Corda Dormamu is a person that could be described in one word: Bitch. She is the epitome of somebody that is difficult to deal with, with a short temper, a willingness to tan my hide, and was more than happy to hold long grudges.

On top of that, she's patient and more than able to wait for me to get where she wants me to be.

So, the first thing she did was stuff me in her room (and didn't that just hurt, she stole the room right next to mine, so I couldn't take any breaks) and made me read. Normally this would be a good thing; I dearly want to be able to read and learn all about this world from a first-person perspective and she was giving me what I wanted. However, while I do enjoy reading and learning, spending twelve hours a day doing this was extraordinarily taxing.

Not that she cared, mind you.

My schedule was terrible. No breaks, no communication with the Spire servants, and no quitting. I wasn't even allowed to view the letters my family sent me, Corda claiming them to be distractions. It was only dumb luck that she let me keep my sun touched satchel; I didn't have a teddy bear, but I was able to convince Corda that I used the bag as a substitute. I slept with it every night and carried it with me wherever I went.

There was no way I would allow it out of my sight.

I did attempt to quit at one point, to just see if I could be a shaman or a paladin or something; all magic interested me, and the obsessive studying that Corda demanded wasn't my cup of tea. She cut me off quickly, stating that she was called to teach, and I was going to learn no matter how much I kicked and screamed. And boy, did I kick and scream.

Now though, regardless I my aggravation, the results of four months of continual studying were clear.

While not perfectly fluent, I could read Thalassian.

Corda had been quizzing me, checking to ensure that I was capable of understanding everything that was presented in tomes the size of my skull. These were massive books, books that were meant to teach the beginnings of magic to me. Of course, she didn't allow me to actually read these books, but I was permitted to skim some concepts and theorems.

According to her, I was ready. Barely.

With that announcement, it was time. Finally, it was time.

I would be learning some magic.

Happy fourth birthday to me.

"What is magic?"

This was a common way for Corda to start a lecture. She would ask me a question, and when I answered it incorrectly she would show me how very wrong I was.

We were sat on the cliffs that were just behind the Spire, looking over the vast expanse known as the North Sea. Corda looked clean and elegant, as usual, while I was dirty and soaked from water splashing on me, but was too excited to care.

"Magic is the power of… will?"

It was a question that I couldn't answer, no matter how embarrassing that was. Magic was something that couldn't be defined easily at all, and Corda rarely allowed me to read any tomes or scrolls that held details of magic. History and ethics were her favorite teaching tool.

She snorted at me, "I expected better from you, genius. You're quite far off."

Well fuck you too.

Corda never called me Tharama, nor did she call me Windrunner or anything I could claim was relevant to my name. She just called me sarcastic titles, like genius and hopeful. Her words were always tinged with some sort of hidden humor, never letting me in on the joke but anybody could tell that I was the butt of it.

Somehow, she must have understood my thought. Her eyes snapped to mine, and I shuddered ever so slightly as her pupils slit into thin lines; her telltale sign of annoyance.

With a breath, her eyes returned to normal and she calmed. "I suppose you wouldn't know, smart thought you are, you are still young. There is little wisdom in you, though it shall soon come."

"Then what is magic?" She could call me whatever she wanted, so long as she answered the question.

Corda closed her eyes and hummed. "Magic, in its most basic sense, is the energy of the universe. It is stronger in some locations than others, but all the same it is ever-present. The nature and uses of magic are vigorously debated, but the magnitude of what it can accomplish cannot be doubted." She had this… This look in her eyes. Like she was in reverence, speaking the word of the gospel. "Magic is what gives the stars their luster, what allows the sun and moon rise and fall, and it is through magic that this world was given life. And, just as magic gave Azeroth life, so too shall magic be what kills it."

I had honestly… Forgotten. No, that isn't the word; ignored is closer. I ignored just how intrinsic magic is in this land. The natural laws of Azeroth are completely different to the laws of Earth.

On Earth, science was king, and scientists devoted their lives to understanding the planet and the universe it inhabited. Earth was made up of a crust, a mantle and a core. But Azeroth wasn't Earth. Here, science was just a fanciful study, only alchemists and engineers took it seriously. Azeroth was made up of a crust about twenty times the size of Earth's, and there was no mantle. The core of Azeroth was not made of liquid flame, it was instead a living thing. What lay inside Azeroth was a Titan, a God.

"But," Corda continued. "Though magic is present all around us, it is also present inside us. The Trolls were the first to discover magic, then the Night Elves learned. From them we descend, and from them we evolved; our power greater than all others. Magic is our right, and you shall now partake in its bounty."

She then lifted a dainty little hand and stuffed it down the front of her robe. From what I presume to be a pocket in her corset, she pulled out a small crystal vial, filled to the brim with a golden liquid.

"This is the bounty of the High Elves; the water of the Sunwell. As is our right, all our kin that wish to learn magic are granted a drink. One sip, and magic will be given to you. Now come, drink and be made anew. Claim your destiny."

I knew the history of the Sunwell well, better than most other elves. I didn't know its magic or what gifts it gave, but I knew where it came from.

The Sunwell was made by Dath'Remar Sunstrider on the Isle of Quel'Danas, the island he claimed as the first part of his kingdom. It's power was so vast, Dath'Remar was able to form an entire kingdom around it and fight the Amani Empire with it. But, even with all that power, the Sunwell is only a trickle when compared to its original source: The Well of Eternity. The Well of Eternity was what made the Night Elves thrive. It was formed when Aman'thul, leader of the Titans, accidentally harmed Azeroth. The Well wasn't a natural occurrence, it was the blood of the Titan sleeping in Azeroth's core. It's power was so great, Sargaras himself was intending to use it as a portal; though he never had the chance when the Well imploded, sundering the world forevermore. Watered down though it may be, the Sunwell carried the blood of a Titan.

I wouldn't let this chance escape me. I stood and grabbed the vial from Corda with shaky hands. I uncorked it and downed it like a shot of vodka. The aftertaste was sweet and wonderful. My mind was light, I felt pure and free…

Then the pain came.

And there was so, so much pain. My body felt like it was on fire, while also feeling like it was freezing. My head was as light as a feather, but my body felt like it had a thousand pounds weighing it down. I fell on to the grass, screaming in pure agony, clawing at my chest. The sweetness of the Sunwell was quick to be replaced with the coppery tang of my blood.

It was only when water crashed against the coast, soaking me once more, that the pain went away. I sputtered out a gasp, seaweed stuck in my mouth. My body didn't appreciate that splash, and I randomly began to hurl out my breakfast.

"Perhaps a more difficult awakening," Corda mused, "But an awakening all the same."

"Wha- What the hell are you on about?" I was on my knees, gasping.

"It is quite dangerous to consume the water of the Sunwell. As far as I'm aware, you are one of the youngest to survive the ingestion. It is often that younglings with the inclination towards magic would take their place around the age of fourteen. Congratulations, you have succeeded your counterparts by a decade."

I threw the seaweed at her. She did nothing, though the plant stopped midair, twisting and turning until it whipped me across the face. A small trickle of blood fell.

"Your anger is deserved, though greatly misplaced." Though I couldn't see her face, I was able to infer that her tone was anything but kind. "Your mother asked me to look after you while the war is occurring, not for me to teach you anything. It was my prerogative that you learn as you have, and if I did not give you this then you would spend another decade waiting around, doing nothing of note. Perhaps longer, should the protective nature of your mother prove true. Yes, I risked your wellbeing. I also improved it remarkably. Do you see now?"

I couldn't see anything; my vision was blurry as all sin.

The fight in me was quick to leave. I was tired and weak, and needed to sleep. My body was further along than my mind, already dead to the world.

I was quick to join it.

I awoke to light. Not the light of the sun or moon, nor was it the light of a fire or an arcane lamp. It was a pale lime light, so bright it was near blinding. It was wrapped around me, cocooning me; soothing me. I felt… I don't know the term, peaceful? Content? It was a far better feeling than the pain that made me pass out in the first place.

Now that I looked around, there were lights everywhere. This was my room, but there was something… Something more. My bed was surrounded by a dull purple gleam, the doorknob had a dusting of yellow on it, and even my chair and desk were coated in a red mist.

What the hell was going on?

I stood, the pale lime cocoon dissipating. I felt great, better than ever actually. I hadn't had this much energy in either of my lives. However, I was horribly coordinated, moving around like a damned drunk. My satchel was by my bed, brimming with a cyan mist. I grabbed it, noting how the mist didn't move at all when the leather of the bag met my skin.

…Why did my satchel seem smaller? Added to that, why did my room look smaller?

I trotted away, satchel in hand. The door wasn't locked, and I didn't want to risk something by touching that yellow dust, so I just pushed the wood out. The whole of the hall was a myriad of color, and as I walked I saw shades of color I hadn't ever seen. I walked sedately, taking in the unusual change to my own home.

The podium to go between the Spire floors was now surrounded by a vortex of pink lines. I stood on the platform and stared as the pink lines illuminated further, running downwards along with the descending disk.

When I landed on the second floor, I rushed towards the dining hall. I was hungry, unusually hungry at that. I was so intent on making my way to the dining hall, I nearly missed a marking on the wall. I stared at the mark. It was what Vereesa and Alleria did for Lirath and me, marking at the wall to see how tall we were. The last time I was measured was a month ago, and I stood at forty inches.

But, as I looked down at that marking that now barely reached my shoulder, something twisted in my gut.

Corda approached in my peripherals, from the dining hall. Her form was a rainbow of colors. "I suppose your reaction to your awakening was greater than I could have predicted. My apologies."

She apologized? Corda apologizing? She never did that, Corda was the most unapologetic person I had ever met.

Wha-What…

"What happened?" Regardless of the fact that I was happy to have grown, people didn't grow this quickly in any natural capacity. Nor did they see colors in everything. The water of the Sunwell did something it shouldn't have, I was certain.

"You took to the Sunwell quite strongly, as is apparent. Come, sit. I will explain as best I can."

This was the kindest I had ever seen Corda act. She gently grabbed my shoulder and pushed me towards a chair, instead of lifting me with her magic and shunting me on the floor when she was done.

She stood in front of me now, her staff in hand. The sapphire at its tip shimmered with periwinkle.

"Imagine if you will, that your body is a balloon," she began, an illusion of said balloon forming from her staff, just above its pointed sapphire. "A simple piece of rubber capable of holding air and water. Your magic is the air it would hold. Upon awakening your magic, the balloon began to fill. Do you follow?"

I nodded, staring as the balloon began filling with air.

"Now, the Sunwell is not air, it is water. Upon ingesting it, your magic was filled with water instead of air. It is heavier and more potent in turn."

The image twisted, the air in the balloon replaced with liquid; gravity forcing it towards the tip of Corda's staff.

"Normally, an elf that ingests the waters of the Sunwell is quite a bit older than you are and their bodies are larger and sturdier. In your case, since you were so young, the balloon itself was too weak to sustain the water it held. Your body was too small, too untrained; it couldn't hold the magic it now held, so it..."

The balloon then began to leak. I gulped.

"Magic is tied to the fabric of being, so much so that unleashing it is the equivalent of unleashing ones very life force. Since your body was too weak to support the magic you now held, it was apparent that you were soon to lose it all. As magic is your life force, when you run out of magic, you run out of life; loss of magic equals loss of life."

The balloon fell onto the tip of her staff, popping. The liquid it held wasn't water, it was blood. The blood (my blood) scattered all over the tiled floors, and I felt a trickle of bile form in my mouth.

"I was a fool." She looked remorseful, shamefaced and genuine. "I mistakenly allowed your fervor for learning to blind me to reality. You were too young and should not have drunk from the Sunwell, regardless of my deeming you mentally ready to learn magic. I should have just allowed you to study magical theories, so that when your magic awakened you would have a leg up on your competition."

I couldn't believe what I was hearing. "Yesterday you said that I should be thanking you!"

Her smile turned… Weak? Brittle? "For you, this all occurred yesterday. For me… It has been three months since the accident. I had no choice but to forcefully put you into a coma, using chronomancy to increase the growth of your body to support your magic. You might as well be ten years old now, and you are quite a bit larger than most ten-year old's are meant to be. If I did not do this, there was no question in my mind that you would die."

The illusion of blood now twisted, forming into a full-body mirror that floated just in front of me. I stared at my reflection, touching myself experimentally.

I still had puppy fat, but it was far less apparent than it was yester- three months ago. My ears were longer, my chin and cheeks more pronounced; my silver hair was now to the middle of my back. What was unusual was that my body, which was quite thin and skinny, was now large and stocky. Elves didn't have this body type, they were all lithe and agile creatures. I looked like I was going to grow up to be a linebacker.

I tried to think, tried to determine why this happened. Yes, I was too young to awaken my magic the traditional way of the elves, but drinking from the Sunwell wasn't the only way to do so. Humans and Dwarves and Gnomes awakened their magic by casting passive magics on their kin, however long it took for their bodies to recognize and emulate that feeling. The Sunwell was a way to brute force magical awakenings, as well as quickly replenish low levels of magic. Why did this happen?!

Then it came to me.

Magic was life force. Life force was defined by age and experience. I lived till I was twenty-nine in my previous life, thus I had a greater life force than any four-year old child could claim to hold. My magic being awoken wasn't dangerous because of the Sunwell, it was dangerous because I was naturally going to have more than others. The potency of the Sunwell just added to the risk.

"I have spent these past three months in utter regret, thinking of nothing save for your survival. I understand if you hold any thoughts of retribution; I might as well have stolen your childhood. If you wish, I shall simply leave. I know I have given you little joy over these seven months."

I turned away from my reflection, staring at her morose face. Oh, I felt rage. She stole time that I could use well. That was quick to leave. I was living in the middle of the Second War, this newly aged body would serve me well. If nothing else, I could run faster and farther now.

"You're feeling bad, huh?" I glared at her, fists clenched. "The way I see it, you don't get to leave. Not while you owe me a debt."

Her expression was quick to twist into a wary sort of aggravation. "A debt? I saved your life, there is no debt between us."

"My life wouldn't have been in danger if not for you."

The mirror dissipated. Her staff glowed a bloody crimson, and her wary aggravation was turning to pure aggravation. She glared a green fury and her tongue was wet with venom. "And what would you ask for, should I acknowledge a debt?"

I squared my shoulders and our glares met. "Make me your apprentice."

Did she really think I was going to let her go? She was a mistress of the Arcane, and if her story checked out she was able to use chronomancy, arguably the most difficult branch of magic there was. The ability to manipulate time was an art less than a handful of mortals could claim to hold knowledge of. I wouldn't allow her to slip through my fingers; not until she payed me back for the time I lost.

Not until I learned what I needed.

Her face fell into a decidedly false neutrality. There was no emotion, and her voice turned flat. "I have never taken an apprentice. I have taught large lectures and tutored singular students, but never an apprentice. Why should I do such a thing for an untrained boy such as you?"

"Because you owe me. Mother said you treat your promises like kings, and you honor all debts, and make no mistake, there is a debt. This will square any debt you hold with the Windrunners, through both my mother and myself."

Her neutrality was quick to fall, and her staff lost that menacing crimson. Nothing more was said. She just stared at me, her slit pupils so thin they might as well have been paper. She left then, hollering a servant to give me some food.

Well, now I know that the bitch in her was just hidden. It's back now, so there's nothing to be terribly concerned about with regards to her.

And she didn't say no…

…Nor did she say yes.

…

…

…

I'll take it as a victory.

Apologies for the long wait. If you read my profile page, you'll be able to find out why it took so long to get to my stories. I'm not really interested in venting on my authors note page, so give that a looksie if you're curious.

So, timeskip. Officially Tharama is 4 ¼ years old, but physically he's ten. His body type also went through a drastic change to support his newfound magic. It'll be useful later on, you'll see.

Next chapter will be filled with interactions between Corda and Tharama, magic will be explored, and I hope to throw a major curveball in the works. If I don't, I hope I at least allude to one. I've had it in mind for quite a while. Some have figured out the first part of my curveball, but the second part is something nobodies determined.

Thank you for reading. If you liked this chapter please Favorite/Follow and don't forget to Review.