***
“No!” Glint yelled later that day, back in the kitchen. His food was barely touched in front of him, and before him were also the cook, looking terrified, and Azrael, who was unfazed by Glint’s rage. The young man was furious.
“You have to,” Azrael stated simply, and motioned the cook away. Hans went gladly, backing off while still facing the two until he was far enough to simply run away and lock the swinging kitchen door behind him. Glint’s vision was turning red, and he was, quite literally, a few words away attacking Azrael. How dare this man tell him to stop practicing his art? No breathing techniques? No armour manipulation? No martial techniques? And locking his armour away?
Azrael listened to the rant patiently, waited until Glint’s anger had peaked and then said, “Your body can’t handle it.”
That simple statement stopped Glint dead in his tracks. He sat into his chair, struck as if with a blow. With his augmented strength, he had screamed loud enough to crack the window Azrael stood in front of. A Normal would have had at least a ruptured ear drum by now, and the butler had stood there in the sunlight with a passive face. That alone spoke volumes. Besides, he had an inkling about what Azrael meant. However, he wanted to hear him say it. So he waited, silently, and tried to get his breath back. He looked down at the table. At least the white ceramic plate was still in one piece.
“I think it’s because of your lack of experience with your particular ability. You’ve overworked yourself, which is normally not possible to this extent. Most people faint before going as far as you did, but perhaps the circumstance didn’t allow it. If you use your qi any more, your body will be at risk.” Glint hadn’t even mentioned to Azrael that his art was based on qi.
Remembering the battle just a month ago and the strength from that day, which he had not been able to summon again, Glint was taken aback only slightly. “Go on,” he urged Azrael.
“You’re feeling weaker,” elaborated the man, still standing as calm as ever with the sunlight framing his figure, “tired, and not just physically. It’s like you have no energy with which to move your body. Well? Am I wrong?”
“No,” Glint answered after a short pause, weighing how angry he was with... well, the reality of the situation. “You aren’t. But am I supposed to just stop? I haven’t achieved anything! I’m still seventeen, for crying out loud!” To think his journey would end here was tragic. Glint had possessed but a day. Was that going to be taken from him? Was he doomed to live a Normal’s life?
Azrael laughed, a short barking laugh which made Glint want to punch him all over again, but then he promised, “No stopping, Glint, just a rest. One month should do it, and then we find you proper training, suitable for your art. In the meantime, I would like you to learn letters, sciences, and other various tidbits. They will prove useful in your future as a guild member.” Glint had thus far been adamant about ignoring his lessons, for he had no interest in being a noble. He’d explained to Azrael that he only wanted to join Quicksilver and be strong.
The butler’s proposition seemed reasonable, but Glint was still suspicious, for a month was a long time to be relaxing in a mansion. “On your honour?” he asked tentatively. A part of him hated the fact that he always went with other’s wishes. However, no one apart from his father had ever explained things this clearly to him. It beat the way Kob had gotten him to do things. Azrael was worth listening to.
The man smiled warmly. There was none of his devilishness in the expression. He set about setting back the chairs that Glint had knocked back in his rage and tutted at the window almost absentmindedly, looking over its cracked service. “Yes, however much of it there actually is. On my honour,” he finally said behind his shoulder. An agreement had been reached.