Chapter Text
So, what technique are we going to start with?”
Wilan’s eager words had resounded in the large training room that X’rhun had rented, as he entered. The miqo’te man was, as usual, calm and composed, looking in the opposite direction from the door and toward the training equipment, with his hands on his back, as if lost in thoughts.
“Keep your sword in your sheath, Wilan. We’re not going to focus on any fighting techniques just yet.”
“We… aren’t?” he asked, puzzled. The news had blindsided his enthusiasm. “I thought you agreed to teach me how to be a red mage.”
“So I did.” He slowly turned halfway around to eye his new recruit. “But there’s more to being a red mage than spellcasting and swordplay.”
“There’s more!?” Wilan asked, the excitement reignited in his voice. “Alright, bring it on master! Whatever training you have in mind for me, I can take it!”
X’rhun eyes narrowed, locked on the young man. His gaze had a hard edge about it. He took a deep breath and closed his eyes, and it was enough to communicate his disappointment to Wilan. The young man asked, confused. “Is… is something the matter?”
“Boy.” He said finally. “You’re lacking style.”
“Uuuh…” Wilan drawled scratching his head, making his shock of hair even messier “Style? I don’t get it.”
X’rhun turned away again and started walking, and Wilan instinctively kept pace. “I see you are still not wearing the clothes I’ve supplied you with.”
“Uh.. um, yeah, about that…” he said tentatively. X’rhun silence encouraged him to continue. “I mean… they’re kinda… you know, eye-catching. The bright red coat, the lacework, and… my god, that hat, with the white feathers. I mean man, no offense man, but if I’m going to go out in the street like that everyone will be looking at me.”
The man suddenly stopped and turned around, making Wilan take a step back. He was flawlessly wearing garments much similar to those he had just described: a coat of red and black, decorated with intricate lacework, belt, buckles, and a white cravat. Despite how eye-catching the garbs were, they were also incredibly practical, allowing for free movement to a much higher degree than any usual spellcasting robe would. His eyes were framed by small wrinkles, and they were locked once again onto him. This time, more than his physical appearance, Wilan felt like they were looking straight at his resolve.
“Was it not you” he began, his voice very calm “who approached me saying, and I quote, that this is what a real hero should look like?” He brought a hand to his chest, in a fluid and elegant motion. “Do you think what inspired hope in the hearts of people is your fighting prowess, your ability to manipulate aether? You don’t need me to teach you that, do you? Was it not you who requested me to teach you how to be that hope?”
Wilan struggled to sustain that gaze. He was reminded of when, a few days earlier, he witnessed the red mage save a little girl from her assailants. He had been about to intervene himself, but that man had swooped in with flair and panache, and by majestically combining intricate spellcasting and deft swordplay he had made short work of those bandits. Not only that, with a bow he had reassured the little girl, told her not to worry, and just by virtue of his own attitude her fear all but vanished.
He had been struggling with a growing amount of responsibilities lately, an ever-heavier burden on his shoulders. He felt but a faint echo of the passionate, care-free Wilan from the beginning of his career as an adventurer. How long had it been since he’s had the luxury to fail any request entrusted to him? How many people looked up to him, expecting to see a hero, disappointed in only finding a man?
“Y-yes sir, I did.” he stammered. Something warm had lit up in his chest, giving him renewed confidence. He straightened his back, lifted his chin, and wearing his heart on his sleeve he said “Please, teach me how to be like you!”
X’rhun considered him for a long moment, and he exhaled and relaxed his stance and tone. He circled around him, slowly, and resumed talking. “I know your heart is in a good place, master Serulia.” The words had been uttered with respect, but Wilan felt the weight of that title hit him like a blow in the chest. X’rhun was aware of who he was. “I knew it from the first moment, to be honest. A man who would rush to the aid of a stranger’s child without fear or hesitation is a man I would trust with the power of red magic. But you didn’t come to me to learn a new fighting style. You came to learn how to inspire hope.”
That last word echoed through the air. Wilan nodded vigorously.
“Then let’s begin!” he finally declared. “First of all, we’re gonna have to do something about your hair.”
Wilan looked perplexed. “My… hair? Like what?”
“Combing it would be a good start.” X’rhun commented, with dry humor. “Have it styled, if possible. When we’re done today ask for Jandelaine, tell him I sent you.” He said seriously, jotting the name down on a scrap of paper and passing it to him. “I’ve seen the man perform small miracles before”.
“What’s wrong with my hair?” Wilan asked again, accepting the piece of paper.
“Your manners also need work.” X’rhun continued, as if the answer to that question was so obvious it didn’t need to be said out loud. “My boy, you speak like a fisherman. And your posture is all messed up.” He sighed, and started walking toward the equipment. “We’ll start working on that today. You’ll learn how to stand properly, how to walk properly, how to eat properly, how to dance properly. You’re going to have to learn to infuse a modicum of flair into―”
“Oh, I can dance!” Wilan interrupted him, a big grin on his face.”
“Huh.” X’rhun commented, amused. “Let’s see our hero perform a dance, then.”
“Alright, alright, you just watch!” He took a moment to balance himself, and out of nowhere he suddenly jumped on his right foot, his left leg in the air, and his arms over his head. He switched foot, performing a quarter rotation, and he repeated that until he was facing the miqo’te again. His grin met his non-plussed face. Still standing on one leg he faced his body to the side, rising and lowering rhythmically his stretched arms, which made the red mage arch an eyebrow, and finally he stood on both feet, keeping his stance wide, batting his own chest twice like an ape.
“…pray tell, what did I just witness?” X’rhun said, calmly.
“It’s the Moonlift, man! It’s all the rage among adventurers!” he said loudly, still not breaking that goofy pose.
His eager, sincere smile sustained his inquisitive gaze for a few moments, until X’rhun sighed. “This buffoonery might fly at the local tavern, not at a ball. As your status rises you’ll be expected to appear in high society events, and you’ll be expected to behave accordingly. You’re going to need to learn proper ballroom etiquette.”
He turned around and flicked on a small orchestrion. Ball music filled the room. Then he faced one of the striking dummies, gave it a very formal bow, and executed flawlessly a short demonstration of a ball dance for Wilan. As he did, he spoke again.
“From now on, you’ll want to stand out in a room. You’ll want eye-catching clothes, because you need to catch everyone’s attention. You’ll need flair and elegance in your movements, you’ll need wit and sagacity in your banter. And most importantly you need to smile.”
“Because a smile better suits a hero.” Wilan added, almost automatically.
X’rhun arched an eyebrow at that, impressed. “Yes. Yes, that’s very well put. I see you’re finally starting to understand.”
Wilan mind got lost in a painful memory, but only for a moment. Then he refocused his eyes, nodded, and said “Alright. Let’s get started, master X’rhun!”