The next generation (The strings of fate)

Marocelli's POV

Maro had spent the next month training with Deacon on protecting his mind. Deacon had also been teaching Constance about the removal of magic. His family had managed to perfect the spell and Deacon allowed Constance to copy it in her grimoire.

Deacon finally had Maro start on the black magic spells. Maro had been terrified, he'd stop frequently as his skin crawled and he became almost physically sick when casting the spells. Constance watched in worry, her hands wringing the end of her robes.

They had started small just as Deacon had suggested. Small summoning spells, black magic was definitely easier to work with but it was a struggle for Maro to keep his mind completely protected. There were times he felt himself slip, and in a panic he would stop everything and rush off to cleanse himself. Deacon didn't stop him or say anything about this, he'd just watch and wait until Maro came back to try again.

They slowly moved on to creative spells, Deacon taught him to make weapons and other objects that the black magic could form into. It was strange for Maro but as his confidence grew the more he tried. He spent hours practicing, focusing on protecting himself while he worked with the magic. He'd forget to eat, spending hours by himself outside with Deacon watching from the doorway of the house. Maro would work out and at the same time he was training his body he would use the black magic in other ways.

Maro stood on his hands, holding himself straight in the air, sweat beaded his face and ran into his long hair that trailed in the dirt. He kept his eyes open, focusing on his mental wall as he summoned the black magic. It seemed out of his skin, slithering up his arms and around his body. It stopped his arms from shaking, steadying him and relieving the ache of his muscles. Maro pushed more, his toes pointed to the sky as he lifted one hand slowly off the ground. The black magic swirled around his other, keeping him centered and stable. His excitement spiked and in the moment his protective shell slipped ever so slightly. The black magic rushed to the sliver of the opening.

Maro's arm crumbled from the loss of stability. Anger swirled in him, he collapsed and pounded his fist into the grass, a curse clear on his lips. Constance watched from the kitchen with sad eyes, his plate of uneaten food still at the table. She looked back at her note book after a few minutes, Deacon had also been helping her on a spell she was trying to create. It was almost finished but was still missing something and she couldn't put her finger on it.

Maro kept trying, becoming more and more frustrated. Even as it started to become dark again, Deacon sat at the table watching.

"He's stubborn." He said to Constance. Maro could barely hear them. He paid no mind to what they said, concentrating on his progress. She nodded at Deacon distractedly as she watched Maro.

"He hasn't eaten anything all day..." she said worriedly.

"He's being powered by something else. He'll feel the hunger soon." Deacon answered.

"I hope so..." she trailed off and picked around her food lightly.

"You should be preparing yourself for worse than worrying about how he is now. Be stronger or he won't have the support you think you're willing to give him." Deacon said seriously. He had a tendency to be blunt with her, his honesty like a sharp blade.

Constance looked at him with a new glint of determination. She nodded to him in thanks for putting her in check. "You're right." Her voice steeled.

"Considering how quickly he's learning, you'll be able to head back north in about three weeks. Depending." Deacon added the last word softly. Maro continued working, sweat dripping off his body. He could hear everything as his senses were heightened. But he tuned it out, used to them chattering in the background.