic of…" August turned to walk behind the ebony curtains, but stopped to swivel his head to meet his gaze with the young prince. He waited for the prodigy's answer.
"Pleasure." August raised an eyebrow, but said nothing against the prince's answer. "I want to have the power that will impress all, even my father. I want to reach a level on which you, Lord August, Lady Eileen and the other Spriggan have reached. Please."
A fleeting moment of silence passed by slowly. Rahkeid did not know if this was August's Slowing Magic was at work or simply his anxiety taking over his mind and concept of time. August turned his back to the prince, his tattered cloak sweeping over the floor ever so gracefully. He seemed to be in deep thought. Even for someone like August, this was concerning.
Finally, Rahkeid heard a chuckle and saw August shaking his head faintly. "Yes, you are very much like your father. Come," the Magic King paused. "Prince of Alvarez."
This was perhaps the last time Rahkeid had ever felt true joy in a very long time.
