The Burden of Proof

[Eirik Maste]

12th of Intas, 2719

"Eirik? Are you paying attention?"

Sleep often eluded the young Gioran, and it showed exuberantly on his visage as he dozed off in the office of Professor Omega Sonfield. The boy's light skin was ashen, with dark lines forged underneath his eyes. The visage in front of the professor was one of fatigue and disinterest. Even in the midst of his excitement to progress to more advanced courses, his body refused sleep, dismissed meals. The boy in front of her was sickly, and in truth, the professor seemed unsure as to why he was recommended to her at all.

"Hm?" he answered. The fingers of his left hand cradled his chin as his elbow rested on the smooth wooden surface of his chair arm. Professor Sonfield looked quite displeased, once Eirik raised his pink orbs to look her square in the face. He nodded noncommittally and parted his lips to speak. However, before words could form, the professor interrupted him.

"I remember you, actually. Didn't you cause quite the stir in your screening? The faculty was all about the little orphan boy with an exquisite receptivity to the Mona! But... I've yet to see what Professor Phore sees in you, unfortunately..."

Of course you haven't. We've only just begun our little chat and you droll off like we're in the middle of a lecture, he complained. The younger galdor let a breath fill his lungs, and he straightened his posture in the chair in an effort to wake up properly. Professor Sonfield, however, had another solution. She called out to a passive, demanding two cups of coffee to be served to them immediately. Then, she started on again,

"I won't refuse Dublin's recommendation, but I do require proof before I admit you to a class with even older students. I'm told you performed a frostbite spell to success and yet... failed to perform basic countermagic?"

"You know how it is, professor. Casting is a fickle beast. Sometimes success is simple. Other times... there's more involved than that. Also, when I was in the process of performing the countermagic, I was under the impression that the other boy was going to use Water. I was forced to compensate and therefore, was unsuccessful."

"Ah, so he cheated you out of your retort? I can't accept that sort of - Oh." The coffee arrived, interrupting Professor Sonfield's thoughts. She pulled one of the two ceramic mugs her way, flicking at the other until her nail creating a gentle 'clink' that diverted Eirik's attention once again.

"Cream and sugar?"

"No thank you," he answered, picking up the mug and holding it in both hands. Gently, he placed his mouth over the steaming cup. He uttered soft, beseeching words in Monite. The professor's expression immediately soured as the steam began to dissipate, the motion of the heated liquid's particles slowing further and further until it was palatable to the galdor's sensitive mouth. He took a long sip, and didn't look up from his cup.

"Do you always use magic for such... trivial purposes?" she asked, clear displeasure set on her visage. Eirik drained the coffee very quickly, placing the empty mug on the professor's desk as he shrugged his shoulders indifferently. That's your opinion, isn't it? Maybe some of us don't love scalding liquid searing our throats! he snarled, but the words always caught on his tongue when in the presence of adults. Children, the young galdor could show snark to. Adults... they were a different beast with altogether more real consequences.

"I can't call it trivial, professor. You'd have a hard time speaking to me if my throat was on fire..." he answered, a meekness purposely thrown into his tone to soften the blow of snark.

"Aren't Giorans supposed to be stalwart to an extent? You look sick, boy. What's wrong with you?"

If anyone knew... it probably would be eradicated wouldn't it? This professor's a bitch... I wish I had Professor Phore, he ruminated, quite displeased.

"I don't know what to tell you, professor. You mentioned something about proof?"

"Well, yes. Sure, let's go back to that. You'll be coming with me to the Lawn. I want to see what you're capable of for myself," she told him, then stood immediately afterwards and started on her way. With a disgruntled moan, Eirik rose to his feet, tightening up the buttons of his winter coat and making his way along behind the professor. He followed several paces behind her, his long strides very capable of catching up... but he slowed his pace purposefully.

Hopefully her lessons are worth all the trouble, he thought as the pair exited the warmth and safety of the indoors in favor of the wilted grasses and open space of the Lawn. Eirik Maste felt a shiver crawl up his spine as the chill pierced through his coat. He raised his arms, gloved hands touching along his face and jawline. He blew into the fabric, then pressed the heated material to his skin in an effort to preserve heat.

Then, Professor Sonfield began the process of forming a spell-circle. A wide radius more than capable of fitting both of them and ten feet between them formed, but Sonfield kept her distance.

"What am I to do, professor?"

"Oh, no. This is your show, Eirik. Let's see what you think will impress me."

Fine.

[Eirik Maste]

Time Stamp

Eirik carried his grimoire with him into the spell circle. The field around him seemed to keep the particles of the mona in place, and he felt a distinct sense of comfort around them as he reached out. A smile curled his features as breath pulled into his lungs. When the Gioran was ready to release that breath, it emerged as Monite.

The galdor conveyed in his tone the need to prove himself, beseeching the mona to act on his behalf. He felt the sentience around him convene at his fingertips, his will bridged with the particles of oxygen directly in front of him. Eirik Maste felt the shift in his field as the particles began to blister, the sorcery weaving them to collide violently into one another before he drove them forth.

Static conversation pulled the particles together, the temperature of the air around the boy sorcerer growing higher and higher until he uttered the final syllable of his spell. A burst of electricity stemmed from a space three inches from his palm, and certainly, Eirik Maste felt the whiplash against his fingertips. His skin flushed with the burns of his practice, but the effect spoke for itself. Electricity tore forward, and faster than the galdori eye could process it, the power soared past the spell circle and a nearby tree was the recipient of the full brunt of his spell. Flames began to lick at the surface of the oak tree, threatening to grow higher and wider, but Eirik Maste was prepared for the consequences of his spell.

Professor Omega Sonfield arched her eyebrows in surprise, but Eirik wasn't done with his demonstration just yet. He winced, the pain of his cast apparent on his features as he willed the mona around the tree. The flames fed on the oxygen, but not for long. The boy directed the mona, the words fleeing from his lips as a shout heard across the way, beseeching the particles yet another time. He pulled at the oxygen that fed into the fire, and suction could be heard in the distance as the flames began to dissipate.

Eirik Maste felt his features form into a grin, and his uninjured hand moved to his wrist, delicate motion massaging the singed skin of his palm, only to exacerbate the injury further. The skin cracked open, and blood welled at the wound. However, the boy ignored his pain, a hearty chuckle poured from his lips as he looked on at the results of his cast. The tree, while no longer on fire, was splintered from the force of the electrical contact and charred black from the fanned flames that ensued after. Eirik Maste looked to the professor, curious as to what her reaction would be.

However, the boy need not wait for long. Her hands clasped together in applause, and Omega Sonfield moved towards the boy. She gestured for him to exit the spell circle, looking him over for a long moment before she provided an impartial assessment of his performance.

"The electrical discharge wasn't perfect, and it looks like you suffered a minor whiplash as a result? Expected, given your experience with Static conversation... But to see a child even capable of attempting such a spell... I'm impressed. Moreover, your quick reaction to the manifestation of flames and your de-oxygenization of the area of contact was phenomenal. You're absolutely admitted into my class, Eirik."

Gods, you really have to speak out an essay with every sentence, don't you? he ruminated, but instead of the snark, laughter emerged instead. Eirik was tired, both his lack of sleep and the dual exertion of his casting catching up to him. He bent at the waist, his good hand rested on his knee as he caught his breath for a good moment. Then, at last, when he was prepared, he stood tall, towering over Omega Sonfield as he answered her,

"Thank you, professor. I look forward to learning from you," he told her. The galdor noticed that his grimoire had fallen to the ground, but it was Professor Sonfield who bent forward to pick it up. She flipped through the pages, noticing the boy's immaculate script that held numerous spells and countermagic that Eirik either understood or intended to learn.

"Color me impressed, boy. Here, take this and don't ever let me see it on the ground again," she told him. The Gioran nodded, placing his grimoire at his ribs, using his elbow to keep it in place as he asked,

"Is there anything else you need from me, professor?"

"No, you're dismissed. Your first class with me is first thing in the morning, so make sure to get some sleep."

Can't resist the last little jab, huh? he scoffed, but kept the movement from physical representation. Instead, he bowed to the professor before making his way towards the infirmary, intent on patching up his injured hand before making his way towards the cafeteria for lunch period.