Chapter 16: FRIH - 16
The era resembled ancient Rome or Greece; simple white robes, fastened with bronze clasps, were elegant. Sandals clacked on sun-warmed stones. Merchants called out from behind carts, peddling fruits, leather goods, and glowing implements. The scent of bread, wine, and flowers filled the air.
Ronan and Frieren walked through the bustling marketplace. The clamor of commerce, footsteps, laughter, bartering, created a steady rhythm. Ronan's gaze scanned the surroundings, relaxed yet attentive. Frieren, more reserved, stayed close.
Sunlight dappled through towering sycamores, casting shadows. Light filtered through in rippling patterns. Despite its classical feel, the town pulsed with magical devices embedded in the walls, sconces glowing without fire, enchantments reinforcing stone.
Passersby glanced at Frieren; elves were rare. Their ears, beauty, and grace marked them as different. Some stared with curiosity, others with unease. Children paused, mouths agape. Older townsfolk whispered. Frieren ignored it. Her mind was elsewhere.
She pondered: did high-temperature magic require a staff? Ronan's spellcasting played in her memory, fast, precise, unembellished. No chants, focus objects, or dramatic gestures. Just a snap of his fingers.
She'd initially assumed it was flair. But it wasn't about spectacle; it was mechanical, measured, intentional. A subconscious gesture, enhancing presence, not power. Anyone could mimic the motion, but the magic remained elusive.
"Still thinking about that?" Ronan asked, seemingly reading her thoughts.
She blinked, startled. "Don't worry; all magic is unique. Like the water magic you taught me."
His tone was calm. He looked up, lost in thought, at a tree branch where doves cooed. "Because it requires imagining water vapor condensing, it's usually used as a water cannon. But there are exceptions: water needles, water bullets."