Year 1459 of the Holy Calendar – Kingdom of Horsin, Village of Shuru
Old man Harn smelled like onions and smoke.
"Listen up, you little troublemakers," he wheezed, waving his bony hand. "Since they dragged you out here to help with lanterns, I'll show you a trick so you don't set your hair on fire."
Shuru was getting ready for the Harvest Vigil. Oil lanterns hung from poles and doorways. Rough paper charms with drawings of wheat and the sun fluttered in the evening breeze. For grown-ups it was about giving thanks for the harvest. For the kids, it was about staying up past bedtime.
Alaric, Joren, and Lena huddled around Harn behind the tavern, where he'd commandeered an empty crate as his throne.
"Is this real magic?" Joren asked, eyes wide.
"Of course it is," Harn grumbled. "Not all magic is big flashy stuff. This is the kind that keeps you from tripping over your own feet in the dark." He snapped his fingers; a tiny flame jumped to life on his thumb.
Lena gasped. "Whoa. Again!"
"In a minute." Harn's gaze slid to Alaric. "You. Quiet boy. You tried this already, didn't you?"
"A little," Alaric admitted. "It worked once."
"Hah. Good. Means you can feel the mana. The rest is practice." Harn scraped a quick circle into the packed dirt with his boot, adding a few crooked symbols. "This circle here is just to help you imagine it. 'Fire in the hand.' Doesn't do anything by itself."
He held his palm over the circle. "You pull a bit of mana from the air, down your arm, into your fingertips. Not a lot. Just enough. Then you tell it, 'Burn small, stay where I put you.' Like asking a stubborn mule to stand still."
"That's a weird mule," Lena said.
"Still quieter than you," Harn shot back, and snapped his fingers. The little flame appeared again, steady this time.
Alaric watched his hand, but more than that, he tried to feel what was happening. A faint tingle in the air, a line from shoulder to fingers, something… slotting into place.
Harn blew out the flame. "All right. Your turn. One at a time. Try not to scream if you singe yourself."
Joren went first. He scrunched up his face; nothing happened.
"Ha!" Lena laughed. On her turn, she got a brief sputter of light and nearly danced in place.
Then it was Alaric's turn.
He took a breath and stared at his own palm.
Mana in the air. Like little pieces of… something. Like dust you can't see.
He imagined gathering it, the way Harn had described. Not yanking, just… inviting it. Down his arm, to the tip of his index finger.
Come here. Just a bit. Stay calm.
A faint crawling sensation moved under his skin. Heat gathered at his fingertip. For a second he thought it was just his imagination, and then—
A spark.
It flared, then settled into a tiny, steady flame.
His mouth stretched into a grin on its own.
"Oi!" Joren shouted. "No fair!"
"You did it faster than me!" Lena puffed her cheeks. "You said you only did it once before!"
"I… just tried," Alaric said, a little helpless. Why did it feel so easy? Like remembering a word he'd almost forgotten, then suddenly it was there.
Harn squinted. "Hn. You've got good feel. Not many kids your age get it this quick."
Alaric's chest warmed, matching the heat on his fingertip.
"Keep at it," Harn said. "If you don't slack off, you might be worth teaching proper spells someday."
"Proper spells?" Alaric asked.
"Bigger stuff. Not my job, though." Harn coughed. "For that you'd need a real teacher. Mages in big towns. Maybe even a Church school in Shersia, if you're lucky. This old man's not walking all that way just to hold your hand."
So Shersia really is where the strong ones are.
Alaric watched the little flame dance. Beyond the circle of lantern-light, the village melted into darkness. The world outside Shuru felt huge and black.
The flame in his hand looked tiny. If soldiers or monsters came over those hills, this wouldn't matter at all.
But it was… something. When he called, it answered.
If I can learn this, I can learn more.
A cold breeze slid between the buildings and brushed over them. The flame wavered and went out. Alaric shivered, but not only from the wind.
"Again," he muttered, lifting his hand.