Knock knock knock.

  Artyom didn’t have to wait long before the door to the orphanage slowly opened.

  At first, he expected to be met by Sister Elery, but found empty space where her head should be.

  “Umm, can we help you?” came a high-pitched voice from just below there.

  Artyom looked down to see a young girl, no older than twelve, staring up with him with apprehension.

  “Oh, uh… sir? Can we help you, sir?”

  He couldn’t help but smile and slightly bend down to be closer to her level. “Hi, I’m here to give Rotte his magic lesson.”

  Realization suddenly struck the young girl as her eyes opened wide.

  “Could you please tell Sister Elery?”

  “You were with the hero!” she blurted out. “That’s so cool! Let me get big sister, wait right here… uh, please?”

  Artyom nodded and the young girl ran off.

  A moment later, a set of approaching footsteps echoed out of the gap in the open door and soon Sister Elery opened the door all the way.

  “Hello, Artyom,” she said stiffly. “Please follow me to the back courtyard.”

  While Sister Elery’s current mood was better than that of yesterday evening, Artyom couldn’t help but wrinkle his nose at the cold greeting, though he saved it for after she turned around and began to lead him through the orphanage halls.

  It wasn’t a long walk. Along the way, Artyom couldn’t help but notice the many heads poking out behind various pieces of furniture and the architecture. Two behind a large, worn couch, another behind a pillar, and a few from the top of the staircase.

  “What about them?” asked Artyom, jerking a thumb behind him as they began to pass through a narrow corridor. “Do they want to learn as well?”

  “I think they’re more interested in following a member of the hero’s party than anything else. They haven’t really shown any magical talent, despite Rotte trying to teach a few of them what he knows.”

  Artyom nodded. “I don’t mind them watching if they want to.”

  Sister Elery suddenly stopped in place and quickly spun around with a scowl. “Before you begin, I want to lay down the rules.”

  “What kind of rules?”

  “First, you said this was to teach Rotte enough to keep him from hurting himself.”

  “That’s right, just the fundamentals and some basic exercises so he doesn’t do anything that might hurt himself or others while trying to get stronger,” said Artyom solemnly. “This’ll get him there without any risk of that happening.”

  “Which leads into the first rule: if I feel like you’re teaching Rotte anything but that, I’ll end the lesson immediately.”

  “Fine by me,” said Artyom with a shrug. “You won’t need to be an expert to understand the lecture anyway, so you should be able to follow along and let me know if it’s getting into uncomfortable territory.”

  “Good. And now the second rule: no encouraging Rotte to fight.”

  Artyom looked into the priestess’ hardened eyes, and pseudo-instinctively sent out a pulse of blank aura. It came back with a mix of determination, fear, and… guilt.

  Those emotions made sense.

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  Determined to keep Rotte and the other children safe, fear that he might take his lessons as an excuse to fight and get hurt. But guilt… perhaps for not being able to help Rotte?

  Artyom placidly nodded. “I won’t. My job is to get kids out of wars, I’m not about to send him into one.”

  She continued to stare at him, but Artyom fixed his own unwavering gaze back at her. All the emotion he knew Sister Elery’s mind was awash with clashed with his unshakable will. In the end, she let out a sigh.

  “Fine, he’s just out here.”

  The priestess turned around and led Artyom through the rest of the corridor and out the back door to a wide, open courtyard surrounded by colorful gardens. The grass here, despite the run-down nature of the rest of the grounds, was cut immaculately. The plants on open soil boxing the area up into a neat rectangle were a multitude of colors, featuring a mix of both mundane and otherworldly produce and flowers. Corn, tomatoes, beans, some sort of green gourd that looked familiar but wouldn’t likely be found in any American supermarket, they all made for a beautiful border.

  Artyom’s eyes quickly looked past them at what, or rather who, he was really hear for.

  “Artyom, you’re here!” exclaimed Rotte with shining eyes. “You’re going to teach me to be stronger, right?”

  The man from Earth bent down and placed a hand on the boy’s shoulder, flashing him a gentle smile. “I told you I’m going to teach you the fundamentals of magic. You just mentioned a completely different lesson.”

  “O-oh,” he said. “How are they different, though?”

  Artyom took a deep breath and let it out as a laughing exhale, shaking his head all the while. “I’m not going to get super philosophical with you, my hair isn’t white enough to beat around the bush like that. But there are a lot of different kinds of strengths; strength in magic, in muscles, combat, and in will. The fundamentals of magic will help you get better at magic in general. What you do with it is up to you.”

  “But can you teach me how to fight? How to be strong at magic?”

  Artyom didn’t need to look behind him to know Sister Elery was glaring daggers at him. He could feel their cold tips piercing the back of his head.

  “Well, Sister Elery would get very upset if I tried to do that. But my lessons will make you stronger at magic.”

  “That’s not what we agreed.”

  Artyom looked over with the same gentle expression. “It’s the same as teaching him how to hold a knife, whether for cutting vegetables, hunting, or killing. I won’t be teaching him how to stab, metaphorically speaking.”

  Sister Elery stared at him a little longer, but eventually nodded.

  “Alright Rotte, let’s get started. Take a seat.”

  The two walked over to a small table placed in the middle of the grass with two painted wooden chairs on either side. The table had a glass top and its legs were painted white, the same paint having been used for the chairs as well.

  Sister Elery, and a smattering of children gathered behind her, sat down on the wide marble steps leading down from the entrance to the manor. It was somewhat far away, but Artyom made sure his words were loud enough to reach them.

  “Magic is fueled by magical energy, a force or some kind of particle pervasive to nature and the universe in general. There are a lot of theories as to its specific nature, whether it’s a subatomic particle or larger in size, but it’s not like we’ve got a particle accelerator lying around to answer that question.”

  “Per-pervasive?”

  “Oh whoops, let me try that again,” said Artyom, scratching the back of his head with an apologetic smile. “There’s this stuff in the air, magical energy, that powers spells. No idea what it actually is, except for the fact that it’s just there. Everywhere.”

  Rotte nodded with wide eyes, now understanding Artyom’s words.

  The older man looked back at the others, and saw Sister Elery nodding back. The other kids gazed at him with interest, but maybe only half of them looked like they were following along. Artyom was happy he wasn’t teaching the whole class.

  “How does magical energy get turned into a spell?”

  “Good question! You need some kind of transformation catalyst to turn raw magical energy into an element. What counts as a transformation catalyst… depends.”

  “On what?”

  “It can either be physical or mental. For example, throwing magic into a big enough flame will turn the magic itself into fire. But if you’ve attuned your mind to the concept of fire, you can use that to turn magic that’s still in your body into fire magic.”

  “I can use fire magic, I just think about… all the fire when my village was attacked. My anger, how much I want those horrible people to burn like they burned-”

  “Hey, hey! Cut that out!” shouted Artyom, snapping Rotte out of the fugue he was beginning to sink into.

  The boy’s eyes snapped open, and he noticed the wood of the chair he was sitting on begin to singe.

  “Yeah, that’s definitely not healthy,” said Artyom, shaking his head. “How about if we find a better transformation catalyst for your fire magic instead of, well, that? It’d even make for a good practical lesson!”

  The two turned over to look at Sister Elery, who nodded back at them with a heartfelt smile.

  He was here to teach magic, but for Rotte, doubling as a therapist didn’t sound so bad either.