The morning sun slanted through the forest canopy, slicing gold across the mossy earth as Keal trudged beside Nylessa with his usual dramatic flair. He walked backwards, arms behind his head, smirking.
"You know, Mother," he said, eyes on the swaying trees above, "I think I'm ready to become the greatest mage alive."
Nylessa didn't break stride. "You haven't even figured out which boots are left and right."
Keal wiggled his toes inside the wrong shoes. "That's just subjective thinking."
---
They passed the village's training field, a place usually quiet at this hour. But today, bright giggles and explosive thuds echoed from the clearing. Keal stopped midstep, nostrils flaring like a hunting hound.
"Magic," he breathed. "I smell mana and—yes—female attention."
Nylessa narrowed her eyes. "You better not start serenading fireballs."
Keal jogged to the edge of the field. A dozen children, each around four years older than Keal, formed two lines. Each child followed a thick, rune-covered book resting on the grass in front of them. They muttered incantations and waved their hands uncertainly as small water globes, floating rocks, and even a briefly levitating goat (which may have been accidental) sparked into existence.
Keal's eyes gleamed. He leaned against a tree, arms crossed. "Show-offs. I can control beetle threads. That's way cooler."
He turned, scanning the students. Three girls stood near the back, each with glowing chalk in hand. Keal adjusted his hair, stepped forward, and in his suavest voice said, "How are you today, enchanting sorceresses of the arcane?"
The girls blinked at him.
One turned away.
Another whispered something and laughed.
The third didn't look up at all.
Keal stood frozen, hand halfway to his heart. Betrayed. Forgotten. Unloved.
He shuffled back to Nylessa, who had one eyebrow raised high enough to challenge gravity.
"That's why I don't talk to them," he muttered.
She patted his head. "Wise choice, Casanova."
---
After lunch, Keal paced their cottage, arms behind his back like a plotting noble. "I must learn magic."
"You're already learning thread sense."
"Yes, but I want to explode things beautifully."
"You'd just explode."
Keal clasped her hand with both of his. "Please, oh Gothic Empress of Arcane Secrets—"
"You forgot to sweep the floor."
"Please, oh Gothic Empress of Household Chores, teach me magic."
Nylessa sighed, placed her book down, and gestured to the hearth. "Fine. Try lighting the fire. With magic."
Keal rubbed his hands together and whispered, "Prepare to be amazed."
Nothing happened.
He stared harder.
Still nothing.
He squinted so fiercely his face twitched.
A small spark shot from the logs.
He whooped. "Did you see that?! I made a spark! I'm basically unstoppable now!"
"You sneezed," Nylessa said. "But sure. Great spark."
---
For the rest of the day, Keal practiced.
Lighting candles.
Floating crumbs.
Convincing a frog to hop twice instead of once.
He flirted with every flower that bloomed nearby. "Did my magic awaken you? Be honest."
He named a daisy Petalina and proposed to her before bedtime.
Nylessa found the daisy stuck to his forehead when he fell asleep.
She left it there.
---
By moonlight, Keal stood beneath the stars, arms open.
Threads danced above. Faint now, whispering like wind.
"One day," he told them, "I'll thread and cast and charm everyone. Especially girls who don't ignore me."
A divine thread shimmered faintly.
He winked at it.
---