The Blue Mage Raised by Dragons

Nova peered down at the four staves in his paw. He lowered his ankle, letting the staves roll across his palm. Then he straightened his paw and nodded. He pinched one of the staves and brought it towards the ground where the annoying trio and Mary were waiting. “Who made this one?”

Mary’s hand shot up. “I did.”

“Have you ever considered woodworking for a living?” Nova asked and brought the staff towards Mary. “This is a masterpiece. The lines are perfect. You must have very steady hands or exceptional skill with a sword to cut this cleanly.”

Mary grabbed the staff and stared at it with a blank expression. After a moment, she looked up at Nova. “I’m … good at this?”

“Yep,” Nova said. “You’re amazing at it. That staff is made out of an ordinary tree, but I’m willing to bet magicians all over would fight to have it.”

Mary blinked and looked at the staff again. She stroked the length of it with her palm. There was a thumping sound, and she flinched, jerking her head up. A block of rose-colored wood lay by her feet, longer than she was tall.

“Use that to make a staff for Vur,” Nova said before turning his attention towards the annoying trio. “As for you three, all of your staves are pretty similar. It’s hard to judge whose is better. This one”—he raised a partially burnt staff with gnarls spiraling up its body—“is the best for fire magic.” He placed the first staff onto the ground and raised another. It was wavy, its body twisting and turning. “This one is the best for wind magic.” He placed that one down and lifted the last staff. It was top-heavy, bulging at the top and stick-thin in comparison at the bottom. “And this one is perfect for bludgeoning things.”

Bonnie picked up the top-heavy staff. “Grandpa, I thought this would be perfect for earth magic,” she said, holding it out towards her grandfather. “How do I fix it?”

“Oh, that’s easy,” Nova said and took the staff. He carved away at the top with his claw, evening out the weight distribution. “First you make it perfectly balanced. And then”—he leaned over and picked up a bucket filled with green paint—“you color the top part green.” He dipped the tip of the staff inside as if he were churning butter. Then he pulled the staff out and gave it a twirl, flinging loose paint off. “Easy, see?”

Bonnie blinked at her new staff. She made eye contact with her grandfather. “Does painting it do anything? Why don’t Eldest and Youngest have to paint theirs?”

Nova stroked his chin. “Of course,” he said. “Painting a staff makes it look nice. And I don’t have any red or white paint at the moment, so they can’t paint theirs.”

“I’m done!”

Nova and the annoying trio turned towards Mary. She was holding up a rose-colored staff with scenes of carnage engraved on its side: Soldiers swinging swords, clashing with other soldiers. Soldiers holding the heads of their fallen enemies. Soldiers with their hearts being run through by rose-colored, cold steel. Nova received the staff with his paw and stared at it. “Uh, don’t staves usually depict, um, nature-related things like birds and flowers? Shouldn’t that be the first thing that comes to mind when you’re using such an ancient piece of wood?”

Mary tilted her head and pursed her lips. “Is it bad?”

“No, no,” Nova said, shaking his head. “It looks great, truly a masterpiece. It was just a bit unexpected. Mana also flows through this surprisingly well. I didn’t think such a disharmonious scene would transmit mana so perfectly. Now, the only thing left to do is to paint it green.”

Mary ran up and grabbed Nova’s paw, stopping him just before the staff entered the bucket. She stared at him with wide eyes and shook her head.

“Hmm?” Nova raised an eyebrow. “Oh, you wanted to paint it yourself. I got it.” He handed the staff towards Mary and nudged the bucket closer to her.

Mary bit her lower lip, her gaze switching between the bucket and Nova’s face. She took a step back, hugging the staff to her chest. “Green isn’t a good color for this.”

Nova hummed and furrowed his brow. “I suppose that’s true. But a good artist can make anything look good with a single color.” He sat back on his haunches. “I suppose asking you to do that will be too much though. What color would work best?”

“Blood.”

“…Red? I can make red paint.”

Mary shook her head. “Blood.” She tucked the staff under her right arm and slid her leather glove off of her left. She retrieved the staff with her left hand and drew her sword with her right. Then, before anyone could react, she slashed her left forearm.

Bonnie yelped and backed away, staring at Mary as if she were crazy. Youngest and Eldest crept back too as a steady flow of blood crawled down Mary’s arm and onto the staff, dying the rose-colored wood reddish-black.

“Uh….” Nova scratched his head as Mary twirled the staff, letting her blood coat it evenly. “That’s some serious devotion to art you got there…. Have you ever considered being an artist?”

Mary finished coating the staff and planted it upright in the ground before putting her glove back on. “I don’t know how to make art.”

Nova’s eyes shifted to the staff. “Are you sure about that? Even if you can’t, I can teach you. I always wanted an apprentice, and you two-legged creatures are so small that you can pay more attention to detail than us dragons.”

Mary sat down and exhaled, curling up into a ball. She spoke towards the ground while a turtle shell made of aura wrapped around her, “I don’t know. I have to raise Mary Junior and be best friends with Tafel and try to be friends with Vur. And I’m an empress. Will I have time to learn art?”

Before Nova could respond, a high-pitched voice thundered across the sky, “Nova! You ditched me! That was really mean of you, you old fogey. And I had to carry two birds in my mouth without swallowing; it’s all your fault!”

Prika slammed to the ground like a meteor and spat out two clumps of wet feathers. She shook herself off and looked around, her gaze landing on the annoying trio. “Oh! You three are … too young.” She sighed but sidled up to Eldest and nudged him with her elbow. “Got any older brothers though? Or a single uncle? Perhaps an older cousin?”

Eldest shivered and crept back towards Nova. “Grandpa? Who is this?”

“She’s Prika,” Nova said. “You can ignore her.”