Chapter 3 - 3

Chapter 10a

Kelan stood at the Silver Hawk's rail in the pale light of dawn, watching as a thin gray line on the horizon grew into the promise of land. His heart quickened at the sight. After weeks of endless blue rolling beneath the ship's hull, the final stretch of their journey from Tiruva was finally nearing its end. The cry of "Land ho!" still echoed in his ears, called out moments ago by a sharp-eyed crewman high in the rigging. Now Kelan squinted, letting the cool salt wind whip a few stray dark locks across his forehead as he made out the hazy silhouette of coastline. The coast of Aurindon – their destination – gradually emerged from the morning mist, and with it came a flutter of excitement and nerves in equal measure.

He drew in a deep breath. The air was changing. The crisp scent of open ocean, all salt and clean brine, mingled now with hints of other smells carried from shore. He could detect the faintest traces of woodsmoke, perhaps from cooking fires in some fishing hamlet, and a tinge of green, living things—pine or coastal sage growing on the hills beyond the harbor. These mingled aromas were subtle, yet to Kelan's heightened senses they were as heady as spice. In the last two days, ever since the captain had announced they were drawing near to Aurindon's waters, every sight, sound, and smell had seemed to sharpen for Kelan. It was as if his mind, well-practiced in focusing through telekinetic exercises, now latched onto each sensory detail: the creaking timbers underfoot, the cry of gulls wheeling overhead, the way the rising sun painted the few high clouds in pale gold and rose. Everything felt vivid, significant.

Kelan's fingers tightened on the wooden railing, which was smooth and salt-worn under his palms. He remembered clutching this same rail on the first night after they departed Tiruva. Then, he had been green as a new sapling—homesick, a little queasy with the ship's motion, and uncertain about the path ahead. That night the sea had seemed immense and indifferent, the stars strange, and he wondered if he was really ready to sail so far from home. But now… now he felt different. The very same sea had become a familiar friend, its once-alien rhythms now part of him. He swayed easily with the roll of the Silver Hawk, instinctively bending his knees when a larger swell passed, moving in harmony with the ship. In those early days, he'd had to learn quickly—how to keep his balance on a restless deck, how to stow his gear so it wouldn't slide, even how to tie a basic sailor's knot to secure loose items. Practical lessons, all of them, learned alongside his fellow youth delegates in the confined world of the ship. And in learning them, he had been shaped.

A faint smile played on Kelan's lips as he thought of the camaraderie that had bloomed during the voyage. He glanced over his shoulder, toward the mid-deck, where a few of the others now gathered, drawn by the lookout's call of land. There was Serena, a willowy girl from the eastern isles, one hand shading her eyes as she peered eagerly ahead; beside her stood Maric, stocky and ever-cheerful, who caught Kelan's glance and broke into a grin. Maric raised his arm in an excited wave, as if Kelan might have missed the obvious news. Kelan chuckled under his breath and waved back. They had all grown close, these youths from different corners of the realm, thrown together on this long journey to represent their home regions in Aurindon. In the evenings after supper, they had shared stories beneath the lantern light—tales of their families, of the strange customs or foods back home, each story sparking laughter or thoughtful silence. On clear nights, they would lie on the deck, pointing out constellations and swapping star legends from their homelands. Those moments of fellowship eased the ache of leaving home. Together, they had made the Silver Hawk more than just a ship—it had become a small world of its own, a floating community bound by trust and hope.

Not every day of the voyage had been calm or carefree. Kelan recalled one harrowing night when a gale struck in the open sea, driving waves as high as the mast. It had been all hands on deck—he and Maric hauling lines alongside the sailors while Serena and others frantically bailed water. Soaked to the bone and terrified, Kelan had nevertheless found a calm center amid the chaos. At one point a heavy crate broke loose and skidded across the slick deck; without thinking, Kelan reached out with his mind and halted it just long enough for a crewman to secure it. That instinctive act, born of his training, earned him astonished thanks once the danger passed. Only later did Kelan realize how far he'd come—months ago in Tiruva, he doubted he could have mustered such focus under fear.

Since that storm, Kelan had approached his daily telekinetic practice with renewed dedication. Each dawn he found a quiet corner on deck to drill the exercises taught by Master Doran back home. At first, even levitating a simple cup a few inches off the deck was a struggle—especially with the ship's constant rocking. But day after day, as he learned to move in harmony with the Silver Hawk's gentle sway, his control improved. By the latter half of the voyage, he could guide a wooden cup through the air in a slow circle and set it down lightly. He kept his training low-key, not one to boast, yet a few crew members quietly took note. One morning the grizzled quartermaster, Rennic, watched Kelan cause three cork stoppers to dance in the air. When Kelan noticed and hastily let them drop, Rennic gave a slow nod. "Steady mind, lad. Useful skill," was all he said, but that was high praise from a man of few words. Moments like that swelled Kelan's pride; he had embarked as an anxious novice, and now he possessed a quiet mastery of the basics.

A burst of laughter drew Kelan back to the present. Maric had said something jovial—likely joking that he could already smell the famous Aurindon spice markets from here—eliciting a giggle from Serena. Kelan smiled and turned his eyes forward again, to the coastline that was now undeniably close and real. The morning haze had burned away as the sun climbed, revealing a broad stretch of shore. The Bay of Aurindon opened before them, calm and blue-green, dotted with a few smaller fishing boats whose crews were already hauling nets. Beyond the bay, crowning the gentle slopes that rose from the water's edge, lay the city of Aurindon itself. Kelan's breath caught at his first clear sight of it. The city sprawled along the crescent of the harbor, larger than any place Kelan had seen, even larger than the capital of Tiruva.

From this distance, Aurindon was a tapestry of light and color—sunlight glinting off pale stone walls and red-tiled rooftops, a great domed building of copper or gold catching the light at the city's heart, and dozens of slender towers rising gracefully into the sky. Some towers were capped with what looked like shining metal that flashed in the sun—perhaps signal mirrors or simply decorative spires announcing the wealth and importance of this port. Along the waterfront, he could make out the long fingers of piers and docks reaching into the water, and countless ships moored there, their masts like a leafless forest bristling against the sky.

As the Silver Hawk sailed closer, details of the harbor resolved steadily. Kelan could distinguish the different types of vessels coming and going: chunky merchant carracks riding low with cargo, swift coastal sloops darting across the bay, and even a grand three-masted ship with white sails emblazoned with a symbol—a blue serpent coiled around a staff—which he realized must be one of Aurindon's own navy or city guard. The harbor bustled with activity. On one dock, he saw a line of stevedores rolling barrels into a warehouse; on another, a cluster of fishermen unloaded the morning's catch, the silver of fish scales glinting as a net was hoisted. Gulls swooped and cried everywhere, diving occasionally to snatch scraps. The closer they drew, the more Kelan could hear the distant din of the city—a blend of many voices, the clatter of cart wheels on cobbles, and somewhere a bell tolling the hour.

The smells, too, grew richer and more complex. The brine of the sea was now overlaid with a hundred new scents. A warm, yeasty aroma of baking bread drifted from the city one moment, followed by the sharp tang of tar and resin from the shipyards. There were spices on the air as Maric had jested—Kelan caught a whiff of something like cinnamon and pepper, and another sweet, floral scent he couldn't name. These mingled with less pleasant odors that were inevitable in a busy port: hints of sewage and stale bilge-water near the wharves, the fishy musk of the docks. It was a lot to take in. Kelan closed his eyes for a second, focusing as he gently inhaled, sorting through each scent note like a connoisseur. Instead of being overwhelmed, he found that the training he'd given his mind—honing his concentration and awareness—let him embrace the barrage of sensations. Each smell, each sound became a thread in the rich tapestry of Aurindon's arrival, and he sought to memorize it. This was a moment he knew he would remember for the rest of his life: the first time approaching Aurindon, the threshold of a new chapter in his journey.

A hand clasped Kelan's shoulder lightly, jolting him from his reverie. He turned to see Captain Arlos, the master of the Silver Hawk, standing beside him. The wind ruffled the captain's trim beard as he gave Kelan an encouraging nod, his gray eyes twinkling. "There she is, lad—Aurindon. Quite a sight, isn't it?" Arlos said, his voice a low rumble filled with pride.

Kelan straightened unconsciously, standing a bit taller. "Aye, sir. It's... more than I imagined," he replied, unable to keep the wonder from his voice. He realized he was beaming and felt heat in his cheeks, but he did not try to hide his enthusiasm.

Captain Arlos chuckled. "Heart's racing, eh? Don't worry. Even an old sea wolf like me feels that way every time I return. That feeling means you're alive—and smart enough to know this is something worth remembering." He gave Kelan's shoulder a final pat before moving off, already bellowing orders for the crew to prepare for docking.

Kelan watched the captain go, gratitude welling up. In his own gruff way, Arlos had taught him almost as much during the voyage as his tutors back home. One lesson stood out clearly now: even the most seasoned sailor cannot control the sea—only work with it. And Kelan sensed that the same principle applied to his telekinetic gift. He couldn't force his power to bend the world to his will, but he could guide it, channeling it in harmony with the natural currents of wind and wave.

A flurry of activity overtook the deck. Sailors rushed to and fro, responding to the captain's commands. With practiced coordination, they began to furl the sails. One by one, the billowing white sheets were rolled and tied up to the yards, diminishing the ship's speed. The Silver Hawk glided now on momentum and the gentle push of the breeze toward an assigned berth along the nearest pier. Kelan felt the change in motion as the ship slowed; the anticipation in his chest swelled. All the delegates had gathered at the starboard rail to watch the approach. Some were pointing out sights to each other—Serena gasped softly at what looked like a gigantic statue of a winged horse rearing at the entrance to the harbor, a monument that stood twice as tall as a man on a pedestal by the waterfront. Jorin, one of the older boys, leaned forward as if he could leap to shore immediately, his knuckles white on the railing. Kelan himself stayed quiet, eyes wide, absorbing everything.

The Silver Hawk drew alongside the pier with a shuddering gentleness as the crew expertly tossed coiled ropes to waiting dockhands. With heavy thuds, the mooring lines were secured to bollards, and the ship was pulled flush to the wooden dock.

A final lurch signaled the end of motion. Kelan's hand, still on the rail, felt the stillness of the earth assert itself through the hull; after so long at sea, the sudden absence of the constant roll was almost disorienting. He realized he was still swaying ever so slightly, his body conditioned by weeks of movement. A laugh bubbled up within him at that, a mix of relief and exhilaration. They had arrived.

Kelan stepped back from the rail and turned to see the crew lowering the gangplank. The sturdy oak board came to rest with a thump on the dock. Beyond it, on solid ground, a small welcoming party was already assembling—he could make out city officials in flowing Aurindon robes of deep blue and gold, and behind them the curious faces of locals pausing to watch the newcomers disembark.

His pulse quickened again, a reminder of the ceremony and formal welcome that awaited them, likely a pomp-filled affair, from what they'd been told. He inhaled deeply, calming himself like he had learned to do in exercises: in through the nose, out through the mouth, centering his mind. It quelled the worst of his jitters, leaving behind a steadier resolve. Nerves, awe, readiness—he felt them all swirling inside, but now balanced.

Maric clapped him on the back, nearly as hard as the captain's pat earlier. "This is it, Kelan," Maric said, voice brimming with excitement and perhaps to mask his own nerves. "Time to make Tiruva proud, eh?"

Kelan nodded, meeting his friend's eyes. "And Aurindon too, I hope," he replied with a grin. He hefted his travel pack over one shoulder, the weight familiar and reassuring against his back. One by one, the youth delegates fell in behind their appointed guide and began to move toward the gangplank. Kelan found himself at the front, almost without meaning to—a change from the shy lad who might have hung back weeks ago. Straightening his tunic and smoothing back his wind-tossed hair, he took the first steps.

The wooden planks of the gangway thudded dully under his boot as Kelan walked down onto the dock. With each step, the sounds of Aurindon grew louder and the smell of the city air grew stronger. A gull screamed from somewhere overhead, and the murmur of the crowd waiting beyond mixed with the lapping of water against the pilings. Kelan paused only a second as he reached the end of the gangplank. His right foot met the solid timber of the dock, and then his left. He was on firm land again—the dock of Aurindon, the threshold of a new world of experiences. A surge of emotion welled in him: the triumph of completing the journey, the anticipation of what lay ahead. He allowed himself one last glance back at the Silver Hawk – the ship that had carried him across leagues of ocean and in doing so transformed him from anxious novice to a more seasoned young man. The sunlight glinted on the ship's railing where he had stood, and he felt a quiet gratitude.

Kelan turned back to the bustling harbor and the grand city beyond. For the first time, his boots stood upon Aurindon's soil—well, on its aged wooden docks—and in that simple act of stepping down, he felt something within him settle and strengthen. The voyage was over, and a new chapter of his life was beginning on these sunlit shores. With heart pounding but head held high, Kelan took a deep breath of the spice-tinged air, ready to meet whatever awaited him in Aurindon.

Chapter 11: Threshold of the Guild

Morning in Aurindon arrived not with the gentle gull cries and lapping waves of Tiruva, but with a chorus of city life. Kelan woke to the clatter of wagon wheels on cobblestone, vendors calling out wares, and a distant hammering from the docks. It was disorienting for a moment, until memory reasserted itself: he was in Haran's home, in a strange city, about to seek out the Mage Guild.

He dressed carefully, wanting to make a decent impression. He chose the green tunic Nima made (it had dried after last night's quick wash to remove travel dust), a pair of clean brown trousers, and the best of his sandals – sturdy leather ones that looked simple but well-crafted. He also tucked Kamala's letter to the Guild into an inside pocket and strapped his father's knife to his belt, more out of habit than expectation of trouble.

Downstairs, Haran greeted him with a steaming cup of spiced tea and a plate of flatbread with cheese. "Eat up," he urged. "You'll want your strength. Who knows how the bureaucrats of the guild will tire you with questions or formalities."

Kelan managed a smile and did as told. He was nervous, appetite fluttering, but the warm tea helped settle him. Haran's calm, conversational presence also soothed the edginess. They spoke of small things – the weather (clear and mild), a tidbit of gossip about a noble's son getting drunk and sleeping in the dolphin fountain last week – anything but the main event of the morning.

Nevertheless, the clock of the temple across the plaza tolled the hour, reminding them that time wasn't waiting. Haran stood and straightened his own tunic. "Shall we?"

The walk to the Guild was about twenty minutes through busy streets. The central plaza of Aurindon was even more impressive up close: a broad square paved in limestone, with the large bronze statue Haran mentioned standing proudly at its heart. The statue depicted an explorer in flowing robes holding a sextant, gazing seaward. People thronged the plaza – apprentices running errands, city folk shopping, a small contingent of soldiers marching in step as part of their drills.

On one side of the plaza loomed the Governor's Hall, a grand building of marble columns and arched windows – seat of the Imperial representative governing the region. Adjacent to it, though a bit set back in its own walled compound, was the Mage Guild chapter house.

The guildhall was an older structure of dark gray stone, modest in size compared to the Governor's Hall, but with an air of importance. A pair of blue banners emblazoned with a silver eye-like symbol hung flanking its main doors – presumably the sigil of the Guild.

Kelan felt his pulse quicken as they approached the gates of the compound. Two guards stood watch, but unlike the city guards, these wore deep blue tabards with that same eye symbol, and carried staffs in addition to short swords. They regarded Kelan and Haran calmly.

Haran spoke for them. "Good morning. This young man, Kelan of Tiruva, has business with the Guild. We seek an audience with a Magister or whichever official can receive him." He used a respectful tone.

One guard, an older woman with a long scar on her cheek, looked Kelan up and down. "What business, may I ask?"

Kelan mustered his voice. "I have a letter of introduction," he said, pulling it out carefully. "From Elder Kamala of Tiruva, to present to the Guild regarding… a magical matter." He decided straightforward honesty was best at this point; they wouldn't let just anyone wander in.

The guard's eyebrow arched slightly at the mention of a magical matter. She accepted the letter, glanced at the seal (Kamala had affixed a small wax seal bearing Tiruva's simple crest of waves and fish), and nodded. "One moment."

She disappeared through a side door of the gatehouse, leaving them waiting in the entryway. Kelan tried to steady his breathing. The courtyard beyond the gates was small but well-kept, with a central oak tree and a few benches. He saw a robed figure cross from one side to another, carrying a stack of books. That brief sight—a real mage, perhaps, in their element—stirred a mix of hope and intimidation in him.

The guard returned promptly. "Magister Lirien will see you in the entry hall. You may enter." She returned the letter to Kelan and gestured them through.

Haran gave Kelan an encouraging nod and the two stepped into the compound and up to the main doors of the guildhall. Kelan's heart thudded with each step on the stone path.

Inside, they entered a large hall with a vaulted ceiling. The air was cooler, tinged with the scent of old parchment and something like ozone—perhaps residual magic. The entry hall had murals of star maps and constellations on the ceiling, and tall shelves of books lining two walls. A few comfortable chairs and tables suggested it doubled as a waiting or study area.

Waiting for them was a woman in deep blue robes trimmed with silver thread. She was middle-aged, with iron-gray hair coiled in a braid, and a no-nonsense posture. Her eyes, though, were keen and not unkind. "I am Magister Lirien," she introduced herself. "I understand you have a letter for us, and a request."

Kelan bowed awkwardly, unsure of the proper etiquette. "Yes, Magister. Thank you for seeing me. I—I'm Kelan from the village of Tiruva. I have an ability that I need guidance with." He extended Kamala's letter again.

Lirien took it and skimmed its contents. As she did, her expression shifted from polite curiosity to surprise. She finished reading and looked at him sharply. "Mind-touch, is it? And untrained, thus far, yet manifesting strongly enough to concern your elders."

Kelan nodded, feeling his face warm.

She turned to Haran, "And you are?"

"Haran Tallen, a friend of his family, here as support," Haran said. "Elder Kamala is a mutual friend."

Lirien folded the letter carefully. "Right. First, let me say to you, Kelan, that it's good you came. Many who have latent abilities never seek help until it's too late, either harming themselves or others in ignorance." She motioned for them to follow her deeper into the hall. "Come, we'll talk in a more private space. I'd hear details from the source."

They entered a side chamber that looked like a small meeting room—tapestries of mystic symbols on the walls and a round table of polished wood at center. Sunlight streamed through a high window.

Lirien took a seat and indicated they do the same. Another guild member, a young man likely an apprentice, hovered nearby as if assisting Lirien. At her nod, he vanished to presumably fetch something.

"Now," she began, steepling her fingers, "why not tell me in your own words about your ability. When did it start and what have you done with it?"

Kelan recounted his story again, as clearly as he could: the early incidents of objects moving when he was emotional, the more deliberate attempts, the episode on the boat during the catch, and even (with a sheepish tone) the possibility he influenced the ship in the storm. Haran listened intently too—some of these details he was hearing for the first time.

Lirien stayed silent through it, her face giving little away. When Kelan finished, she let a quiet moment pass, during which the apprentice returned with a tray holding three cups of water and a carafe. Lirien thanked him and poured for them all.

"This is quite remarkable," she said at last. "Mind-Touch, psychokinesis, whatever name one uses—it's a high form of gift. The fact that you manifested it spontaneously and as strongly as you did in the storm suggests you have a deep well of potential."

Kelan felt both pride and dread at that statement.

Lirien continued, "The Guild exists for exactly this purpose: to train and guide those with magical talent so they don't endanger themselves or others, and so they can use their abilities constructively. Typically, children who show signs are brought in early. You're a bit older than our typical novice, but not by much—some begin in later teens, especially from outlying regions."

She took a sip of water. "To be frank, given your account and this letter, I see no reason to turn you away. But the decision isn't solely mine. The Chapter Master will want to meet you, and likely you'll undergo a basic assessment of your power."

At this Kelan tensed. "Assessment?"

Lirien offered a slight smile. "Nothing painful or dangerous. Think of it as simple exercises to gauge your control and raw strength. It helps us understand how to best train you. And truthfully, it will confirm to any doubters that you indeed possess the gift you claim."

That made sense. He might have to demonstrate. He had done so with Kamala and Haran; doing it here felt higher stakes, but he readied himself mentally.

Haran put a hand on Kelan's shoulder. "I trust you'll do fine," he said quietly.

Magister Lirien rose. "I'll speak with the Chapter Master now. He should be in his study. I will arrange for you to meet him shortly, perhaps after midday meal. For now, you are welcome to remain here, or step out if you wish, but please stay within the city reachable. Where can we find you if needed?"

Haran answered, "He's lodging with me at my shop, Haran's Fine Textiles, in the Weaver's Alley."

"Very well. Why don't you return around the 14th hour? We should be ready by then."

They took that as a polite dismissal for the moment. Kelan stood, unsure if he should bow again. He ended up giving a kind of half-bow nod, which Lirien acknowledged with a nod of her own, eyes twinkling just a bit as if amused by his earnestness.

Outside the guildhall, Kelan let out a breath he'd been holding. "It's happening," he murmured to Haran, half in wonder, half in anxiety.

Haran patted his back. "You did well. Lirien seemed positive. A bit stern, but that's likely just her demeanor. If she's already planning an assessment, it means they're seriously considering taking you in."

They had some hours to kill before the appointment. Haran suggested Kelan try to relax, maybe see a bit of the city near the plaza to take his mind off things. Kelan agreed, though relaxing was easier said than done.

They wandered the plaza, watching a puppet show that had gathered a crowd of children (and some amused adults). Kelan only half-registered the story the puppeteer told—something about a clever fox and a magical fish—his mind kept drifting to what tests he might face soon.

He took the opportunity to ask Haran more about the Guild here. "Do you know anything about the Chapter Master?"

Haran scratched his chin. "I think his name is Magister Olin or Orin, something like that. I don't have much dealing with them—my trade is mundane. But reputation-wise, the guild here is respected. They're smaller than the capital's main academy, of course, but they handle local issues of magic, research, minor enchantments for hire. They also coordinate with Imperial authorities if a rogue mage or dangerous artifact is about."

"Rogue mage?" Kelan repeated, eyes widening.

"Rare, but happens. Magic can corrupt hearts if misused, or so the stories go. Some decide to use their power for crime or rebellion. The Guild and Empire are not fond of unsanctioned sorcery. But that's far from you; you're doing the right thing seeking lawful training."

Kelan nodded. He had never thought of his gift in terms of lawfulness or not, but it made sense in a large society, magic would be regulated.

They lunched on meat pies from a street vendor. Kelan found he had more appetite now that the initial meeting was done. The savory pastry was comforting, even if it was spicier than the food back home.

The time finally came to return to the guildhall. Haran offered to accompany him again, but Kelan, seeing how supportive Haran had already been and suspecting he should stand on his own, said, "Maybe I should do this part alone. I need to show them I'm responsible."

Haran looked a touch hesitant to leave him, but then smiled. "As you wish. I'll be at the shop if you need me. Good luck, Kelan."

Alone, Kelan walked past the guards again, who recognized him and let him through with a simple "Go on in." He entered the hall where Lirien had met them earlier. This time she was waiting with another figure: a tall man in richly embroidered robes of midnight blue and gold. He had short-cropped white hair and a neatly trimmed beard, and carried an ornate wooden staff. Even without introduction, Kelan knew this must be the Chapter Master.

"Chapter Master Orlann, this is Kelan of Tiruva," Lirien introduced.

Orlann's eyes, dark and penetrating, studied Kelan as if weighing his very soul. Kelan bowed respectfully.

"Greetings, young man," Orlann said in a resonant voice. "Magister Lirien has informed me of your circumstances. I admit, an untrained telekinetic from a remote village is not something I encounter every day. We are intrigued."

Kelan wasn't sure if 'intrigued' was wholly positive, but he managed, "Thank you for seeing me, Chapter Master. I'm ready to do whatever tests or tasks you need."

"Good," Orlann replied. "Eager to begin—a commendable attitude."

They proceeded to a different chamber – this one Kelan assumed was specifically for magical practice. It was circular, with a high ceiling and skylights. The center of the room was clear, but along the edges were various objects: candlesticks, stones of different sizes, a rack of weapons, some target dummies, even what looked like a set of weights and scales. It was part classroom, part armory, part laboratory.

Two other guild members were present, likely to observe or assist. Orlann took the lead. Lirien stood to the side, arms folded but clearly supportive.

"For this assessment," Orlann said, setting his staff against the wall, "we simply want to see what you can do. Show us how you would use your mind to move something. Pick anything from this room that you feel comfortable attempting. Small is fine; large if you feel daring."

Kelan's mouth went a bit dry. Having multiple pairs of learned eyes on him was a far cry from practicing alone with pebbles on a beach. He steeled himself. These were people who understood this power; he had to trust them and himself.

He scanned the room. A candle on a table nearby seemed a good start. He stepped a bit closer to it, though stayed a few feet away. He raised his hand out of habit, but then lowered it, knowing the movement was not necessary, just a focus aid.

He drew a breath, focusing on the candle. It was similar in weight to that pebble… no, think confident. He had done heavier, the bucket, the net.

In the quiet room, he closed his eyes briefly to concentrate, then opened them, fixing on the candle. That inner sensation, like flexing an invisible muscle, he reached for it. The tingle came, a bit slower than when under emotional duress, but as he summoned determination, it grew.

The candle wobbled, then slid an inch across the table. Kelan exhaled in relief—at least it moved.

Lirien made a small sound of acknowledgment. Orlann nodded, face neutral. "Good. Basic movement. That candle is perhaps a quarter-pound. Now, something a bit heavier, if you please."

Kelan eyed a metal goblet on a shelf. It might weigh a pound. He tried that. This time he managed to lift it a few inches before his control wavered and it clattered back down. He winced, but Orlann seemed not alarmed.

"Lack of sustained focus at moderate weight," the Chapter Master murmured, perhaps to Lirien or himself.

They then had him try precision: there were some spilled sand grains on a table, and he was asked to try to gather them. This proved nearly impossible; he could barely make a few shift, but not collect them. Orlann didn't seem surprised. "Fine control often comes later, with training."

One test involved him standing across the room and trying to push a hanging pendulum. He succeeded in making it sway a bit, but again got a nosebleed for his effort. Lirien quickly handed him a cloth. "Don't strain too hard," she advised.

Kelan wiped the blood, feeling embarrassed by his limits but pressing on.

The final demonstration Orlann requested was more practical: "Show me how you might use it instinctively. For instance, if I toss this small ball towards you, can you deflect it?"

One of the observers fetched a leather ball. Kelan braced himself. When the ball was thrown, he flung his will out more reflexively than precisely. The ball's trajectory did alter—it slowed and dropped short of him, rather than hitting him. It wasn't dramatic, but it answered the question.

Orlann raised a hand, signaling the end of the tests. Kelan panted lightly; he hadn't moved from one spot much, yet he felt as tired as if he'd run around the building.

The mages convened a few paces away, speaking in low tones he couldn't quite hear. He caught snippets: "...adequate strength... potential high... needs foundational training... age fifteen..." It sounded generally favorable, though.

Lirien finally stepped forth with Orlann beside her. She gave Kelan a small smile. Orlann addressed him formally, "Kelan of Tiruva, we have assessed your ability and find that you indeed possess the magical gift of telekinesis, in nascent form. If you are willing, the Guild is prepared to accept you as a novice trainee. You will abide by our rules, study diligently, and in time, serve the Empire's good with your talents."

Kelan felt a rush of emotion – relief, gratitude, a touch of fear of the commitment, but mostly a sense of belonging he'd yearned for. He bowed deeply, this time with confidence. "Thank you, Chapter Master. I willingly accept and will do my best."

Orlann placed a hand briefly on Kelan's shoulder, a gesture of welcome. "Then welcome to the Aurindon Chapter of the Imperial Mage Guild. Lirien will handle the particulars of your induction—robes, quarters, schedule, etc."

He then added more softly, "Your journey has not been a small one. Take pride in how far you've come, but remember this is just the beginning of a longer path."

Kelan nodded, heart swelling. "I understand."

As Orlann departed, likely to attend to other duties, Lirien stayed and went over logistics with Kelan. He would have a small room in the novices' dormitory. He could fetch his belongings later (or have someone send for them). There was a modest entry fee normally, but given his unique situation, it was being waived and covered by the Guild's funds (Kelan suspected Kamala's letter and maybe a bit of his story's novelty smoothed that).

He'd be given two sets of apprentice robes (simple gray ones; blue trim came later when one earned the rank of acolyte). Training would begin the next day in basic disciplines: meditation, focus drills, some physical exercise to strengthen body alongside mind, and introductory lectures on magical theory and ethics.

Ethics—that caught Kelan's ear. The guild valued teaching responsibility with power, which he appreciated.

Lirien emphasized something: "Here we value restraint and wisdom as much as power. Your upbringing in a culture of harmony and restraint, as Kamala wrote, will serve you well. Magic must be guided by a firm moral compass. We'll help you forge that as much as we'll hone your skills."

Kelan took those words to heart. He thought of Tiruva's lessons – respect, duty, not taking more than you need, helping others. Those principles were a steadying force.

By late afternoon, Kelan walked out of the guildhall as an accepted novice. He carried a few items: an official parchment for his records, a token that identified him as a guild trainee (to show if questioned by authorities or to get access to guild resources), and one of the gray robes folded under his arm.

He felt like his life had pivoted sharply yet again. Only this time, he wasn't flying blind. He had guides and a structure to follow.

Exiting the gates, he spotted Haran standing across the plaza, shading his eyes, clearly waiting to see if Kelan emerged and what expression he wore. Kelan hurried over, breaking into a grin.

"They accepted me!" he announced.

Haran whooped in joy and clasped Kelan in a hug before catching himself, laughing. "Wonderful, wonderful. Kamala will be thrilled. And your mother…" he chuckled, "She'll have pride enough to light a beacon."

Kelan's smile faltered a touch at the thought of his mother – he wished she could hear the news directly, see that he was safe and on a good path. "I'll write to her tonight."

"Come," said Haran. "We must have a small celebration. Nothing too wild – I can't have you fainting before you even start your training. But maybe a treat from the bakery, and tea at home."

As they walked, Kelan felt a weight lift off him that he hadn't realized he was carrying: the uncertainty of belonging. Now, he had a place here, a role: student of magic. There would be challenges, surely, and he'd have to prove himself, but at least he wasn't alone and drifting.

He silently offered thanks to all who helped him reach this point – Marana, Nima, Kamala, Haran, Revta and her crew, even Jorik's camaraderie. And he steeled himself for the promise he made: to use this gift not for vanity or harm, but for good. To honor the values of his home even as he mastered the powers of his mind.

Yet in typical introspective fashion, Kelan also acknowledged the uncertainties ahead. Training could be rigorous; city life and guild politics might be perplexing. And how would a humble fisher's son fit in among perhaps more learned or noble-born apprentices? One step at a time, he counseled himself. Just like weaving a net or building a boat – you start knot by knot, plank by plank.

That evening, after a sweet bun and tea with Haran to celebrate, Kelan slipped away to the quiet of his room to pen letters home by lamplight. He wrote of his acceptance, painting the positive news brightly and playing down the hardships. He described Aurindon's sights to Nima, knowing she'd be curious about every detail of the city.

He ended his mother's letter with: "I will learn all I can and carry Tiruva's honor with me. Thank you for giving me the strength to do this."

Sealing the letters, he felt a deep contentment. Outside his window, the night was alive with city sounds, but inside, Kelan's heart was a step closer to peace than it had been in many months.

Tomorrow, his apprenticeship would begin. The future beckoned like the open sea at dawn, full of possibility. And Kelan, the boy from the isolated coastal village with an awakened mind, was ready to chart his course with steady hands and an open, mindful heart.

Chapter 12: Novice of the Guild

Kelan's first week as a novice of the Aurindon Mage Guild was a whirlwind of new routines and revelations. On his first morning, he donned the simple gray apprentice robe. It felt strange to wear—a far cry from his sea-stained tunics—marking him visually as part of this institution. When he looked in the small mirror of his dormitory room, he hardly recognized himself. There stood a wiry youth with determined eyes, clad like an aspiring scholar of magic.

His quarters at the guild were modest but comfortable: a tiny cell of sorts with a bed, a desk, and a trunk for belongings. A narrow window let in a beam of light that crept across the floor as the day progressed. Kelan had already brought over his few possessions from Haran's place, including his father's knife (which he kept tucked in the trunk for now, as weapons weren't needed in training halls), Nima's tunic carefully folded, and a small seashell from Tiruva that his mother had given him as a keepsake. That shell now sat on the windowsill, a piece of home anchoring him whenever he felt adrift.

Each day began early with meditation at dawn in the Solarium—a circular room on the guildhall's top floor, its windows facing east to catch the rising sun. The novices, about a dozen in number including Kelan, would sit cross-legged on mats as a mentor guided them through breathing exercises and mental focusing techniques. The first time, Kelan had trouble stilling his mind; thoughts of home, and excitement, and worry kept intruding. But by the fourth morning, he found a calm center more readily, imagining the sound of the Tiruva waves to steady his thoughts.

After meditation came basic lectures on magical theory. These were held in a small classroom where novices scribbled notes on wax tablets. The teaching magister, a brisk man named Aurel, taught them about the different types of magic recognized by the Empire—Elemental, Mind Arts, Healing, Enchantment, etc. Kelan learned that his ability fell under what they termed "Psychokinesis" or colloquially, Mind-Touch. It was considered rarer than elemental affinity (like fire or water shaping) but not unheard of. That was a relief; at least he wasn't a complete anomaly.

Still, he noticed when introductions were made that none of the other novices claimed telekinesis. Most had minor gifts like conjuring a wisp of light, sensing people's emotions faintly, or encouraging plants to grow a bit faster—nascent talents that still needed nurturing. Only one girl, a quiet, intense redhead named Sera, said she could sometimes hear others' thoughts if they were loud; a mind-mage of a different sort, possibly an emerging telepath. She and Kelan exchanged shy nods, perhaps recognizing a kinship of the mind arts.

Practical skill sessions followed in late morning. These often took place in the same round chamber where Kelan had been tested. The novices practiced under supervision simple exercises: lifting a single page of parchment with a waft of air for those with wind talent, or warming a cup of water for a heat talent, and for Kelan and Sera, nudging small objects or focusing on sensing each other across the room.

Kelan found these practices both encouraging and frustrating. Encouraging because in a structured way, he could attempt feats without fear of scandal or injury—there were safety wards in place, and if something slipped, an instructor could usually step in. Frustrating because his progress was slow. Some days he managed to guide a wooden ball through a short obstacle course on the floor using only his mind—other days, he could barely twitch the ball and would leave with a headache and a trickle of blood from his nose.

Lirien assured him this was normal. "Your gift is strong but untamed. Overexertion now is like a foal stumbling as it learns to walk. In time, with practice, you'll run smoothly. But you must be patient." Patience he had in good measure, thanks to a life of fishing and crafting, so he took her words to heart.

Afternoons were sometimes free for self-study or chores. Yes, chores—magic training wasn't all mystical experiences. Novices were expected to help keep the guild orderly. One day Kelan might be sweeping the library floors (non-magically, with a broom, to the chagrin of some who joked "Why don't you levitate the dust, eh?"). Another day he might assist in the kitchen garden where herbs for potions were grown. He actually enjoyed that task; tending plants reminded him of helping with seaweed harvests and clam gardens back home.

During those communal tasks, he got to know his fellow novices a bit. There was Tomas, a boisterous blond boy who could create little sparks of electricity between his fingers and dreamed of one day calling lightning from the sky. And Janna, a kindly girl who had a touch of healing—she could ease minor pains with a hand, and often practiced by helping soothe everyone's muscle aches after physical drills.

One aspect of training was physical exercise, which surprised Kelan at first. The guild required novices to maintain their health and strength through calisthenics and sometimes sparring (albeit with blunted weapons or staves). "A sound body supports a sound mind," the drill instructor would bark. Kelan, being in good shape from village life, held his own in these sessions. In fact, he found a kind of relief in them—swinging a staff or running laps was straightforward, unlike the elusive mastery of telekinesis.

Despite generally fitting in, Kelan couldn't escape being seen as the "outsider" or "the fish boy" by a few peers. One novice in particular, Jorem, seemed to take an instant disliking or perhaps jealousy. Jorem was the son of a minor noble from inland; he had a small gift for influencing flame. On a couple of occasions, Kelan caught snide remarks from him—"Careful, he might throw a boat at you with his mind," or in group discussions Jorem would pointedly ask Kelan simplistic questions about fishing as if that was all he knew.

Kelan tried not to let it bother him. He reminded himself of Tiruva values: do your work well, don't seek conflict, prove yourself through actions not arguments. Others didn't really join Jorem's teasing—most either defended Kelan or more often just rolled their eyes at the attempted provocation. Sera once whispered to Kelan after Jorem had made a crack about "smelling like fish," that Jorem had failed an entrance test in the capital and had to settle for Aurindon's guild, so "he's probably projecting his disappointment." That insight made Kelan sympathetic; he resolved to treat Jorem with quiet dignity regardless.

All the while, letters were exchanged with home. Haran helped ensure Kelan's messages made it onto ships or couriers heading north, and in turn any replies found their way back to him. A week and a half after his own letters, he received a packet that felt like a treasure: a letter from his mother, a separate note from Nima, and even a short line from Mistress Cala and Aunt Seri jointly.

Marana's letter was filled with love and relief. She spoke of how proud the village was—Kamala had told the council a version of Kelan's situation (likely framed as a special apprenticeship in the capital's guild school, glossing over the magical specifics to avoid gossip). The villagers apparently held a small blessing ceremony for his journey the day after he left, sending prayers to the sea and sky for his well-being. "Not a day goes by that I don't think of you, but know that these thoughts carry strength, not sorrow," his mother wrote. "Do not worry for me; I am upheld by the pride I have in you, and the support of our community."

Nima's note was more personal and less formal, full of questions and humor. She demanded to know about every interesting thing—"Have you seen any two-headed fish in the markets? What do they feed you? Don't let city girls steal your heart before I come to visit (haha!)." But she also wrote, more earnestly: "I miss my best friend. It's quieter without you here. But I'm excited for you too. Keep learning amazing things so you can teach me when I visit—or when I join you? Just a thought: maybe I'll convince my mother to send me to Aurindon on some pretense one day. Until then, stay safe, Kelan. P.S. I am learning some new boat knotting techniques from Mistress Cala to impress you with."

That letter made Kelan laugh aloud, and tear up a bit too. He could almost hear Nima's voice in the words. Cala and Seri's note was brief—essentially them saying they expect him to outshine all those "stuffy bookworms" with good honest Tiruva wisdom, and that he better not return without learning a spell to keep barnacles off hulls (more of their humor).

He replied to each in turn that evening, describing the guild, his daily life, and yes, answering Nima's silly questions (no two-headed fish, food is decent, mostly stews and bread, and that city girls have nothing on a Tiruvan lass who can mussel-gather in a storm). These exchanges buoyed him, reinforcing a sense of identity that he was more than just a novice; he was Kelan of Tiruva, carrying his village's spirit with him.

As the days turned into weeks, Kelan began to see small improvements in his control. The headaches receded slightly as his meditation and focus practices paid off. He managed to sort those sand grains eventually—only a few at a time into a small pile, but it was progress and earned a rare grin of approval from Magister Aurel.

Yet, there were also sobering moments. One lecture dealt with the historical misuse of Mind-Touch—tales of ancient sorcerers who manipulated objects to cause destruction or subtly influenced blades in battle to assassinate kings. It drove home that his power, in another life, could have set him down a dark path. Lirien, who taught that session, looked directly at Kelan and Sera as she said, "Power alone isn't evil or good; it's the heart of the one who wields it that gives it purpose. That is why we spend equal time building character and conscience here."

Kelan reflected often on those words when he lay in bed at night. He believed his heart was in the right place—he truly wished to help his village and others, not harm. Still, self-knowledge was a journey. He was introspective by nature; he examined his motives and fears in his journal (a habit he started upon Lirien's suggestion to write thoughts daily). In it, he wrote about his discomfort when he'd gotten angry at Jorem's jibes—how a part of him fantasized about lifting Jorem by the belt with his mind and dunking him in the horse trough as a prank. He admitted in the journal that even that harmless-seeming revenge would have been an abuse of his power, and he felt shame for even imagining it. By acknowledging it on paper, he hoped to let it go.

One clear afternoon, Magister Orlann himself led a practical session, which was rare. He had a senior apprentice demonstrate a more advanced use of telekinesis: the young man levitated three different objects at once—a quill, a cup, and a small book—making them orbit each other. It was an impressive juggling act done purely by will. The novices watched in awe. Kelan felt a spark of aspiration light up. One day, that could be him—capable and confident.

Orlann had each novice attempt a dual-object manipulation just to see where they were. Kelan struggled to even lift the second object while holding the first afloat; everything clattered down. The Chapter Master didn't scold, just nodded thoughtfully. When it came to Jorem, who had an easier task since flame-talent was more about intensity than multitasking, the boy tried to impress by controlling two candles' flames at once. He overdid it and nearly set a tapestry smoldering. Orlann swiftly snuffed the flames with a gesture, giving Jorem a stern look that humbled him. Kelan couldn't deny a small, guilty satisfaction at seeing the braggart taken down a peg by his own ego. It was a lesson to Kelan too: pride could trip you up faster than any external obstacle.

Through these small dramas and daily studies, Kelan gradually settled into life at the guild. He found moments of joy—like when he levitated his seashell from home smoothly for a whole minute during an evening practice alone, feeling a warm connection to both his origins and his growth. And moments of homesickness—like when he ate a fish stew in the guild refectory that was bland compared to his mother's, making him yearn for Marana's cooking and the comfort of their hearth.

One night, unable to sleep, he climbed to the roof of the guildhall (novices weren't really supposed to, but he discovered a window in the attic library that led out). From there, he gazed at the harbor. In the distance, he could see the dark outline of the sea and a few twinkling lights of ships. He thought of Tiruva beyond that horizon. It struck him that for all the progress he was making here, he was still very much the same soul who loved the sea, loved his community, and cherished simple things.

In that moment, Kelan promised himself that power or no power, city or village, he would hold onto the values instilled in him. He would use his abilities to help, not to dominate, and remain the kind of person his father and mother would be proud of.

He whispered a little Tiruvan evening prayer under the stars—a habit from childhood, honoring the sea and thanking it for the day's lessons. It felt right, even here on a roof in Aurindon, as if the ocean could hear him across the miles.

As he returned to bed, he felt a quiet confidence growing. He was where he needed to be, doing what he needed to do. Yes, he missed home, but every knot he tied in the fabric of his new life here connected back to those roots.

Kelan's journey in the guild had truly begun. Each day tempered him like a smith's fire tempers steel—a bit stronger, a bit more flexible, shaping him for the challenges ahead. He was no longer the uncertain boy drawing water from a village well and wondering what was wrong with him. He was a novice mage, learning what was right with him—and how to use it properly.

Chapter 13: Trials of Strength

Three months into Kelan's training, the novices were roused one crisp morning by an unusual announcement. Magister Lirien met them after meditation with a clatter of excitement in her normally composed demeanor. "Today, we have a practical assignment outside the guild," she declared. "Aurindon's harbormaster has requested our aid with a situation, and the Chapter Master has agreed to lend some apprentices for assistance under supervision."

This caused a ripple of whispers among the novices. It was rare for novices—essentially first-year students—to be involved in real-world tasks. Most looked eager, a couple apprehensive. Kelan's heart thumped with anticipation. Here was a chance to apply what he'd learned beyond the controlled environment of the guildhall, to see how magic could serve the community directly.

Over a quick breakfast, rumors flew as to what the task might be. Some said a ship ran aground, others that a warehouse collapsed. Janna hoped it was helping heal injured sailors (her specialty), whereas Tomas half-joked about maybe summoning wind to fill sails. Jorem grumbled about doing "dockworker chores" beneath his station, earning an eye-roll from Sera.

When they assembled in the courtyard, Lirien and another magister, Orel (a stout man known for earth magic), briefed them properly. A large cargo barge had partially sunk at one of the piers overnight, possibly due to a rotten hull and heavy load. It wasn't entirely underwater—its deck jutted at an angle above the surface—but it was blocking a key berth and threatening to spill its cargo of granite blocks into the harbor if it broke apart further. The city's cranes and pulleys struggled with it because of the awkward angle and weight. The guild offered to assist by using magic to stabilize and lighten the barge while workers pumped water out and secured it.

They marched down to the docks in a group, gray robes drawing attention from passersby. Kelan caught snatches of comment: "Mage apprentices, looks like," "Ah, they sending the kids to do men's work now?" "Hush, any help is welcome." He felt a prick of pride but also pressure. People expected them to succeed, or possibly to make a show. He resolved to focus and follow instructions.

At the scene, the harbormaster, a wiry woman with tanned skin and a permanent squint, greeted the magisters. The barge in question lay half-submerged next to the pier, one end low in the water, the other angled up with its hull exposed, looking like a wounded beast. A team of dockworkers was already on it, trying to attach slings and plug holes with canvas.

Magister Orel took charge of directing the apprentices. Those with water or wind affinities were sent to help push water out of the hull or ensure the barge didn't drift. Janna was stationed with a medic to tend any injuries (a couple of workers had minor scrapes from earlier efforts). Kelan, Sera, and Tomas (with his electrical spark, not directly useful here but he had strong general endurance) were tasked with the central challenge: using raw telekinetic force or reinforcement to keep the barge stable and slightly buoyant as pumps worked.

"Think of it like you are each an invisible pillar holding up that boat," Lirien advised Kelan and Sera. "Don't try to lift it outright—just ease its weight a bit, slow any shifts. Kelan, focus on the stern section; Sera, the bow. Tomas, you coordinate with them and signal if you see any part slipping."

They climbed carefully onto the listing pier adjacent to the barge. The wood was slick with brine. Kelan planted his feet wide for balance and took a centering breath. This was far beyond moving a cup or even a heavy crate. But he also had more adrenaline and will than ever—the stakes were real.

He extended his hands out of reflex, though the power would come from his mind, not muscles. The stern of the barge, nearest him, was sunken; only the railing and a mast stuck out above water. Kelan homed in on the image of pushing it up from below, like lifting a huge, uneven tray.

He felt Sera's power flicker out beside him—she was attempting the bow, face screwed in concentration. Kelan closed his eyes briefly to filter distractions: the shouting of workers, the splash of water being bailed. He summoned the feeling from the storm night, that sense of enveloping an object with his will, but tempered this time by technique he'd practiced. A deep inhale, then push…

A groan of timber responded. Kelan opened his eyes to see the barge's stern rise inches, water pouring off its deck back into the sea. His arms trembled though he wasn't physically holding anything—it was strain from the mind outward. Nearby, Sera had her hands pressed forward, jaw clenched; the bow tipped slightly upward in kind.

Excited shouts rang out: "It's moving! They're lifting it!" This renewed the dockworkers' vigor; they rushed to crank the pump and secure the now-exposed holes.

Kelan felt sweat bead on his brow. The weight was enormous. He sensed the barge as a massive presence in his mental grip, pressing down relentlessly. It was like trying to lift a boulder with a fishing net—possible to an extent, but bits kept slipping. He maintained focus on one section, figuring Sera did the same up front. The combined effect held.

Minutes passed that felt like hours. Tomas called out updates: "Steady… Looking good… A bit more on the stern, Kelan, it's dipping… good." Lirien stood behind, one hand on Kelan's shoulder, not intervening yet but a grounding reassurance.

Kelan's head throbbed, vision starting to blur at the edges from the intense focus. He could sense the limit approaching—like an overtaxed muscle about to fail. Just a little longer, he urged himself. The workers had almost drained enough water that the barge could start to float on its own. He saw them hammering planks over a breach.

Suddenly, a sharp crack rang out. One of the temporary ropes holding the barge snapped from the strain. The sudden shift sent the barge lurching downward on the stern side. Kelan gasped as the mental weight on him surged. He fought to hold it, but it was too abrupt; the stern dropped a foot, sloshing water violently.

The jolt broke his concentration completely. Kelan staggered, a lance of pain shooting through his skull. At the same time, a panicked shout: one of the dockworkers on the barge had lost his footing with the lurch and slid towards the gap between barge and pier.

Kelan's eyes snapped to the man, seeing him about to be crushed or drowned—hard to tell which as the heavy hull see-sawed.

Without hesitation, acting on pure instinct, Kelan thrust out a hand and mind together, not at the whole barge now but at the falling man. In an instant of desperate clarity, he imagined grabbing the back of the worker's jacket as if it had a hook.

The man jerked to a stop mid-plummet, suspended inches above the cold seawater and the grinding hull. Kelan's outstretched hand quivered as he held the man aloft with raw will. It was easier than the whole barge, comparatively—a single human weight—though the shock and his earlier exhaustion made it precarious.

People on the dock and barge stared in astonishment. Sera, who had managed to keep the bow stable through this, gaped at the sight. Lirien, however, reacted swiftly: she extended her own will to reinforce Kelan's hold, gently guiding the worker to drift sideways onto the pier. Two sailors pulled the frightened, dripping man fully to safety.

As soon as he was safe, Kelan released the breath he'd been holding. His knees buckled, and he might have collapsed if Lirien hadn't caught him under the arm. "Easy now," she said, lowering him to sit. His head swam, vision dotted with sparks. When he put a hand to his face, his nose was bleeding freely—a warm trickle down to his chin. He tasted copper and salt.

But the barge—what about the barge? He tried to struggle up, panic flaring that he'd dropped the bigger task. To his relief, he saw Magister Orel at the water's edge, arms raised; he had intervened with his earth magic, perhaps magnetizing the stone cargo or bracing the hull with unseen force. The barge was now largely under control, if not already afloat then at least prevented from sinking further. Sera was sitting too, being tended by a guild aide, looking spent.

The crisis had passed. Workers cheered as the last water gushed out and the barge settled in a stable, albeit low, position. The harbormaster came over to thump Orel and Lirien on the back gratefully, then—to Kelan's surprise—she bent down and did the same to him, a bit more gently. "Seven gods, boy, that was something. You saved my nephew's fool hide," she said, pointing to the man Kelan had caught, who now sat in shock with a blanket around him. "He owes you a cask of our best ale, at least, when you're of age to drink it," she added wryly.

Kelan offered a weak smile, still too dizzy to speak properly. His mind was catching up to what happened. He had lifted a person, clear out of the air, like plucking a gull from the sky. And he'd done it almost reflexively. It dawned on him that none of the training exercises had explicitly tried that scenario; he just... did it. The thought was both exhilarating and alarming. If he had faltered, the man could have died. The responsibility of that power weighed on him as much as the barge had.

Lirien fussed over Kelan like a mother hen once the immediate work was done. She had the apprentices drink restorative tonics that smelled of peppermint and iron to help with fatigue. She checked Kelan's pupils and pulse as one might after an injury. "You've overextended again," she tutted, "But you did marvelously." There was pride in her voice.

Jorem, notably, was quiet for once, having witnessed Kelan's deed. Tomas clapped Kelan on the shoulder (carefully, as Kelan was still wobbly) and exclaimed, "That was like a scene from the epics! Remind me never to fall off a boat without you around."

Sera gave him a tired smile. "You were amazing. I tried to hold the bow steady but when that rope snapped, I nearly lost it too."

Kelan finally found his voice. "We all did it together," he croaked modestly. "I just… reacted."

On return to the guild later, the apprentices were given the rest of the day to rest. Kelan retreated to his room after cleaning up. He had to lie down as a wave of exhaustion made him nearly faint. But he couldn't sleep yet; too many thoughts whirled in his head.

Word of the incident spread quickly through the guild. An older student congratulated him in passing: "Heard you took to heroics your first outing. Good show." Even Orlann sent a short message summoning Kelan to see him the next morning, which made Kelan anxious (was he in trouble for taking risks, or being commended? Hard to tell with the formal phrasing).

Despite physical weariness, Kelan's mind replayed the critical moment over and over. When the rope snapped—he recalled the surge of fear for the worker and the absolute necessity he felt to stop the man's fall. There had been no second-guessing, no debate; his power had answered his intent like a hawk diving to a lure.

This made him ponder one of the moral lectures they'd had: about using magic in life-and-death situations, how emotions can amplify one's ability. "Beware desperation, for it can unlock great feats—but also cause great folly," a magister had said. In his case, desperation achieved something good. But what if his emotions had been negative, like anger or panic? Could he have made the situation worse inadvertently? It was a fine line to tread.

He realized something else: in that moment, saving someone, he felt truly and deeply that this was why he had been given this gift. Not to float cups or even help fish the sea, but to preserve life, to make a difference when no ordinary means could. It gave him a sense of purpose that resonated with his core values.

However, he also felt a trace of fear—fear of the power itself. Holding a man's life literally in his mind's grasp was sobering. He silently vowed to never use such ability lightly or recklessly. Each time must be weighed, for lives and well-being hung in that balance.

Haran visited the guild that evening, having heard from a dockside friend about the "mage boy from Tiruva" who caught someone from thin air. He found Kelan in the small infirmary room (Lirien had insisted he rest there for observation). Haran's face was a mix of pride and worry. "You're making a name for yourself already," he chuckled softly, taking Kelan's hand. "Your mother would probably both scold and hug you to death if she saw what you did."

Kelan managed a grin. "Probably. I'm alright, just drained."

They spoke quietly for a time. Haran shared the public's response: generally admiration, though he noted a few dock folk muttering about "unnatural powers." There would always be some who looked askance at magic, but the harbormaster publicly thanked the guild, which set a positive tone.

Before leaving, Haran handed Kelan a small package. "I was going to save this for a special occasion. Seems like today counts." Inside was a set of gloves made of tough, oiled leather. "They're sailor's gloves, but modified by a tanner friend of mine with some inscription for durability. Good for work or if you ever have to handle rough stuff. I figured a young man who left on a ship should have a proper pair."

Kelan was touched by the gift. The gloves fit well, and he suspected Haran meant them as both practical gear and a token of their shared connection to the sea-faring life. "Thank you, truly."

That night, allowed back in his room, Kelan fell into a deep sleep as soon as his head hit the pillow. He dreamt of Tiruva's docks merging with Aurindon's, of villagers and cityfolk together hauling a net of stars from the sea while he hovered above holding the ropes with invisible hands. A strange dream, but he woke with a sense of unity—between his past and present, between mundane labor and magical aid.

The successful harbor trial bolstered Kelan's confidence. It proved that all his training could have tangible, meaningful outcomes. Yet it also reminded him how much further he had to go; he'd nearly crumpled from the effort. There were limits to push, techniques to refine, and cautionary lessons to heed.

As he resumed classes the following day (after a brief meeting where Orlann did indeed commend him but also gently warned against overtaxing himself in the future), Kelan carried himself a bit taller. Not with arrogance, but with assurance. He had faced a trial by water and will, and come out stronger in understanding.

In quiet moments, he wondered what other tests might come, and if he'd be ready. But for now, he felt on the right path—learning, growing, serving. Step by step, knot by knot, he continued to weave the fabric of his destiny, grateful for every thread of experience that made him who he was becoming.

Chapter 14: Portents of Change

Summer's end brought a change in the air at the Aurindon guild. The oppressive heat mellowed and a crispness hinted at autumn's approach. With it came a flurry of activity: new scrolls arriving from the capital, discussions of year-end evaluations, and, most intriguingly, a visit from an Imperial Magus.

It was not every year that someone from the Imperial Academy in Auristaz came to a regional chapter like Aurindon. But word had spread through the mage network of an exceptionally talented telekinetic novice here. Unbeknownst to Kelan, Magister Orlann had been corresponding with colleagues in the capital ever since Kelan's dramatic harbor rescue. The result was that Magus Aerlyn, a respected instructor from Auristaz, scheduled a stop in Aurindon on her tour of coastal chapters.

In early autumn, just as Kelan was growing comfortable in his routines, Magus Aerlyn arrived. She was a tall, elegant woman with ebony skin, hair in tight silver-white curls (an indication of age though her face was unlined by time), and robes that seemed to shimmer between blue and violet depending on how the light hit them. Along with her came two assistants, and an air of quiet authority.

The entire guild was on its best behavior. The apprentices were instructed to treat this as an opportunity to learn and to make a good impression. Jorem and some others fretted over their demonstration pieces; rumor was Aerlyn might witness each novice perform a bit of their magic, a sort of informal assessment.

Kelan felt a knot of nerves. He was confident in what he could do after months of training, but this was another unknown; how would someone from the legendary capital Academy view him? Would he measure up?

The day of Aerlyn's visit, the main hall was arranged like a small exhibition. One by one, novices were introduced, and they showed a prepared exercise. It wasn't an exam, per se, but more like a showcase.

Tomas created a small thunderclap between his palms. Janna healed a cut on a volunteer's arm in seconds. Sera, perhaps bravely, attempted to read a simple thought Aerlyn projected to her (she got the gist of it, which impressed those who understood how fickle telepathy could be). Jorem conjured a controlled jet of flame that spelled an initial in the air. Others did their parts with varying success.

Kelan was scheduled last. Whether by design or coincidence, he felt the suspense building as each demonstration passed. He was proud of his friends, especially how far they'd come. In fact, watching them eased his tension—everyone had little hiccups and no one was perfect, yet Aerlyn was encouraging and engaged, not overly critical.

When it was Kelan's turn, Orlann did the introduction. "Our final novice needs little introduction given the tale of the harbor has likely preceded him. This is Kelan of Tiruva, possessor of telekinetic talent. He will demonstrate a basic multi-object manipulation, followed by a weight lift."

Kelan stepped forward into the cleared space. He could feel many eyes on him: his fellow apprentices, the Aurindon magisters, Aerlyn and her aides. He inhaled slowly, recalling his meditation training.

On a table before him were set three objects: a quill, a brass paperweight, and a ceramic cup. The goal was to lift all three simultaneously—a feat he had been working towards. He'd only managed it cleanly a couple of times before, but he felt ready now.

He focused first on the quill, the lightest, easing it into the air. Next, he 'touched' the ceramic cup with his mind—it wobbled and then rose a handspan. Lastly, the brass weight—this one was tricky as it taxed his strength. He furrowed his brow, urging it up. For a moment, nothing; then, it jerked upwards and hovered, though less steadily than the others.

A soft "ah" ran through some of the onlookers. Kelan now had all three items floating. He started them moving in a slow orbit, trying to replicate the senior apprentice's juggling trick he'd seen months back. The quill and cup followed his guidance nicely; the brass weight lagged and bobbed. He decided not to push his luck on finesse—just keeping them aloft together was enough to show.

He gently set all three down—perhaps a bit clunkily at the end, as the weight thumped rather than tapped onto the table, but nothing broke.

Polite clapping sounded. Aerlyn watched with analytical interest.

Now for the weight lift. In the corner of the hall lay a heavy sandbag used for physical training, roughly 100 pounds. The task: lift it one foot off the ground. Kelan knew he could manage it on a good day, though it would tax him. After the multi-object exercise, he was already a bit winded, but he steeled himself. Part of these demos was to show one's limits as well as strengths.

He faced the sandbag, palms out. It felt similar to the barge, though on a much smaller scale. He visualized it rising. The familiar pressure built behind his eyes—a sensation he'd come to recognize as his mind's muscles straining.

Slowly, the sack trembled and then lifted. Six inches…eight…one foot. He held it there, arms now raised as if he were physically hoisting it (sometimes moving his body in concert helped his focus). A count of three, and he let it down with a grunt. The sack hit the floor with a puff of dust.

He swayed; a couple of apprentices looked ready to jump in if he fainted, but Kelan steadied himself. A trickle from his nose—just a small one this time—he wiped quickly with a handkerchief.

This time the clapping was more enthusiastic. Even Jorem gave a small nod of respect, albeit when he thought no one watched.

Magus Aerlyn approached Kelan as he caught his breath. Up close, he noticed she had a faint pattern of arcane tattoos along her neck, almost like scales of a dragon, hinting at deep magical enhancements or protections. Her eyes were a startling amber.

"Very well done, Kelan," she said in a clear, resonant voice. "Raw yet, but quite powerful. And I sense you have a careful hand with it." She looked him in the eyes, and he felt almost as if she was seeing beyond them.

"Thank you, Magus," he replied respectfully.

She continued, addressing him but also Orlann and Lirien who had come near. "The capital Academy would be fortunate to have a student like you. I would encourage you to consider advancing your training there. We have resources and expertise in Mind Arts that far exceed what smaller chapters can provide. That said," she gave a gracious nod to Orlann, "Your mentors here have given you an excellent foundation."

Orlann bowed slightly. "High praise. We aim to identify and nurture talent for precisely this reason."

It was as much an official endorsement as one could hope for. Aerlyn was essentially offering Kelan a place at the Imperial Academy.

Kelan felt a flush of excitement and trepidation. He had known this was a possibility, that perhaps one day he'd travel to Auristaz (indeed that was the original plan when he left Tiruva, though detoured through Aurindon). But now that it was real, he realized how attached he'd grown to Aurindon and its people.

Later that day, Orlann formally met with Kelan in private. The Chapter Master's office was lined with maps and certificates, one of which Kelan noticed bore Orlann's own graduation from the Imperial Academy decades ago.

"You have a choice," Orlann said, getting straight to it. "You could stay here, continue as one of our apprentices, likely become an acolyte in a year or two and then a fully-fledged mage serving locally. We would welcome that. But, as you've seen, the Imperial Academy beckons for one with your gift. They have entire libraries on telekinesis, specialized tutors, possibly even other students who can do what you do, from whom you can learn and compare."

Kelan appreciated that Orlann framed it as a choice, not an edict. It reminded him of when Marana and Kamala gently guided him but ultimately let him decide to leave home.

"What do you think I should do, sir?" Kelan asked, not out of reluctance to choose, but genuinely valuing the wisdom of his teacher.

Orlann folded his hands. "I think your potential would be best realized with the greater breadth of training. We have limitations here—our library has but a few tomes on Mind-Touch, none of us specialize in it. In Auristaz, the Arch-Magus who heads the Mind Arts college is a telekinetic of legendary skill. Training under such luminaries could accelerate your growth."

He paused, then spoke more softly, "However, life in the capital is very different. More competition, more politics. I sense you have a humble spirit, Kelan, and a generous one. That may be tested in the halls of Auristaz, where many prideful and ambitious individuals gather. I have seen promising young mages lose themselves to ego or get entangled in schemes at court. Here in Aurindon, we shielded you somewhat; there, you will need a strong inner compass."

Kelan absorbed that. It mirrored his own internal cautions. "I understand. My mother's voice will be in my head to keep me honest, I think," he smiled.

Orlann chuckled. "Mothers are good for that." Then he grew serious again. "Aerlyn has offered to take you and one other apprentice with her when she returns at the end of the month. It's an ideal arrangement; you'd travel under her protection and arrive with her endorsement. Few novices get such a red-carpet welcome, if you'll pardon the phrase."

"One other apprentice?" Kelan asked. He hadn't realized someone else might go.

Orlann nodded. "We've decided Sera would also benefit, if she's willing. The Academy has a dedicated program for telepaths, which we lack entirely here. She was hesitant at first—she's a bit timid—but I think the two of you going together would be good. You can support each other, representing Aurindon proudly."

Kelan felt relief at that. Sera was one of the friends he'd grown closest to, through shared mind-art training. Having her along in the capital would ease the loneliness. "I'm glad. I hope she agrees."

He thought of Jorem or Tomas or others. Some might be jealous, but it made sense: Tomas' talents could be developed fine here, Jorem frankly wasn't as advanced as he boasted, Janna was happy to stay with the local healer… The mind-gifted ones were the outliers needing special masters.

"I will go then," Kelan said firmly, feeling a mixture of resolve and sadness. "This is why I came, after all. To learn as much as I can."

Orlann smiled, though there was a paternal sadness in it too. "I will arrange the paperwork. And Kelan—know that you always have a place here in Aurindon. Even after you soar, you're welcome back to roost anytime."

Preparations began for departure. Kelan wrote another round of letters to Tiruva, this time explaining that he was moving on to Auristaz itself, the grand capital. He framed it in exciting terms, for he didn't want them to worry. Marana's reply came swiftly, almost as if she expected this evolution: "My son, as the gull must ride the sea's winds to reach new shores, so too must you follow where your path leads. Auristaz! I never imagined one from our little village would walk those streets. Make the most of it, and remember, the brightest seashell shines even under many fathoms of ocean. Be that seashell—shine with your own light no matter how deep or far."

Nima's letter was half-joking: "So you're too good for our port city now, off to the Imperial glamour, huh? Next thing I know you'll be dining with the Empress. Don't forget us small folk when you're a fancy mage. (In truth, I'm super proud of you, Kel. Just save those stories for me. And stay safe in that den of noble lions!)"

Kelan cherished these, reading them multiple times. They gave him strength and a sense of continuity.

The weeks flew by. Sera did agree to go, after Kelan assured her they'd stick together as allies. Haran was both overjoyed and downcast—happy for Kelan's progress, but personally sad to see him leave Aurindon. They spent a last evening sharing spiced cider and Haran made Kelan promise to visit whenever he could.

"I will miss you like family," Kelan admitted, hugging the older man. "You've been like an uncle or second father to me here." Haran blinked away moisture and gave a gruff laugh, "Just doing what any Tiruvan would—looking after their own. Now go become someone even more incredible, eh?"

Packing was easier than when he left Tiruva; he had little to take materially. Some new clothes, including his apprentice robes (to be replaced by Academy garb soon, he was told). The gloves from Haran. His personal mementos. He added one more: the small piece of railing wood from the harbor barge, which he had asked for as a keepsake (they were scrapping the damaged barge, so no one minded). That wood symbolized a turning point in his journey here.

At last, the day came. Aerlyn was departing via an Imperial sky carriage—a magically levitated craft used by high-ranking mages for faster travel overland. It could carry a small number of passengers and would reach Auristaz in days rather than weeks by ship. Kelan had never been in one and was both nervous and excited at the prospect of flying.

Farewells at the guild were heartfelt. Lirien squeezed Kelan's shoulders and made him promise to write of his progress. Tomas gifted him a small sketch he'd made of the novice group at a meal, a memento of camaraderie. Even Jorem approached, awkwardly extended a hand, and when Kelan shook it, muttered, "Show those capital snobs what us coastal lads can do, alright?"

"Alright," Kelan replied with a friendly grin.

The sky carriage waited in an open field outside the city—a sleek, boat-like cabin with engraved runes along its sides and no visible wheels or wings, harnessed to two stone gargoyle-like creatures that acted as the lifting force.

Kelan embraced Haran one last time at the field, the wind from the carriage's enchantments whipping their clothes. "This isn't goodbye forever," he said.

"Nor even goodbye for long, I wager," Haran agreed. "The world has a way of circling back around."

Sera was already aboard, peering out with an anxious wave. Kelan climbed the short step ladder to join her and Aerlyn's aides. Aerlyn herself was at the front, chanting softly as she activated the runes.

With a final look at Aurindon's skyline—the fort, the masts in the harbor, the guildhall's roof among the city buildings—Kelan took his seat. The door closed.

A hum filled the air and a sensation of weightlessness tugged at his stomach as the carriage lifted off the ground. Through the window, he saw Haran, Orlann, Lirien, and others on the ground growing smaller. He raised a hand in farewell, and they waved back until distance made it hard to tell individuals apart.

The carriage rose above Aurindon, and for a moment Kelan could see the entire bay, the curve of the coastline he had sailed along, and far to the north, perhaps a hint of where Tiruva lay beyond the horizon. It struck him how far he'd come—first by sea and now by sky.

As the craft turned eastward, accelerating towards Auristaz, Kelan felt a mix of sorrow and hope. He was leaving behind the life he'd built in this second home, but moving towards the fulfillment of why he left the first.

He touched the seashell in his pocket and thought of his mother, of Nima, of everyone. Then he looked ahead through the front glass where clouds parted to reveal a vast expanse of green and gold lands below, leading to where the capital city would be in a few days' time.

Another journey had begun. And with it, Act I of his story—the awakening, the departure, the foundation—drew to a close. Act II awaited in the shimmering spires of Auristaz, where new challenges and discoveries would no doubt test everything he had learned so far.

Kelan closed his eyes for a moment, offering a silent thanks to the winds and fate that had carried him here. Then he opened them, gaze steady and heart resolved, ready to meet his future.

Chapter 15: City of Spires

From the sky carriage, Auristaz appeared first as a shimmer on the horizon, then a sprawling tapestry of stone, water, and light. Kelan pressed his face to the glass window alongside Sera, both of them rendered speechless by the sight.

The Imperial capital sprawled along the banks of a mighty river that glinted like molten silver in the midday sun. The city was encircled by ancient walls of pale golden stone, though over time suburbs and townships had spilled beyond them in a patchwork. Within the walls, however, rose the true heart of Auristaz: dozens of towers and spires reaching toward the heavens, some slender and graceful, others thick and battlemented. The tallest of all was the Imperial Spire at the city's center, crowned with an immense blue crystal that caught the sunlight and refracted rainbows—an arcane beacon said to be visible for leagues.

As the carriage descended, Kelan's eyes darted to soak in details: Rooftops of copper and terracotta, grand avenues radiating from central plazas, gardens and groves nestled between districts. There was a colossal amphitheater, the curved arches of an aqueduct, and bridges over the river connecting the two halves of the city. Ships dotted the river and canals, far more than even Aurindon's busy harbor, bringing goods from the inland provinces.

Most astonishing to Kelan were the elements of open magic on display. He saw, as they flew lower, a cluster of small sky carriages similar to theirs drifting above a domed building—perhaps a transit station. In one plaza, a fountain didn't just jet water upward, it shaped it into fleeting forms of animals dancing before splashing down. Lights bobbed in midair along certain boulevards, mage-lamps that needed no posts. He even glimpsed a distant figure flying—or perhaps levitating—across the roofline of a temple, robes fluttering behind like a bird's wings.

All of it filled Kelan with equal measures of wonder and intimidation. This was a place where magic was not the whispers of old stories or the secret talent of a lone boy; it was woven into the fabric of daily life, celebrated, regulated, omnipresent. How small he felt in that moment, a village boy who only months ago had worried about hiding a few moving objects. Yet, how exhilarating to be here now, a part of this world.

The sky carriage banked toward a district near the river, where a cluster of elegant buildings stood separated from the bustle by a wide greensward. The Academy campus. Kelan could make out courtyards and lecture halls, training grounds marked with arcane symbols, and dormitory towers. One tower in particular was very tall and covered in mosaic patterns of stars and constellations—Aerlyn pointed it out as "The Celestial Tower, our grand library and observatory."

They touched down gently in a walled courtyard draped with ivy. A small delegation awaited: a couple of senior students in formal attire and a robed man with a scroll—likely an administrator.

Stepping out of the carriage, Kelan felt the solidity of Auristaz ground under his feet. The air was warm and carried scents he couldn't quite place: a mix of river humidity, blossoms from the gardens, and an undernote of alchemical concoctions from who-knew-where.

Magus Aerlyn introduced Kelan and Sera to Administrator Belcor, a thin man with spectacles who noted their names and welcomed them graciously. "We've prepared quarters in the Novice Wing for you both," he said, and assigned the two upperclass students to show them around.

As they walked through the Academy grounds, Kelan was like a sponge, absorbing impressions. Marble statues of past arch-mages lined one walkway, each captured in a pose of casting or discovery. Students in various colored robes hurried by—some clearly novices in plain garb like his (though here their novice robes were white, trimmed with the color of their discipline), others in more elaborate dress indicating advanced rank or specialization.

One young man passed, carrying a stack of books that floated above his hands as if weightless—he nodded politely, hardly breaking concentration. A trio of students sat under a tree discussing theory, their conversation full of terms Kelan only partially grasped. He heard laughter from an open common room where a group seemed to be practicing illusion spells that created bursts of harmless colored sparks.

It was both a school and a small city unto itself. And it thrummed with energy—intellectual, magical, and youthful.

They reached the Novice Wing dormitory. Inside, stone corridors echoed with footsteps and chatter. Kelan was given a private room (small, but a tad larger than the one in Aurindon and equipped with a desk, a wardrobe, and its own tiny window looking out over the river). Sera's room was just a few doors down. Knowing a friend was nearby comforted them both.

After stowing his belongings, Kelan rejoined Sera and their guides for a broader orientation. They toured the dining hall (far larger than Aurindon's, bustling at all hours, capable of feeding hundreds of students with food from all over the Empire), the primary lecture auditoriums (grand, tiered rooms with acoustic enchantments so the lecturer could be heard clearly at the back), and the various college halls. There was a Hall of Elements (fire, water, earth, air students often gathered there), a Hall of Illusions, one for Healing and Growth, and of course the Hall of Mind Arts, which would be Kelan and Sera's new home base.

Within that hall, Kelan was introduced to Magister Varun, a stout, cheerful man who oversaw telekinetic training, and Magistra Leena, a soft-spoken woman in charge of telepathy and empathy studies. Both greeted the newcomers warmly, already seeming apprised of their backgrounds. Varun clapped Kelan on the back. "We'll have that lifting power of yours finely tuned in no time. Perhaps starting with something less dramatic than sinking barges, eh?" he joked, referencing the story he obviously had heard.

Leena engaged Sera gently, and Kelan overheard her saying how excited the telepathic circle would be to have fresh perspective from a coastal talent.

By late afternoon, the formalities wound down, and Kelan finally had a bit of solitude in his new room. His trunk was delivered (by a helpful spell that levitated luggage through the halls, to his amazement). He spent some time arranging his few items: clothes in the wardrobe, books on a shelf (his Aurindon mentors had gifted him a couple of basic texts to carry on), and personal keepsakes on the desk. The seashell, the piece of dock wood, the sketch from Tomas, and a small woven bracelet Nima had included in her last letter as a 'lucky charm'—these he laid out where he could see them daily. Touchstones of where he came from.

Exhaustion hit him, but he was too keyed up to rest. Instead, he sat by the window as dusk fell, writing in his journal by the light of a little hovering orb lamp (a standard feature in every room here). He chronicled the journey and his first impressions of Auristaz, capturing the awe so he would never forget what it felt like at that moment.

He also penned quick notes to his mother and Haran, knowing official letters had likely been sent by Aerlyn but wanting to convey personally that he'd arrived, safe and overwhelmed but happy.

At dinner, he and Sera braved the main hall. They found themselves adopted by a couple of second-year mind-mages who peppered them with friendly questions about life on the frontier (everything outside the capital seemed to be "the frontier" to city folk, Kelan noted with amusement). He recounted a lighter version of life in Tiruva—how the biggest excitement might be a really large fish catch or a visiting trader. They were charmed by the notion of a place where magic was more legend than commonplace. Sera spoke of Aurindon and how they helped in the harbor, causing a flurry of interest until she blushed and fell quiet; Kelan smoothly picked up the tale so she wouldn't feel on the spot.

Later that night, lying in a new bed beneath a strange ceiling, Kelan felt a pang of loneliness. It happened so fast—one morning he was in Aurindon, by night he was here. All the new faces and names swirled in his mind. He knew this was where he was supposed to be, and he felt excitement for the lessons that would start tomorrow (his schedule had been given: a mix of theory, practicals, even a history class on magical lineages).

Yet he allowed himself to miss what he missed: the sound of the ocean, which even Aurindon had; here the river was quieter, the ocean far. The particular cadence of Tiruva's elders speaking, the way Nima's laughter rang. He missed the simplicity of knowing everyone around him by name, of being among those who knew his character from childhood.

Here, he would have to prove himself anew—not just in power, but in who he was as a person. The idea was daunting, but he took comfort that foundationally, he liked who he was. His parents, his village, and his own trials had shaped a person he could be proud of, and he intended to remain true to that, no matter the grandiosity of this place.

Standing up, Kelan pushed open the small window. A breeze from the river wafted in, carrying distant city sounds—faint music from a celebration somewhere, the clop of horse hooves on stone, and an undertone of thousands of lives being lived just beyond the Academy walls.

Above, the sky was clear and the stars unfamiliar in arrangement; he was farther south and east now, and the constellations looked subtly different. But he located, after some searching, the bright star that hung over the western sea—one familiar friend in the sky that he used to watch from Tiruva's shore. It reassured him, like a watching guardian.

"Thank you," he whispered, though he wasn't sure to whom—perhaps to fate, or to his loved ones far away whose hopes and prayers he felt even now.

He allowed himself a small smile. Act I of his journey, as his life felt somewhat story-like of late, was complete. He had awakened his mind, faced fear, left home, gained knowledge, saved lives, and arrived at the center of the Empire to continue his growth. Whatever Act II held—mysteries of magic, new friendships or rivalries, duties perhaps beyond study—he believed he was ready to face them, armed with what he'd learned and who he was.

Kelan closed the window and prepared for bed. As he blew out the lamp, he murmured a Tiruvan goodnight: "May the waves of sleep carry me gently." The darkness settled, and in his mind he imagined the soft roll of the tide.

In the capital city of spires, under an unfamiliar sky, the boy from Tiruva slept, and dreamed not of uncertainty, but of the vast sea of stars overhead, guiding him onward into tomorrow.