An inexplicable invitation, an inexplicable teacher.
Ruger elegantly lifted his half-full cup of fruit tea to his lips. The freshly brewed tea from the Crystal Stove was still steaming, making the teacher before him seem even more unreal.
The teacher before him overlapped in his mind with the teacher in his memories.
Their faces were already almost identical, yet he could never quite reconcile this face with the one he had seen only a few times. It was as though the steam from his cup distorted them, or perhaps differences beyond their appearances kept them from merging in Ruger's mind.
Ruger poured his teacher a cup of Sour Mushroom Wine and brought up the subject of wizard families.
He had made a discovery, or rather, sensed something: the teacher before him seemed to be in a blank state. Whenever Ruger raised a subject, his teacher would recall things related to it, coloring in that blankness. But he could not remember everything-such as what, exactly, had happened to him.
Ruger glanced at the exquisite invitation at the corner of the table, with no intention of picking it up.
Ten days passed in the blink of an eye.
Varin was taking longer than he had expected.
He naturally continued his daily meditation and spell practice. On the few occasions when he rested during those ten days, he stayed in the Wooden House. Though Varin had not appeared, he still trusted his own judgment.
As for his teacher, the peculiar Sir Immanuel, he had naturally been given a room in the Wooden House as well, but he still spent most of his time by the cliff.
Like a sage contemplating alone.
Ruger guessed that he, too, was pondering what had happened to him.
The table and chairs brought out that day had never