CHAPTER 56: THE BOY WHO COULD

Darius sat rigid in Professor Ignatius’s office, the air thick with the scent of parchment and the faint spice of the professor’s cologne. Lucien stood by the door, his silhouette framed against the glowing runes on the wall, but Darius’s focus was locked on Ignatius. The professor’s mismatched eyes—one blue, one amber—gleamed with a fire that made Darius’s heart race. Ignatius had just hinted at a story, a tale about the Storm Visionary, and Darius felt the weight of it pressing down, like the calm before a tempest. His mind churned, still reeling from the vision of Lucien’s purple-eyed power clashing with Ren, his brother, and now this—an offer from a figure he didn’t understand, tied to a legacy he could barely grasp.

"You see," Ignatius began, his voice low and distant, like he was pulling memories from a long-forgotten vault, "there was a time when magic was a rigid cage. Centuries ago, Eidolon’s mages were bound to covens, each devoted to a single element—fire, water, earth, or air. You were born into your coven, trained in its ways, and forbidden to touch another element. To stray was heresy. You’d be cast out, branded a rebel, your name erased from the annals of magic."

Darius leaned forward, his breath shallow. Ignatius’s words painted a world Ethan Carter, the author of Eidolon: The Sovereign’s Path, had only hinted at in his notes—a world of control, of limits that choked ambition. The professor’s eyes burned, a passion igniting as he spoke, and Darius felt drawn into the story, like he was standing in that ancient time.

"Imagine it," Ignatius continued, his voice growing reverent. "A child, barely twelve, born into the Fire Coven. They were gifted, their flames brighter than any elder’s, but they were curious—too curious. They watched the Water Coven summon rivers, the Air Coven weave tempests, the Earth Coven raise mountains, and they wondered why they couldn’t do it all. Why should magic be locked away, divided like spoils among warring tribes? So, in secret, they began to learn."

Darius’s eyes widened, a chill prickling his skin. "They taught themselves other elements?" he asked, his voice barely above a whisper.

Ignatius nodded, a faint smile curling his lips. "Exactly. They stole scrolls from the Water Coven, spied on the Air Coven’s rituals, traded secrets with Earth mages in shadowed alleys. It was dangerous—treason, by the covens’ laws—but they didn’t care. They wove fire with water, air with earth, and something happened. Their magic... changed. It fused, became something new, something no one had ever seen."

Darius’s heart pounded, his mind racing to connect the dots. This child, this rebel, was the Storm Visionary. He glanced at Lucien, who’d stopped pacing, his eyes fixed on Ignatius with a mix of curiosity and unease. The professor’s story felt alive, its weight pressing on the room like a gathering storm.

Ignatius leaned back, his voice dropping to a near-whisper. "The covens found out, of course. They called the child a heretic, a threat to the sacred order. The High Council, a group of the most powerful Visionaries—Fire, Water, Earth, Air—demanded their execution. But the child, now sixteen, refused to bow. They fled to the Shattered Plains, a barren wasteland where no coven held sway, and there, they faced the Council’s champions in a battle that changed Eidolon forever."

Darius swallowed hard, his throat dry. "What happened?" he asked, his voice trembling with anticipation.

Ignatius’s eyes gleamed, his hands gesturing as if summoning the scene. "The child stood alone, a lone figure against four Visionaries, each a master of their element. The Fire Visionary unleashed infernos that scorched the earth. The Water Visionary summoned tidal waves that could drown cities. The Earth Visionary split the ground, raising jagged peaks. The Air Visionary called hurricanes that tore trees from their roots. The Plains became a crucible, a chaos of flame, flood, quake, and gale. But the child... they were something else."

Darius’s breath caught, his mind painting the scene—a lone mage, barely more than a teenager, facing a storm of elemental fury. "How did they survive?" he asked, leaning closer.

Ignatius’s smile turned fierce. "They didn’t just survive. They fought back. They wove their stolen elements together, fire sparking with lightning, water swirling with wind, earth rising with flame. Their magic became a living storm—a tempest that roared across the Plains, alive with power. Lightning cracked the sky, rain lashed like blades, winds howled like spirits, and molten earth surged like rivers. The Visionaries’ spells faltered, overwhelmed by the sheer chaos of it. The child’s storm tore through their defenses, shattered their pride, and left the Plains a smoking ruin."

Darius’s jaw dropped, a shiver running through him. "A living storm?" he echoed, the words heavy with awe.

Ignatius nodded, his voice solemn. "Yes. The magical energy released in that battle was so immense, so raw, it birthed a phenomenon Eidolon had never seen. The storm didn’t die when the fight ended. It took on a life of its own, a roiling mass of lightning, rain, and wind that still wanders the Shattered Plains today. They call it the Eternal Tempest, a storm that never rests, moving across the world, leaving destruction and renewal in its wake. Sailors fear it, mages revere it, and scholars say it’s a remnant of the child’s power, a mark of their defiance."

Darius’s mind reeled, picturing a storm that lived, breathed, and roamed like a god. Ethan had never written this, not in any draft. The Eternal Tempest was new, a legend born from a history he hadn’t fully imagined. "That’s... incredible," he murmured, his voice shaking. "But what happened to the child?"

Ignatius’s gaze softened, a hint of pride in his eyes. "They won. The Visionaries fell, not dead but broken, their authority shattered. The child, now called the Storm Visionary, became a symbol of rebellion. Their victory forced the covens to change. The old system—single-element mastery—crumbled. Mages began to experiment, blending elements, and new magics emerged. Light magic, born from fire and air, capable of healing or blinding. Sand magic, fusing earth and wind, shaping deserts into weapons. Lightning, water, shadow—all these and more bloomed because the Storm Visionary proved magic could be free, limitless. They reshaped Eidolon’s magic, Darius, and made it stronger."

Darius’s heart raced, the weight of the story sinking in. The Storm Visionary hadn’t just fought a battle; they’d sparked a revolution. New techniques, new strengths, all because one child dared to break the rules. He glanced at Lucien, whose eyes were narrowed, a flicker of confusion in his usually unreadable face. The vision of Lucien’s purple-eyed power flashed in Darius’s mind, a chaotic force that felt eerily similar to the Storm Visionary’s defiance. Was Lucien tied to this somehow? The thought sent a chill down his spine.

"So," Darius said, his voice unsteady, "the Storm Visionary... they taught here? At the Arcanium?"

Ignatius’s smile widened, a quiet pride radiating from him. "Yes. They became a teacher, passing their knowledge to students who dared to dream beyond one element. They built a legacy, one that lives in this academy’s halls, in every mage who blends fire with water or earth with air. And that legacy, Darius, is why you’re here."

Darius froze, his breath catching. The pieces clicked together, and he stared at Ignatius, his eyes wide with disbelief. "You... you’re the Storm Visionary?" he asked, his voice barely a whisper.

Ignatius’s expression softened, his amber eye glinting with a mix of amusement and resolve. "Yes, Darius. I am the Storm Visionary. I was that child, the one who defied the covens, who fought the Council, who birthed the Eternal Tempest. I’ve carried that legacy my whole life, teaching students like you to see magic not as a cage but as a storm—wild, boundless, alive."

Darius’s mind spun, struggling to process the revelation. Ignatius, the professor who’d guided him through fireballs and aqua spheres, was a legend. The man who’d shattered Eidolon’s magical order, who’d faced four Visionaries and won, who’d created a living storm that still roamed the world. And now, Darius held an offer from that same legacy, a chance to follow in those footsteps.

"What does this mean for me?" Darius asked, his voice trembling. "If I take your offer... am I part of this storm?"

Ignatius leaned forward, his gaze piercing. "The choice is yours, Darius. The storm I started is still unfolding, shaping Eidolon’s future. You’ve seen what magic can be—free, powerful, limitless. But the path isn’t easy. The Eternal Tempest is proof of what happens when power is unleashed without control. You’ll need to choose carefully, not just for yourself but for the world you’ll shape."

Darius’s heart pounded, the weight of the decision crushing. He turned to Lucien, still silent by the door, his purple-tinged eye catching the light. The vision of Lucien’s clash with Ren loomed in his mind, a storm of its own, tied to a prophecy Ethan had only hinted at. Was Darius meant to join Ignatius’s legacy, to wield a storm against Lucien’s chaos? Or was he risking everything, stepping into a role he wasn’t ready for?

Ignatius’s voice broke the silence, soft but firm. "The Storm Visionary’s story isn’t finished, Darius. Let me tell you what that offer truly means."