I walked up the stairs at a moderate pace, step by step.
I would be lying if I claimed I wasn't nervous.
Restlessly, I ran a hand through my hair.
Quickly, I went through Aurelius'—no, my—memories.
I inhaled and exhaled once, approaching the ornate wooden door that led to the salon. It opened automatically as I drew near.
A cheerful voice reached my ears.
"Aurelius? Is that you?"
The voice revealed itself as my mother's. She sat with her back to me on a sofa, placed opposite a crackling fireplace. The flames burned brightly, casting flickering shadows across her face.
"Good evening, Mother. Yes, it is me, Aurelius."
She turned her head, and her mesmerizing golden eyes came into view.
"I heard from Billy that you fell to the ground and got a nosebleed."
"Yes, that's true. I wasn't paying attention for a moment …"
She raised an eyebrow and smirked.
"Is that really what happened, Aurelius~?"
Her eyes glowed brighter at the question, golden particles streaming out. Liquid gold — that was the only way to describe them.
It felt as though my mother was peering directly into my soul.
Goosebumps spread across my skin. My insides clenched with nervousness.
Had she found it out?
No … the nosebleed and bleeding eyes had only been from magical overexertion.
Still, perhaps it wouldn't hurt to tell her about my wandless magic.
"Yes, Mother. I'm sorry I lied, I didn't want you to worry... After lunch, I practiced magic, but I pushed myself too hard. That's why I had the nosebleed…"
My mother looked surprised, then thoughtful. She folded her hands in her lap and murmured softly, "Wandless magic, at this age already … well, considering your connection to Mother Magic, it's not that surprising …"
Since I couldn't quite make out her muttering, I asked, "Pardon? What did you say, Mother?"
"Oh, nothing important, Aurelius. Tell me instead about your lesson with Sophie."
It was definitely something important …
"It was interesting, Mother. Especially the story of why we can no longer freely practice our traditions, since the Ministry forbade them."
She brushed a silver-white strand of hair behind her ear.
"Oh? Sophie explained that to you already?"
"Yes, she did," I replied, though the question had clearly been rhetorical—after all, no five-year-old would normally understand such things.
I seized the chance to ask a question of my own, born from my reading earlier.
"Mother, I began reading the book The Heart of a Wizard: The Magical Core in the library, and I have a few questions … For example, it mentioned Inner Gifts, and something called a connection to magic."
For the second time that evening, she looked surprised.
"My, my, Aurelius—you've grown. Already reading books about magic."
She ruffled my hair gently.
"Originally, I wanted to teach you this magical knowledge on Friday. But it won't make much difference if you learn a little earlier. I'll explain it over dinner. It's already late, and you should sleep soon."
She called for Billy to prepare the meal.
Once the table was set, we sat down across from each other.
I examined the food on my plate: meat brushed with herbs, served alongside roasted vegetables. After a few moments, I still couldn't identify either the meat or the vegetables. In the end, I assumed they were magical in origin.
Out of courtesy, I waited until my mother began eating. But instead, she sat with folded hands and closed eyes.
Slowly, she opened them again, framed by long silver lashes that shimmered in the candlelight.
She spoke:
"Mother Magic, source of life
we thank you for these gifts of earth and flesh.
Bless this meal with your current,
that our bodies may find strength,
our minds hold clarity,
and our souls remain bound to you.
May our magic grow in connection with you.
Praise you, Mother of all things."
The golden light in her eyes receded but did not vanish completely.
So wizards had a kind of religion.
Interesting.
I picked up my utensils as she did and began cutting the meat.
A soothing, peaceful atmosphere filled the dining room. Only the sound of cutlery and the chewing of meat and vegetables broke the silence.
My mother interrupted it: "As you already learned from The Heart of a Wizard: The Magical Core, every wizard is born with a certain percentage of connection to Mother Magic."
"Yes. One is considered a wizard if the connection is greater than ten percent," I replied.
She nodded approvingly. "Exactly. But that is not all. Regardless of one's stage of maturation, certain abilities are granted according to that percentage."
"What kinds of abilities?"
"At 30%, a wizard can strengthen their body with magic."
"At 70%, they may practice the mental arts."
"At 80%, they gain what is called Wizard's Pressure—the tangible force exerted by one's active magic upon their surroundings."
"At 90%, a Wizard awakens a Domain—a magical space they create, where their spells work flawlessly and are greatly amplified. Each Domain is unique and reflects the Inner Gift. But the magical power required is immense, which is why wizards can only use one fifth maturation."
"The pinnacle lies at 95%—the magical form. In this state, all abilities are enhanced many times over. Yet again, the magical cost is tremendous, so this usually manifests only after the sixth maturation."
I stared at her wide-eyed. A Domain? Wizard's Pressure? A magical form?
This was nothing like the Harry Potter books I had read at ten years old.
She noticed my astonished expression and smiled faintly.
"Has anyone ever reached 100%?" I asked.
At that, she grew thoughtful.
"No, never. The highest known value in modern times was Albus Dumbledore, at 97.1%. He was born with 94% and, over more than a century, increased it by only 3.1%. Beyond 95%, further progress is nearly impossible. It's already a miracle he reached so far."
"A wizard born with 50% might increase their connection by 25 to 30% over their lifetime.
But one born with 90% may be fortunate to raise it by just 2 or 3%."
She folded her hands together and rested her chin upon them.
"The higher the number, the harder it becomes to rise. Still, it is important—every wizard must work to strengthen their connection to Mother Magic. Yet the Inner Gift is just as vital—perhaps even more so."
"The Inner Gift may awaken at age 7, 11, or 14. It is inherent, inseparable from us, and passed down within the family."
"Our family, the Shafiq, possess the Eyes of Mysteries." She gestured toward her golden eyes.
"Simply put, it allows us to see magic itself."
"Other families, such as the Blacks, command the shadows."
"The Greengrass family are nature elementals."
"Families like the Greengrass possess much larger magical cores. Controlling the forces of nature—plants, for instance—requires vastly greater amounts of magic. Over generations, they evolved stronger cores to provide the enormous energy their abilities demand. Whether this is the whole truth, however, is debatable. Personally, I remain skeptical."
"Since our gift is not combat-based, we were not blessed with a large core. But in exchange, our family leads the field of magical theory."
"When your Inner Gift awakens, you will understand why."
In silence, I digested her words.
Inner Gifts. Wizard's Pressure. Domains. Magical form. Elementals. Shadow users.
All new. All fascinating.
I should have felt fear.
Instead, excitement surged through me.
"Aurelius? Aurelius!"
My mother's voice shook me from my thoughts.
"I can see how much this excites you, but it's time to sleep now. Tomorrow at nine, you have language lessons. You need your rest."
"Oh, yes, of course, Mother. I'll go to bed now."
I rose and made my way to the stairs.
"Aurelius."
"Yes, Mother?"
"When you practice wandless magic, do not overexert yourself. It could bring severe consequences..."
I studied her face. She seemed genuinely concerned—her brows furrowed, her expression grave.
"I'll be careful, Mother."
"Sleep well, Aurelius."
"Good night, Mother."
***
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