Startled, he stepped back. Pointing his finger towards her, his pale smooth face shook in anger.<br/><br/>“Impudent child,” he seethed. “Were you one of my students, you would be shackled in the dungeon, with its rats as your companions, for that mouth.”<br/><br/>The air of the room was thick with tension. The alchemy master was unaccustomed to such disrespect.<br/><br/>As he opened his mouth to speak again, the empty torch containers near the entrance to Master Kastadel’s chambers slowly lit a soft blue. A kind and wise voice emanated from the emerging colors, as a tall elderly man in flowing purple robes stepped forward.<br/><br/>“As it is, she is not.” He said with the look of a father calmly breaking up a family feud.<br/><br/>His face was old, with cracks in his skin from the passage of time, and held a long white mustache and beard. The elder mages of the age on occasion have suggested he shave it because of the stereotype. But he often remarked that he found it quite distinguishable. ‘A mage’s hair is a symbol of them, and carries distinction.’ This followed with a wink and a smile.<br/><br/>Despite his age, which none have been able to accurately guess, his eyes were fierce and reflected a sharp power which seemed to shimmer in the air around him. Rumors have circulated over the years from the village folk regarding his origins. Some say that he wasn't born, but molded from energy. The legend of his arrival from a lightning storm has been passed down through the generations. Of course his response to this was usually a wink and a light-hearted joke. He loved to play up the mystery.<br/><br/>Slowly stepping as if walking on clouds, he outstretched his arms and smiled at the sight of her.<br/><br/>“Reira, it’s wonderful of you to come.”