I step out into the snow, walking with a limp, my body aching in every joint. Thinking back on it, I probably should have visited Zaenith second, now the rest of my day is bound to be miserable.

  But, well, there's nothing to be done about it now.

  I reach my next stop in short order, just down the street from her apothecary. Draegmoor Hall, Lucien’s lair, more accurately. He stands at the counter, ever composed, his cold smile widening the moment he sees me.

  "More injuries? Hmhm… you must learn to be more careful, peasant."

  I limp through the doorway, teeth clenched against the throb in my leg. "Fuck off and fuck you." I say, limping to the counter. "Every shave with death I've had since coming to this forsaken town has been after leaving your fucking store."

  He ignores the comment with a faint chuckle. "And yet you return. What do you want, peasant?" he asks, tone imperious, as if my presence is both expected and beneath him.

  Resting my elbows on the counter, I sigh heavily. "I’ve come to take you up on your offer. I want to learn magic."

  He grins smugly. "Of course you do. What peasant doesn't dream of wielding great power? To be more than dirt under a noble’s boot?"

  Irritated by the condescension, I prepare to speak. But then, his tone changes....

  "The old world was a garden of impossible wonders. Power so vast, so pure, it defied reality itself. Arts that did not obey the laws of gods or men... A truly wondrous time."

  A chill creeps up my spine as his hand runs over one of the scrolls on his counter-top. The air seems to distort around his fingers, just slightly, to the point where it could easily be a trick of the light.

  "These are the truths I offer. Not tricks. Not illusions. But miracles. The kind that rewrite the soul."

  I take in his words, then nod. "Alright. I’m ready. Show me some magic. Let’s see what you’ve got."

  Lucien simply shakes his head. "No."

  I blink, incredulous. "Then how the hell are you supposed to teach me anything?"

  He gestures toward the scroll at my hip, the one he wrote for me earlier. "I already gave you what you need. The knowledge required to begin is right there, waiting."

  I hesitate, then pull it from my belt. The parchment is warm to the touch, pulsing faintly, as if alive. I unfurl it slowly, revealing a mess of intricate runes inscribed in looping, circular patterns, the ink faintly shimmering. I don’t know the language, yet something deep in my mind stirs....

  I remember the last time I opened one. The flood of knowledge, too fast, too much. I could barely hold on. This one feels... quieter.

  I focus, trying to parse the symbols. But it's pointless, I don't know what I don't know, this language, if it even is one, is foreign to me.

  A minute passes, maybe two. My head throbs painfully. My eyes water. I grit my teeth.

  With a groan, I slam it down on the counter and look away, clutching my temples.

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  "Fuck...."

  Lucien laughs, the mocking sound grating against my skull. "Giving up already? A shame, I had higher hopes."

  I slam my fist on the counter. "Fuck you! I can't read the language. What am I supposed to do?"

  He raises an eyebrow, unbothered. Then shrugs, offering no advice. "Just try again."

  ........

  I snatch up the scroll, annoyed, and begin reading again. My palms are slick with sweat, heat radiating from the skin. My head throbs, worse now, pulsing loud in my ears.

  The closer I look, the more I recognize. Some of these runes.... yes, they were on the firebolt scroll. Though I don't know why or how they relate.

  My vision blurs with my throbbing head, I start to sway, confused, almost… delirious. The ink appears to shift, the letters twisting in place. The script forms endless spirals, each symbol rotating on its own axis, feeding into the next like gears in a living machine.

  Then the lines begin to pulse, slowly at first, then faster, syncing with the ache behind my eyes. I blink hard, but the runes won’t still. They continue on until I start to notice patterns among them, impossible geometries that shouldn't exist in any sane dimension.

  And in that moment, I feel it again. That same energy I felt, vast and alien, when I set Vael ablaze.

  My mouth opens and I speak.

  "G?stm?l"

  I feel power. My mind and soul reaching beyond, grazing something vast. But as I stand there, waiting for some grand effect, nothing happens.

  Lucien’s voice cuts through the silence. “Congratulations. You’ve spoken the words and channeled the spell without rupturing your brain.”

  I stare at him, suspicious. “It didn’t do anything.”

  He waves a hand dismissively. “You simply failed to direct it appropriately. That spell requires a particular type of target that can receive its command.”

  I narrow my eyes. “What kind of target?”

  He smiles, unhelpful. “Ah, but that is for you to discover. What good is mastery if it is handed to you like a crust of bread?”

  I grit my teeth and slam the scroll onto the counter. “You’re a terrible teacher.”

  Lucien chuckles. “Yet somehow, you’re still learning. Read the scroll Seven, understand it. Fear not, you will not expend its charges. Discover for yourself, what it is meant for.”

  I take in his words, it's hard to trust any of them but even so... I do feel like I've gained something. Learned something."

  My fists clench and unclench as I think.

  They’re hot.

  Burning hot.

  Suddenly, as I catch the whiff of smoke, I realize this is true in a literal sense.

  A faint trail of smoke curls up from between my fingers. I look down and see my hand is flushed red, light peeking through the gaps, as if I held it over a flame.

  I open my hands, and a gust of hot air escapes. A flicker of fire dances across my skin, fading into a curl of smoke that sizzles away.

  “What the fuck-?” I mutter, turning to Lucien. “Is that the spell?”

  He studies me, curious. “No. That would be the lingering effect of the last scroll I sold to you. At a guess, you burned through its charges with little pause between. Unusual, for a novice. It seems to have left a mark on you.”

  I remember the moment clearly now. Both charges of the scroll, used not just in succession, but simultaneously. I study the scars on my palms, each looking eerily like a large rune. So... that's how I got these.

  Lucien leans forward, inspecting the runes burned into my skin with clear interest. "Intriguing. Like I thought." he murmurs. "The scroll has marked your flesh, a rare response. A sign of potential, perhaps... or something else." He nods to himself, apparently pleased. "In time, you may yet cast that spell again."

  I blink. "Without the scroll?"

  He nods, slowly. "Perhaps. Your flesh is marked as the scroll was. The knowledge is etched into your body, and mind. Continue your understanding, deepen it... and the fire may return."

  I nod to myself, the idea burning inside me almost as much as the memory on my skin. That fire hadn't killed Vael, but it did more to him than anything else I’d done, more than any physical blow. If I could harness it again...

  "Enough," Lucien says sharply, cutting through my thoughts. His tone returns to its usual cold imperiousness. "Leave. And do not return until you comprehend the purpose of that scroll. Until then, we have nothing further to discuss."

  Although annoyed, I nod to him, a little grateful, before snatching up the scroll and leaving the shop. A path clear in my head.

  It's going well.

  I may live to see summer after all.

  When Vael comes for me... I'll be ready.

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