Ashton's hand remained outstretched for a moment.
Long enough for him to feel uncomfortable.
Sir Galen didn't find hope in the comfort of Ashton's words and offer.
He didn't trust them. He didn't believe in the trust required for collaboration.
Even though Ashton was rumored to be of integrity, Sir Galen forced his fingers into a curl, and his hands down into his lap.
All he could think of is the people that had betrayed such trust. It was like an illusion spell had grabbed hold of his mind, his trauma numbed his head and halted his train of thought. The scenes of the people who stole his works, and the look in their eyes as they did so, replayed like video inside of his mind.
His heart rate spiked, but he forced himself to swallow down the panic.
But Ashton had already noticed.
Dropping his hand back to his side, "I can see you need time to think it over, you are free to stay in my home for as long as you like."
As he was opening the door in his exit, Ashton looked back and said his goodbye. "I look forward to your answer, Sir Galen."
[He seemed more than merely hesitant. It was as if he saw something through me]
Ashton wasn't just trying to collaborate on the augmentation magic, he was also after his alchemical expertise. Something he just realized would be harder than he imagined.
Potions were expensive, and high level makers wouldn't bend the knee to a noble family. They preferred the wealth and prestige of independence, enjoyed the gold that was thrown at them over the invisible wall of social divide.
The pair each had something the other wanted, but Sir Galen had more to give - a lot more to lose.
Ashton wanted his partnership but was not going to press the issue.
His mind was already cloudy, again trying to draw a reality as if he was still Invoking. Ashton knew that while his house was politically protected, those with power could always play the game.
He was aware of the lines that were drawn in the sand, hidden beneath the sediment of time. He knew all it took was for someone to shake hard enough, and the traditions that the empire was founded on, would bite him.
He just couldn't put his mind to rest despite his meditation.
[Maybe a change in scenery will help] "Hide"
Casting invisibility, he slid open his bedroom window, launched himself from the sill, and headed toward the colosseum.
Like a bird homing somewhere warm.
It was a slow walk, one that he took relaxed, trying to ease his mind into a focus.
But he couldn't.
The entire walk, he couldn't stop the strategizing of the chess games running in his mind.
It wasn't just hypnotizing his actions and the reactions of his adversary, it was simulation of many different courses happening all at once.
It was deafening.
A storm without an eye to die down.
He tried to grab and embrace his brain with mana, how he was with his muscles, but it was futile.
Ashton had it his limit. He was tired, not only mentally, but in every which way.
He was upset with how despite his efforts, his situation was unchanged.
There was still a threat looming over his family, loyalist, and citizens.
It was like a switch had forced his brain into inverting, his actions no longer became about himself.
He needed knights of his own, people that fight strictly fight when he does.
[Should I just kill him...]
His eyes became flushed in heat and his blood ran cold.
He was seriously considering assassination, [It would be easy, none of his guards can combat my dark arts]
As he planned the crime, it became clear he couldn't commit it. Within his territory, his family would be the prime suspect.
Even if they were found innocent, they would still be blamed for the breach in security.
While the plan faded from thought, his resolve remained, and his mind became clear.
It wasn't just clarity, it brought intense focus, shaped by desire.
Training.
All he could feel was mana. In the air and the smooth racing of his own.
Ashton took a seat in the dirt pit of the arena, the dust kicked up in the wind tickling his nose was inconsequential. He didn't feel it or the eyes of the knight's gaze upon him.
All he could feel was the mana absorbed by his pores, the flow and combination of new mana meeting old.
It was like freshwater meeting salt water. The two energies were the same, yet different, only slightly combining.
The fresh mana circulated his pathways with high velocity, then pounced on his heart.
Finally, Ashton took guide of it. He condensed the mana in place, while still absorbing more.
The thin newly acquired energy, like weaving cloth into robes or bricks into foundations, gets condensed into form by Ashton.
It was delicate, but procedure. Something all mages have done, he was creating another circle.
The circle that truly opens a mage to the reality warping potential of mana.
The first three were about accumulation, of not only mana but theory, learning the basics and becoming proficient in application or utilization. The third circle was the limit of most humans, stepping beyond it, wasn't about training or effort.
The fourth circle took a bond with mana, it took its permission to form.
It was when spellcasting became complex, when magic circles become capable of mixing and combining.
His breakthrough came suddenly, he was unprepared and unguarded.
Yet, he seized the moment, unsure of when he would have the opportunity again.
As he opened his eyes, his mana now perfectly in cohesion, blended and in sync.
He didn't immediately notice the formation of his knights protecting him, he instead casted magic on the colosseums shadow.
It worked, the shadow rose like spears from the ground, but it was rigid and didn't last long.
[I need to learn more of shadow theory]
Rising from his meditative position, Ashton looks down at the knights who are kneeling.
"Rise." Cold and steady, his voice shoots the men to their feet. "Show me to the incinerators body."