Chapter 4: Chapter 4: Trials and Tribulations
The days leading up to the harvest festival flew by in a blur of activity. My mornings were spent helping my parents with farm chores, muscles burning as I hauled buckets of water, chopped firewood, and cleared fields. In the afternoons, Anya and I would meet by the stream, transforming it into our makeshift training ground.
Anya, blessed with natural agility and a fiery spirit, proved to be a relentless opponent. We practiced basic swordplay with wooden practice blades, Anya's movements swift and unpredictable, while I struggled to keep up, my body clumsy and awkward. Frustration gnawed at me, but Anya only laughed, her enthusiasm infectious.
"Come on, Elian," she'd tease, parrying a clumsy swing. "You fight like a drunken goat!"
Her words stung, but they also spurred me on. I practiced late into the evenings, sweat soaking my clothes, muscles screaming in protest. Slowly, my movements improved. My strikes gained a semblance of power, my defense less riddled with holes.
As for my magic, progress remained elusive. The encounter with the crimson leaf had fueled my hope, but replicating the feat proved impossible. I spent countless hours meditating under the ancient oak, visualizing energy flowing from my fingertips, willing it to interact with the world around me. But nothing happened.
Discouragement threatened to overwhelm me, but I clung to the faint hope that the festival might offer something more - a glimpse of true magic, a chance to learn from a master.
The day of the festival arrived, a crisp autumn morning that promised clear skies and a lively celebration. The village square was abuzz with activity. Tents lined the perimeter displaying wares – hand-woven baskets, colorful pottery, and glistening apples harvested from nearby orchards. Laughter and conversation filled the air, punctuated by the rhythmic clang of a blacksmith hammering metal.
My heart pounded a nervous rhythm in my chest as I joined Anya, who was already eyeing the various contests with a competitive glint in her eyes. The official announcement of the festival began, the village elder's voice rasping through the crowd.
"First, the test of strength!" she boomed. "Who among our fine young men will prove their might by lifting this mighty log?"
A cheer erupted as a thick, heavy log was brought to the center of the square. Young men, muscles rippling beneath worn tunics, stepped forward one by one. The crowd roared with approval as each contestant strained and grunted, trying to lift the log.
My stomach churned. This wasn't my forte. I was built for endurance, not brute strength.
Anya nudged me. "Your turn next, slowpoke."
I shook my head, my gaze darting towards the corner of the square where a group of richly dressed figures stood – nobles from a nearby castle, I assumed. Amongst them, stood a tall, gaunt man with an air of quiet power about him. He wore a long cloak that seemed to billow even in the still air.
Suddenly, a strange tingling sensation washed over me, a pull towards the noble. Intrigued, I focused my gaze on him, searching for any clue about his identity. A faint glimmer, barely perceptible, surrounded him like a hazy aura. It was… magic!
My breath hitched. This was it. A real mage. A surge of hope shot through me. Maybe, just maybe, this mage would be the key to unlocking my own magic potential.
Weekly Power Status
-- Power
Ranking 
-- Power
stone