Only two days had passed, but it felt as if they had been swept away by a fierce storm. Time slipped through my fingers, and although each dawn reaffirmed my decision to go to the Magic Institute, doubts still lingered in my mind. My parents insisted that they had everything planned, that I shouldn't worry... but could I really stay at the Institute? Or would I end up living with Master Ravenscroft and his wife? Would I have to work for someone? Would I simply be a freeloader in a world that doesn't belong to me?
And if everyone there is noble... How will they see the arrival of a commoner like me?
"Why is everyone so calm while I'm racking my brain thinking about this?"
That question echoed in my mind like a constant refrain. But there was no time to stop.
Finishing the fencing part and the footwork exercises. My body was shouting it to me in its own way, amidst aches and wild heartbeats, but not from exhaustion, rather from pride. Of hunger. Today would be the day. Today, I would break the twenty-step barrier.
I knew I still had much to learn with the sword, that my technique was rudimentary, young, barely born. But the training of the last few days, race after race, effort after effort, had tempered my legs. And if there was a moment to prove it, it was now.
I took a deep breath, extended my arms, and formed the two magical spheres in my hands. I moved forward.
Two steps. Four. Eight. The number fourteen came like an invisible wall: the weight of my muscles turned to lead, my feet seemed to sink into the ground. But no. Not today. Today would be different.
"No!" I shouted inwardly, as a challenge to my own limit.
The breathing turned into a gasp. The heart was pounding as if it wanted to escape from my chest. But each step was a promise, a roar that said "I will not give up."
Nineteen... twenty...
Ravenscroft observed from a distance. His face was inscrutable, caught between a smile and silent attention. Maybe he was having fun, or maybe he was waiting to intervene if I collapsed. But I felt him there. Always attentive. Always prepared.
But I didn't stop.
Twenty-one.
Twenty-two.
Twenty-three…
Every part of my body burned, begging for a truce. But I clung to the idea of going beyond the goal, as if taking an extra step could change something deep within me. And when my strength finally faded, I fell to my knees. The ground welcomed me as both a punishment and a relief at the same time.
Even so, I smiled. I smiled with fury, with pride.
—Enough! —I gasped, my chest heaving—. More than twenty steps...
After catching my breath, I looked up and, without losing that thread of victory, I demanded:
"Now keep your word, master." He promised to explain to me how to distinguish between nobles and warriors.
Ravenscroft raised an eyebrow, his smile crooked like an old wolf.
—And I thought you had already forgotten about that.
"Not at all," I replied, still catching my breath.
"Very well," he said, crossing his arms. Although I warn you... it's more complex than it seems. It has its nuances.
—Why?
—Because physical traits can be deceiving. Having a noble attribute does not make you noble. There are exceptions. Anomalies. Mixed blood. Or mere chance.
—What do you mean?
—For example, among demons, crimson hair is usually associated with the highest lineage. Next come the golden and silver, which are sometimes considered equal. Lower down are the blues, the greens... and any other color outside that scale is associated with lower castes.
"And the horns?" I asked with genuine curiosity.
—Ah, horns are fundamental. Those that curve downward, like those of a ram, usually have a strong affinity for magic. On the other hand, those that point to the sky, sharp as spears, are natural warriors. But the most dangerous... —his voice dropped a tone— are the ones with broken horns as I had already mentioned.
—Yes, but why?
—As they come from dark heritages. They have an affinity for both combat and magic, and they rarely follow rules. If you ever come across one... pray that it isn't in a bad mood.
I remained silent, processing each word. There was so much I didn't know, so much I was just beginning to touch with the tips of my fingers. The world was vaster and more complex than I ever imagined.
"Among the dragons," Ravenscroft continued, "the silver lineage rises above all." Not only for their magical power, but for the weight of the blood that runs through their veins. They are the heirs of the first bonds with the celestial fire.
He paused, contemplating his next words.
—But don't get me wrong. Other colors have their own virtues. Black, for example, tends to produce more aggressive, unpredictable individuals... like storms contained beneath a skin of scales. The red, the gold, the emerald... each one reflects a different hue of the draconic soul. But that —he said, squinting his eyes— you'll have to discover for yourself. There are things that cannot be understood with words... only with experience.
"And something else," he added, as if recalling an important detail. Both dragons and demons have wings.
I opened my eyes, surprised.
"Wings... really?"
"Yes," he nodded. Royal wings, as majestic as they are lethal. But they are not something you will see easily. Their use is heavily restricted outside their territories.
"Why?" I asked, unable to hide my curiosity.
"—Because in this world, even flying can be an act of war —he replied in a grave tone—." When a dragon or a demon spreads its wings on foreign land, it is interpreted as a direct threat. A political gesture that could unleash large-scale conflicts. Such is the fragility of peace.
He made a subtle grimace, as if he disliked the topic.
—And believe me, son... if I talked to you about politics right now, we would lose weeks, and your training would go down the drain. You don't want to hear me lecture about treaties, pacts, and betrayals.
I let out a brief laugh, but nodded.
—I understand. So... What about the semi-humans?
—They... are different. They don't believe in lineages or titles. Nobility, for them, is a useless construct. Their respect is not inherited: it is earned. They only follow leaders who have proven their worth with deeds, not with blood.
He thought about it for a moment, and then murmured with a certain appreciation:
"They are the most united race I know." Among them, there is no abandonment, nor betrayal for convenience. Their strength lies in the pack... and in loyalty. Perhaps, of all the races, they are the ones who have understood the most what it truly means to belong to something. Humans... could learn a lot from them.
I remained silent, this time not out of lack of words, but out of respect.
I took a deep breath, letting the moment settle like a stone thrown into a calm lake. Then, with some hesitation, I gathered the courage to speak.
—I also wanted to ask you... What are the aquatic beings really like? —I said, rummaging through my memory—. I only remember hearing that they are vain and proud, but not much more.
—Oh, really? Wow, then I was wrong... —he said with a half-smile—. Sorry, sometimes my memory plays tricks on me.
—The aquatic ones... are living sculptures. Walking alongside one is like contemplating a work of art in motion. Their skin reflects light like water itself, their eyes seem to contain fragments of the ocean, and their voice, when they sing, is like the murmur of a deep current. Beauty... yes, but also mystery.
He paused.
—Now then, among them, the nobles not only stand out… they shine. There is no possible comparison. It is not a common beauty; it's as if the sea itself had shaped them. Their nobility is not measured in jewels or castles, but in the ancestral strength they carry in their blood. Some say they were the first to speak with the water god. Maybe it's true. Maybe not. But what is certain... is that their presence leaves a mark.
"There's something else, a unique characteristic among the aquatic ones," said Ravenscroft, with that measured tone he used when revealing ancient knowledge.
—Feature? What do you mean?
"The metamorphosis," he replied, letting the word float in the air like an ancient secret.
I frowned.
—Metamorphosis...?
He nodded slowly.
—Yes. The aquatic beings have the ability to completely alter their physical form. It is a profound transformation, not just superficial. They adapt their bodies to walk among us as if they were born on solid ground. They change their limbs, their skin, even their breathing. It is a process as natural for them as breathing is for us... although it remains a sacred act, reserved only for those with significant reasons.
He paused briefly, and in his eyes, something more than mere knowledge was reflected: respect.
—It's not a spell, nor an illusion. It is a real transition, a rite that, in their culture, involves momentarily abandoning the essence of the sea to coexist with those who dwell under the sun. Some say that, during the metamorphosis, they feel as if their soul is divided in two: one part remains anchored to the ocean... and the other ventures to walk the land.
I nodded in silence, fascinated. That was much more than a simple physical change. It was like renouncing, even if only for a time, the voice of the water that gave them meaning.
So, without giving me time to digest it all. The tone of his voice changed. He became more sober, more intimate. Ravenscroft continued softly:
"As I mentioned before, we live for so long that nobility as such loses its meaning." Eternity erases titles. But we do have symbols, and one of the most important ones is the earrings. It's not about decoration. Each one represents an act, a merit, a life of value. A village leader carries at least three. A hero can carry two. The most respected engineers, scholars, and healers also wear them... not out of vanity, but for what they represent.
He turned slightly towards me.
—You don't need to know everything about elves, Drake. Just remember this: if you don't know who you're facing, just bow your head and show respect. That can save you more than once. And if you ever see an elf with more than three earrings... remember that you are in the presence of someone who has given their life for their kin.
I remained silent for a moment, reflecting. Then I let out what had been going around in my mind for a long time:
—Master… Don't you think it's a bit unfair to us humans?
"Unfair?" he repeated, without mockery, just with curiosity.
—We are not born with wings. We don't have horns, scales, or tails. The other races have more magical affinity, live longer, endure wounds better... and we, we are just... human. Fragile. Common.
"Maybe you're right," he admitted, straightforwardly. But never underestimate what a human can do when they decide to push their own limits. Not by birth. Not by privilege. But by choice.
His words fell like a deep echo. And, suddenly, I understood something beyond the physical. I understood that, perhaps, our greatest strength was precisely that: having nothing... and yet, wanting everything.
But even so, a doubt remained lodged in my mind, and although I didn't say it out loud, it accompanied me for the rest of the day.
My teacher... always so elegant, so reserved. But unlike my mother, I have never seen him wear a single earring. Not a single one. Is he hiding them on purpose? Could it be that their story is darker... or brighter than I imagine?
Maybe someday I'll find out. Or maybe not.
Maybe there are stories that even the wisest prefer to bury.
Even, someday, I myself might have one to hide.
***
Please provide the text you would like me to translate.
The next day arrived with the speed of an arrow shot into the sky. After waking up, I followed my usual routine: a bath before lunch, and then, training. My thoughts wandered in another direction.
Since she had learned to conjure water, filling the old wooden tub had become a thing of the past. But winter was approaching, and with it, the relentless cold that pierced the bones. If I could find a way to heat the water magically, without having to rely on firewood, maybe... it could make things easier at home. I caressed the surface of the water with the tip of my finger, thoughtful.
—What do I have to lose by just trying? —I murmured.
I raised a hand cautiously, evoking what I had learned with Ravenscroft. I closed my eyes and remembered the heat of the fireplace, the bright red of the flames, the comforting crackle of the wood burning. The fire appeared in my palm, alive and restless. Then, with the other hand, I summoned a sphere of water, serene, translucent.
The contrast was immediate. The water, calm and solemn. The fire, vibrant and fierce. I tried to maintain both at the same time, but the fire didn't keep the perfect shape that I achieved with the water. Their flames danced without obeying, as if mocking my attempts.
I sighed. It was clear that it wasn't that simple.
"You better ask Ravenscroft before you set the house on fire," I said, half joking, half serious. Although... thinking about it, being with him, I am expanding my vocabulary in an amazing way.
***
While stretching my muscles to start the daily jog, I decided to tackle the topic.
—Master, you told me you would start with the water. But... What would happen if I also started practicing with fire?
Ravenscroft didn't even flinch. He just turned his head towards me with a slight smile.
—Nothing. On the contrary, it would be the best for you. I told you from the first day: magic is imagining... and creating.
—And is there any problem with learning on my own?
—You can do it, of course. But if you do it without guidance, you'll only scratch the surface: spheres of water, fire, earth, wind. But other magics like lightning, ice, light, or darkness... those require much more. Structure. Spells. Recitation. And comprehension.
—And what if I want to go beyond the spheres? —I asked.
—Then you should learn to recite. Study. Fail. And try again. I don't oppose, Drake. I prefer a self-taught student over one who just waits for orders.
—I was asking because this morning I was thinking about a way to boil water for winter showers. But... I don't want to end up burning down my house —I confessed, shrugging my shoulders.
Ravenscroft chuckled softly.
—Excellent reasoning. There is a way, yes, but it is not easy. It requires precision, balance... and patience. Think about it.
—Hmm… using water and fire at the same time?
—Well, but think a little more. How would you prevent the water from putting out the fire?
I remained silent. Ravenscroft was watching me with an arched eyebrow and that expression of his, "let's see if you're more stubborn than curious."
—Fire in one hand and water in the other...? And I bring them as close as possible?
—Do you think that will be enough to heat all the water?
—No... it will just be a part.
"Exactly," he nodded. You must find the exact point where both forces can coexist... without destroying each other. The balance between opposites. It's difficult, but not impossible.
—Isn't it too complex to achieve?
"When has the path of magic ever been easy?" he replied, almost with a kind mockery.
Then, without saying more, he extended his arm to the side and slightly turned his hand. A small stream of water began to flow from his palm. Silent... until I saw the steam.
I approached without thinking. I touched it with the tip of my finger... and let out a whimper. It was hot. I had burned myself.
I looked at him, astonished. He didn't say anything. He just gave me a smile. It wasn't mocking... it was teaching. Those that say without words: this is how it's done... when you truly understand it.
That gesture, so simple in appearance, would mark a before and after. It was not just a display of power. It was a lesson.
The world doesn't always wait for you to be ready. Magic opened doors for me... but darkness also knew how to find its own.