"Wake up, Lazy Old Man! Wake up, Lazy Old Man!"
Demond groaned and rolled over, his eyes squinting against the blinding sunlight that had somehow managed to sneak past his curtains. The incessant chanting grew louder, sharp shrieks that announced a new beginning to yet another sweltering day of 'making breakfast, then sleeping again', the perfect life for a retired, old mage, the dreams of a modern man's 'economically self-sufficient' plan.
"Wake up, Old Man! Old man? Stupid old man! Perverted Old Man! Wake up!"
"That last one is really uncalled for…" Demond, the pervert groaned as he rolled over in his bed. His limbs creaked as his beard fell onto the floor, a testament to his laziness for trimming. With a bit of grudge, he stared at his 'daughter-voiced' alarm clock, a parrot he'd named Pippy, which was currently dancing on the windowsill, flapping its wings and squawking to the rhythm of the morning chorus.
"Wakey wakey! Time for peace and your v-card gone!"
Chuckling in defeat, the old man pushed himself out of bed, his ancient bones protesting every inch of the way. He stretched his long, wrinkled arms, his hands reaching for the heavens in a silent plea for the strength to endure the day ahead. The parrot, seemingly satisfied with its performance, took a dramatic bow, its feathers fluttering gracefully in the early morning breeze.
Yet unbefitting the grace of an old mage, as he stepped out of his bed, his step slipped on a bundle of straw-like material, his head smacking the edge of the bed. As his sour throat groaned, he realised his long beard had a new accessory—a crumpled footprint.
"Clumsy Old Man! Dummy Old-Aaaaaaah!"
Demond's grumble was cut short by a shriek from Pippy, as the petty old mage reflexively threw a fireball at the ceiling, narrowly missing the parrot. The flaming projectile created a small explosion, showering the room with sparks and dust. The blast knocked a few scrolls off their precarious perches, and they fluttered down like leaves in an autumn breeze.
"One more, parrot. And we will have you for dinner tonight." Demond's eyes narrowed into slits, the playfulness gone as he bent down to pick up his beard. He examined the footprint with a furrowed brow, then turned to glower at the bird. "Any guest today?"
Pippy ruffled her feathers, looking innocent. "None! None! Stay in your house, Old Man!" she squawked, clearly enjoying the little game she played every morning.
Sighing, Demond picked up his beard from the floor, shaking off the dust and reattach it to his chin with a magical twirl of his fingers. The parrot cackled, flapping its wings in excitement as it watched the display of magic. Despite his grumbling, the old mage couldn't help but feel a spark of energy as he went through the motions of his morning routine.
A coffee always hit the spot, so Demond shuffled into his kitchen, the wooden floorboards creaking under his weight. He rummaged through his messy pantry, his eyes finally landing on a jar labeled 'Essence of Dragon's Breath'. The potent aroma of the coffee beans promised to kick start his day like nothing else. The grinder roared to life, the smell of freshly ground beans filling the room as he carefully measured out a spoonful. The sound of boiling water and the sizzle of hot oil filled the air as he began cooking his breakfast.
Srambled eggs, it is then. The old mage smiled as he hummed a tune from his high school days, his hoarse throat giving it an eerie twist that would've made any musician cringe. His kitchen, a companion to his culinary laziness, was a chaotic symphony of half-empty jars, dusty cauldrons, and forgotten ingredients that had morphed into something unidentifiable. Yet amidst this chaos, Demond managed to whip up a decent breakfast, his hands moving with a surprising grace for their age.
The sizzle of eggs in the pan was accompanied by the crackle of a small fire he'd started with a flick of his wrist. He tossed in some dried herbs he'd picked from his garden last week, uncombed even when the pixies of old age played hide and seek with his memory. The aroma filled the room, mixing with the faint scent of dust and ancient tomes that lined the walls of his small cottage. The flame danced under the pan, reflecting in his eyes, which had lost none of their sharpness despite the years.
Reminds him the university days, the fire, the flame, the smell of burnt things... He chuckled in nostalgia, flipping the eggs with a spatula that looked suspiciously like a wand. The eggs, however, remained stubbornly unflipped. Then, he tried and failed to catch the pan with his bare hand, dropping the spatula in surprise. The eggs landed on the floor, and Pippy took off, squawking in terror.
"Shut it…" Demond mumbled as he bent down to pick up the spatula, his knees cracking like dry twigs. He glared at Pippy, who had taken refuge on top of the bookshelf, feathers puffed out like a tiny, feathery dragon. The parrot squawked something unintelligible but with a clear tone of mockery.
Rolling his eyes, as if facing an old friend, Demond grabbed a dustpan and began cleaning up his breakfast mishap. The floorboards protested with every step, echoing his own grumbling. The former university student can't believe it, but that cliche line of 'it's not like this back in the old days' actually applied to him.
Once the eggs were safely back in the pan, he tried again, this time with more caution, the rest of the cooking session went on without further incidents. As he plated his food, the aroma of the spiced eggs wafted through the air, tantalizing his taste buds and reminding him that breakfast was indeed a meal worth waking up for.
His sipped his coffee with a satisfied 'Ah', letting the heat warm him from the inside out. The caffeine hit him like a bolt of lightning, jolting his sluggish thoughts into action, a perfect rememberance for the written assignments he had to wade through. He sat at his small, round table, surrounded by the clutter of a life well-lived. The plank was scarred with burn marks from past experiments, and the chairs were held together by nothing more than spider webs and hope.
As he took his first bite of eggs, his wrinkled eyes fluttered to the sight of something…light. Literally, light. A glowing envelope sat on the table, untouched by the mess around it, as if it was placed there by invisible hands. He stared at it, chewing his food slower.
"Come to steal breadcrumbs again, pixy?" Demond said to the 'light', his voice casual and his warm eyes still on the glowing envelope.
The light swirled and danced, as if trying to convey a message. Demond watched as it blinked around like a fly trapped in a jar, her form unmistakable, even if she had decided to visit him in her ethereal form.
"I get it I get it…clean up the room, you say?" Demond said to the pixy as he eyed the envelope. The light grew brighter, and the pixy's laughter chimed like the tinkling of tiny bells.
"But I refuse!" Demond exclaimed, swiping a hand through the air as the light dissipated, the pixy's laughter still ringing in his ears. He stabbed a piece of egg with his fork, eyeing the envelope warily. "One of this Demond Rohan's absolute favourite things to do, is to tell someone who I think is weak, 'no'-"
The old mage choked on the egg, his eyes widened in disappointment for his failed reference. He cleared his throat with some rough slurping and picked up the envelope with a trembling hand, feeling the warmth emanating from it. The parchment was of the finest quality, with intricate runes tracing the edges that shimmered with an arcane energy that seemed almost alive. His heart began to race as he recognized the seal - it was from the Royal Council.