I was three years old now. The village of Brustel had become a familiar landscape, one I could navigate with confidence thanks to my steady legs and ever-growing curiosity. I could speak well enough to hold conversations, though my vocabulary still had gaps. Reading was another skill I was beginning to grasp, thanks to my mother’s patient lessons by the fire each evening. The letters were strange at first, their shapes difficult to remember, but I was learning. Slowly, the symbols on the pages of our books were becoming words I could understand. It felt like unlocking secrets hidden in plain sight.

  Brustel itself was a peaceful, unassuming place. A cluster of modest houses with thatched roofs stood along the village’s single dirt road. Chickens clucked in small pens, children played with sticks and stones, and the sound of hammers echoed from the village blacksmith’s forge. The heart of Brustel was a small market where merchants would pause on their journeys to and from Punzel, exchanging goods and news before moving on.

  My mother often spoke of Punzel, describing it as a much larger town with bustling streets, tall stone buildings, and a guild hall where adventurers gathered to take on requests. I had begun to dream of visiting Punzel, imagining the sights and sounds of a world far bigger than Brustel. Brustel’s only notable establishment was the inn, a cozy building that doubled as a gathering place for villagers and travelers alike. According to my mother, the inn occasionally received requests from the guilds in Punzel, which attracted adventurers to our little village. I didn’t yet understand how adventuring worked in this world, but I was eager to learn.

  Today, however, was not about adventurers or guilds. Today, I was spending time with old Maren. Maren was a widow who lived in a small house at the edge of the village. She was known as Brustel’s healer, a woman with a lifetime of knowledge about herbs, poultices, and remedies. Her home was as fascinating as she was. Shelves lined the walls, crammed with jars of dried plants, vials of strange liquids, and bundles of herbs tied with twine. The air was thick with the mingling scents of lavender, sage, and something sharp and medicinal that I couldn’t quite place.

  Maren herself was a wiry old woman with sharp eyes that seemed to see right through you. She wore a simple dress covered by an apron with countless pockets, each one bulging with tools of her trade. Though her hands were gnarled with age, they moved with practiced precision as she worked. I had come to her house to learn. My mother had encouraged me to spend time with Maren, hoping I might pick up some useful knowledge.

  That morning, as I sat cross-legged on the floor watching her work, a knock came at the door. Maren rose with a sigh, wiping her hands on her apron before opening the door to reveal a man leaning heavily on a makeshift crutch.

  “Come in, Bren,” Maren said briskly, motioning him to sit on a stool near the hearth. “What’ve you done to yourself this time?”

  “Fell out of a tree,” the man grumbled, his voice tight with pain. “Trying to fetch some honeycomb. Damned fool thing to do at my age.”

  Maren shook her head, muttering something about men and their recklessness. She knelt beside him, inspecting his injured leg with a critical eye. “It’s not broken,” she said after a moment, “but you’ve done a fair bit of damage. You’ll need rest and a proper splint.”

  “I can’t rest,” Bren protested. “The harvest is coming. I need to be in the fields.”

  Maren sighed. “Always in a hurry, you lot. Fine. Hold still.”

  I watched, wide-eyed, as Maren reached for a small glass vial filled with a faintly glowing green liquid. She uncorked it and poured a few drops onto her fingers, then pressed her hand gently against Bren’s injured leg. Her eyes closed, and she began to mutter words under her breath, words that didn’t sound like any language I had heard before. Her hand glowed faintly, the same green light spreading from her fingers and sinking into Bren’s skin.

  I gasped. It was the first time I had ever seen anything like that. The swelling in Bren’s leg began to recede before my very eyes. The bruises faded until they disappeared entirely.

  Bren let out a sharp breath, flexing his leg cautiously. “In the name of Aeris, Maren, that’s incredible. Feels good as new.”

  Maren sat back on her heels, her face lined with exhaustion. “It’s not as miraculous as it looks,” she said gruffly. “Just a basic healing spell. You’ll still need to take it easy for a few days.”

  “Thank you,” Bren said, his gratitude sincere. He handed her a small pouch of coins before limping out the door, his crutch forgotten.

  As the door closed behind him, I turned to Maren, my mind racing. “Was that magic?!” I said, my voice filled with awe. “Real magic?!”

  Maren chuckled. “Aye, it was. But don’t get too excited, boy. Magic’s not all flashy lights and miracles. Most of it’s dull work, like brewing potions or drawing runes.”

  “Can anyone learn it?” I asked eagerly.

  She hesitated, then nodded slowly. “In theory, yes. But it’s not easy to learn. It could help having the Magic Factor."

  "Magic... Factor. What is that?"

  "The Factor is something everyone has, boy. Each person is born with a unique gift, a talent that makes them stand out in a particular discipline. It’s a part of who you are, woven into your being."

  I sat in thoughtful silence as she returned to her work. "And you have one too?" I asked.

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  "Of course I have one too!" barked Maren. "Mine is the Medic Factor; I find it easy to create healing infusions and so on..."

  Wow, I thought. Magic existed, and so did these "Factors." "When will I know mine?"

  "When you will be 6 or 7. It should happen around that age."

  6 or 7, uh? So in about three years I would know. It seemed fair. "Ok, thank you Maren!"

  "Don't worry, Ronan." She paused, thinking for a moment. "If you are interested in magic, you should try this."

  She pulled down a small, weathered book bound in cracked leather. “Here,” she said. “It’s an old book. It’ll teach you the basics—how to recognize magical herbs, how to draw a proper rune, things like that. Don’t expect to become a wizard overnight, but it’ll give you a start.”

  I took the book with reverence. “Thank you, Maren. I’ll take good care of it.”

  She waved a hand dismissively. “Just don’t go setting anything on fire, eh?”

  As I left Maren’s house that day, the book clutched tightly in my hands, I felt a spark of excitement unlike anything I had known before.

  As the days passed, I found myself sneaking into the corners of our house, hiding the old leather-bound book beneath my bed or tucked into a secret nook by the hearth whenever my parents came close. I couldn’t risk them discovering it—not yet. Not when I had no idea how they’d react to Maren’s strange offer. I wasn’t even sure why she had given me the book. Did she see something in me? Or was it just an old healer’s kindness? Either way, I was determined to learn everything I could about magic, even if it meant keeping it a secret for now.

  The next few days, I began to study the book in earnest. Maren had been kind enough to help me with the parts I didn’t fully understand. Slowly, with her patient guidance, I began to unravel the mysteries of the world of magic.

  I read with great care, my finger tracing over the old words as I muttered them aloud. I had to go slowly, as the book was full of unfamiliar terms, but with each page I turned, the world of magic felt more real. The first few pages introduced me to the ten elements of magic—Fire, Water, Earth, Air, Lightning, Ice, Light, Darkness, Nature, Metal, —and the two non-elemental categories: Blessings and Curses.

  I read aloud, practicing the names of the elements as if simply saying them would unlock their secrets. But, of course, nothing happened. The book didn’t seem magical at all. Just ink on paper. Still, I was determined. I knew there had to be more to it.

  Maren’s explanations about how magic worked helped me make sense of things. Magic in this world wasn’t just about waving your hands and casting spells. It was about controlling something called Mana. Mana was the very essence that flowed through all living things, through the world itself. In order to cast spells, you had to first learn to control this flow of Mana within you. Only then could you channel it into the words, gestures, and symbols that would trigger a spell.

  “As I said last time, magic is a skill,” Maren had told me as we sat by the fire. “Just like any other skill, it takes practice and patience. But the key is the Mana. If you can control it, then you can use it. But if you can’t—if you let it control you—then magic becomes dangerous. And that’s something you don’t want.”

  It was a lot to take in, but I was fascinated. The idea that this invisible force ran through everything, just waiting to be shaped and used—it was more wondrous than anything I had ever imagined. But Maren was right about one thing: the more I tried to control the flow of Mana, the more I realized how difficult it was.

  I spent the next several days trying to practice on my own, repeating the words from the book and trying to focus. I tried to control my breathing, to feel the flow of something inside me, but nothing happened. No flames sparked, no water pooled at my fingertips. I couldn’t even feel the Mana, much less control it.

  Frustrated, I went to Maren for help. She watched me as I tried again, this time holding my hands out before me, concentrating. My eyes were squeezed shut, my brow furrowed in concentration. But after a long, tense moment of silence, I opened my eyes and sighed.

  “Nothing,” I muttered.

  Maren chuckled, leaning back in her chair. “You’re trying too hard, Ronan. Magic isn’t something you force. It’s something you feel. You have to learn to let go, not control everything. The Mana’s like water, it flows naturally, but if you try to grip it too tightly, it slips through your fingers.”

  I felt a little foolish, but I nodded. Her words made sense, in a way. Magic was about connection, not domination.

  After that, I spent more time simply sitting quietly, trying to feel something—anything—beneath my skin. It wasn’t easy. The Mana wasn’t something I could see, but I began to sense its presence. Sometimes, it felt like a faint buzzing under my skin, a vibration that I couldn’t quite grasp. Other times, it was like a distant whisper at the edge of my consciousness.

  The problem, Maren explained, was that I did not have the Magic Factor. That factor would have solved all my problems. Luckily it seemed that that Factor was quite common and there was a high chance I could have it. Maren also said that Factors in most cases are a consequence of the Factors the parents have.

  “Which Factor do your parents have, kid?” she asked.

  “I have no idea. I have never asked them.”

  “In that case I can’t say much. You have to hope you have it if you want to learn magic.”

  "Why is that?”

  “If you don’t have the Magic Factor,” Maren had said, “you could still learn it but you’ll have a hard time doing so. It’s like trying to walk in shoes that are too big for you. It’s awkward, and it takes longer. But it’s still possible.”

  I suddenly became sad. What if I didn’t have the Magic Factor? I’m so taken by the spells, the runes, that I couldn’t bear to look at them and do nothing.

  “Don’t worry you’ll know when the time comes,” Maren had said with a wink. “It’ll be clear. But until then, you can keep practicing. Don’t rush it.”

  So, I did. I practiced every day, even when it felt like nothing was happening. I whispered the words of the spells under my breath, tried to sense the flow of Mana, and attempted to picture the elements in my mind. Sometimes, I felt a tiny spark of something—just the faintest flicker of power—but it always faded before I could hold onto it.

  It was frustrating, but I didn’t give up. I couldn’t. Something told me that this was the right choice. I have

  Reaper’s Peak... I didn’t know where it was but I needed to reach it at all costs and for that I needed to learn everything I could.