I was sitting in the Gilded Hearth in my usual spot this morning. The place was moving with its usual morning rhythm. Warm light from the enchanted golden hearth flickered across the cafe's polished wooden floors, casting a cosy glow on patrons sipping their brews and nibbling on pastries.

The hum of quiet conversation filled the air, blending seamlessly with the occasional clink of enchanted teacups that warmed or cooled their contents as needed. The smell of crescentfruit tarts and sunrise croissants mingled with the tang of brewing magic.

Ding-ding. The entrance bell chimed.

The sound grew louder as the door swung open. I blinked, startled to see a figure barely half the height of the average patron stroll in with the confidence of someone three times their size. It was a gnome.

The gnome was lean, with slightly green-tinged skin, a bushy white beard, and bright blue eyes that glinting with mischief. He wore lightweight green leather armour reinforced with enchanted plating and a belt filled with vials, tools, and gadgets. Goggles perched on his forehead, and he moved with an energetic, purposeful stride.

I felt a compulsion to check my stat-sheet for the first time.

===Dorian Crestfall

Power Level: [S-Class]

[…]

===

I froze.

An [S-Class]? I thought, surprised. And a gnome, of all things? This was the first [S-Class] I’d seen in person and it was a gnome.

[S-Class] adventurers were rare, each one a legend in their own right. That this small, seemingly unassuming gnome held such a title seemed almost absurd.

Dorian turned, locking eyes with me. He nodded at me. A grin spread across his face as if he knew exactly what I had just discovered.

He approached the counter with a confident stride, his eyes scanning the display of magical pastries and the glowing chalkboard listing the enchanted brews of the day. Brenna, the ever-attentive owner, gave him a knowing look, her magical quill already scribbling.

'Morning, Crestfall. The usual—or did you finally decide to try something new?'

Dorian’s grin widened as he pointed at the chalkboard behind her. The day’s special glowed softly in enchanted script:

One Sunburst Custard Muffin – A sweet custard-filled delight with a hint of magical citrus!

Dorian: 'Now that looks like my kind of adventure. I heard you have something new. Came to try it. Forget the usual—I’m here for the Sunburst Custard Muffin. And, of course, a Spiced Ember Brew to keep things balanced.'

Brenna raised an eyebrow, her quill jotting down the order as she moved to retrieve the new pastry from its enchanted display shelf. ‘Almost sold out. Lucky you got here early’

Dorian leaned on the counter, feigning shock. ‘I knew you wouldn’t let me down.’

With a flick of her wrist, Brenna sent the floating shelf toward him. The Sunburst Custard Muffin landed lightly on his tray, its golden top glistening faintly with an enchanted glaze. A soft, warm scent of vanilla and citrus wafted up, mingling with the sharper spice of his freshly poured Spiced Ember Brew.

Brenna: 'There you go. Just don’t come crying to me if the custard gets all over that fancy vest of yours.'

Dorian picked up the muffin and examined it like it was a treasure he’d unearthed on an expedition.

'Brenna, I trust you with my life. My vest? Questionable. But this…' he gestured dramatically at the muffin, '…this looks like perfection.'

He took a deliberate bite, his eyes widening as the creamy custard filling spilled over the edge. The hint of citrus hit him next, perfectly balanced with the sweetness of the glaze and the buttery muffin.

'By the gods, Brenna. This is the kind of magic I signed up for. Put me down for another one to go.'

Brenna chuckled, already prepping a second muffin for his tray.

Brenna: 'Careful, Crestfall. At this rate, I’ll have to start charging you an ‘enthusiasm tax.’'

He walked out of the cafe. The second muffin tucked into his belt.

***

Adventurers Guild, Top Floor, Head Office

An old man, late 60’s sat in the office. For the office of one of the most powerful men in Vallenport, an [S-Class], the office was small. Two meters by two meters. It barely fit the desk, two chairs on either side of the desk and bookshelves.

The bookshelves were lined with shelves filled with everything from Draymore’s - The Compass of Conflict, to Elara Windwhisper famous travelogue and the standard reference book Emberheart Codex: Artefacts of Fire and Flame. A few trinkets from his travels were displayed, including a shard of an enchanted crystal from the Storm Shores and a rusted sword hilt said to belong to a legendary hero. Above the shelves hung a large, ornate compass—an heirloom symbolising his unerring sense of direction and leadership.

A large window overlooked the bustling waterways of Vallenport, letting in natural light that danced on the surface of the desk’s brown lacquered finish.

Not that there was much desk visible. It was chaotic — maps of uncharted territories, reports, and navigation tools were scattered across its surface, a weathered spyglass sitting next to a small stack of logs detailing recent guild missions. At the centre of the desk a beautifully carved wooden box.

Kaelen sat at his desk, flipping a coin absentmindedly while poring over a stack of mission reports. It wasn’t a coin. It was an emerald badge. An [S-Class] adventurers badge. The room smelled faintly of salt and leather, the ever-present atmosphere of the Adventurers’ Guild.

The door creaked open, and in walked Dorian Crestfall, a pastry in one hand and his goggles pushed up onto his forehead.

‘New from Gilded Hearth. Super good.’ he mumbled through a mouthful of flaky crust, brushing crumbs off his vest. 'Needed fuel. Big ideas don’t run on empty.'

He tossed the last bit of pastry into his mouth, smacked his hands together to dust off the crumbs, and leaned against the edge of Kaelen’s desk with a satisfied grin.

'Right, so we’ve got a fresh update hot out of the oven—no, not the pastry. First up, big news: we landed a new [A-Class]. Goes by the name Tavalor. Rumour has it he’s got the key to Vallenport’s Dungeon.' He wiggled his eyebrows mischievously. 'You know, the one that’s got every adventurer salivating like me in a bakery?'

Kaelen raised an eyebrow, the badge pausing mid-flip.'Tavalor, huh? You’re telling me this person might have the key to the biggest secret in the city, and you’re burying that behind a pastry report?'

Dorian shrugged. 'Hey, priorities. Pastries first, mysteries second.' He grinned, but his expression quickly turned serious. 'Joking aside, boss, this could be huge. If they’re legit, we might finally crack that place open. But we need to move carefully. No telling who else might have sniffed them out. You know how these things go—like blood in the water.'

'You made this — Tavalor an [A-Class] without a full guild test. That's against protocol. Why did you do it?'

Dorian grinned, unbothered.

'Special protocol.'

Kaelen paused, his green eyes narrowing slightly as he let the coin spin once more before catching it. 'What bloodline?'

'Draconic.'

Kaelen straightened, his expression sharpening.

'You sure?'

Dorian shrugged but gave a confident nod. He tapped his nose.

'Boss, our kind’s noses are never wrong. Kid’s the real deal.'

Kaelen leaned back in his chair, flipping the coin again, letting the silence settle. When he spoke, his voice was calm but firm.

'Draconic — huh?’

Dorian fiddled with his goggles absentmindedly. ‘The Mages’ Guild also sent out Emberfist to be his tutor.’

‘Emberfist? Mages’ Guild… they’re always up to something.’

'Yeah, a whole bunch of schemers, if you ask me. Always ready to stick their noses where they don’t belong. But they’re calling it ‘educational collaboration.’ You know how they are.'

'Alright, Dorian. Keep an eye on him, and make sure Emberfist doesn’t get any bright ideas.'

'Already on it, boss. But there’s more. About those Sapphire Corsairs—they’re circling the Storm Isles again, like gulls over a rotting fish. I’ve got our trap set in the south channel. A lovely little surprise package of enchanted snares and a few… let’s say, ‘experimental devices.’'

Kaelen smirked, leaning forward slightly.

'Experimental, huh? Should I be worried about cleaning up another one of your ‘innovations’?'

'Relax, boss. This one’s rock solid. Well, mostly.' He shrugged, mischief sparking in his eyes. 'Point is, if those Corsairs so much as dip their toes near the traps, they’ll be kissing the sky before they know what hit ’em. And if they try to retreat? Let’s just say they’ll have an interesting story to tell. That is, if they survive.'

Kaelen paused, leaning forward with a glint in his eye.

'And about those Sapphire Corsairs—good work laying the trap, but I want you to personally oversee it. We can’t afford any loose ends. If they get too bold, we’ll make them regret setting their sails near our waters. Let’s remind them who owns these skies, yeah?'

Dorian nodded, his grin widening.'Aye, aye, Captain Compass. You can count on me.'

Kaelen pocketed the coin with a decisive nod.'Good. And follow up with Tavalor. If that key is real, we’ll need to move fast. I don’t want this slipping into the wrong hands.'

Dorian:

'Got it. And maybe I’ll bring him a pastry too. You know, for morale.'

Kaelen shook his head with a chuckle as Dorian turned and strolled out, whistling a jaunty tune.

***

The river stretched lazily before us, its glassy surface reflecting the pale morning light. The only sounds were the occasional chirping of birds and the gentle ripple of water when a fish broke the surface. My fishing line hung limp, untouched, and honestly, I didn’t mind. I wasn’t here for the fish.

Beside me, Emberfist sat cross-legged, her rod balanced on a rock, though she didn’t seem interested in catching anything either. Her fiery red hair was tied back into a tight braid, and her expression was calm, almost serene—until she spoke.

'You’re limited to six spells,' she said suddenly, breaking the silence.

I blinked at her. 'Six? That’s it?'

Her gaze didn’t waver from the river, but I could feel the weight of her words. 'That’s it. Magic isn’t about cramming as much power as possible into your arsenal. It’s about precision. Application.'

I frowned, shifting on the rocky bank. 'Seems kind of... arbitrary. Why not more?'

'That’s the way it’s always been. Also more doesn’t mean better,' she replied, her tone carrying a hint of impatience. 'Magic is like fishing, Tavalor. You can have a thousand hooks in the water, but if you don’t know where to cast, you’ll come up empty every time.'

Her analogy was dumb. I glanced down at my own rod, the line bobbing uselessly in the current. 'So, what do I do? Just pick six spells and hope for the best?'

'Not hope,' she said sharply, finally turning to look at me. 'You commit. You figure out what kind of mage you want to be and build your magic around that. Offensive. Defensive. Utility. Hybrid. It’s not about having options. It’s about knowing what works for you and mastering it.'

I mulled over her words, the weight of them settling uncomfortably on my shoulders. Six spells. It felt so limiting, so final. But as I watched her, calm and unshakeable, I realised she was speaking from experience. She wasn’t just giving advice—she was handing me the foundation of her own success.

The fishing line gave a weak tug, but I let it be. I had bigger things to think about.

***

This tale has been pilfered from Royal Road. If found on Amazon, kindly file a report.

The fire crackled softly, its warm glow warding off the evening chill. The smell of roasting fish filled the air, mingling with the earthy scent of the forest. Emberfist sat across from me, her legs stretched out and her back resting against a mossy log. She ate with the efficiency of someone who viewed food purely as fuel, tearing into the fish with little regard for grace.

I poked at my own meal, my thoughts swirling. The day had been a frustrating blur of failed magic circles and Emberfist’s sharp critiques. The weight of her words still lingered—six spells. Mastery. Specialisation. It all felt so overwhelming, so far out of reach.

'I just want to learn two spells,' I muttered, more to myself than to her. 'Just two before we head back to Vallenport. That’s not too much to ask, is it?'

Her sharp eyes flicked to me, assessing. 'Two’s ambitious, given where you’re starting.'

I scowled, setting my half-eaten fish aside. 'Thanks for the encouragement.'

She shrugged, unbothered by my tone. 'It’s not about doubting you, Tavalor. It’s about being realistic. You’ve got the raw potential, sure. But potential without discipline is just noise.'

The fire crackled between us, filling the silence that followed. I stared into the flames, the orange and gold flickers dancing like my own chaotic thoughts. Two spells. It felt like such a small goal, and yet it seemed distant.

'I’ll get there,' I said quietly, more to myself than to her.

She didn’t respond, but when I glanced up, I caught the faintest flicker of approval in her eyes. It wasn’t much, but it was enough to keep the fire of determination burning in my chest.

***

The forest floor was our classroom, the dirt our chalkboard. Emberfist crouched low, her gloved hands tracing intricate symbols into the earth with practised precision. The lines seemed to glow faintly as she worked, the circles and runes forming a seamless pattern of arcane beauty.

'This,' she said, gesturing to the completed magic circle, 'is the foundation of spellcasting. Get it wrong, and your spell fizzles. Or worse.'

I knelt beside her, my own attempt at a magic circle a sad, lopsided mess. 'Worse?' I echoed, trying to keep the nervousness out of my voice.

She smirked, a hint of amusement flickering across her usually stoic face. 'Let’s just say you don’t want to be anywhere near a misfired spell. Now, try again.'

I sighed, dragging my finger through the dirt to start over. The symbols were deceptively simple, but getting them to flow together required a level of focus I wasn’t used to. My lines wavered, my runes looked more like doodles, and my circles were more egg-shaped than anything.

'Focus,' Emberfist said sharply. 'It’s not just about copying the shapes. You have to feel the magic as you draw it. It’s a conversation, not a painting.'

A conversation. Right. Because nothing screams 'friendly chat' like carving arcane symbols into the dirt. Still, I gritted my teeth and tried again, dragging my finger slowly and carefully. The lines were straighter this time, the runes more defined. But it still wasn’t right.

'Again,' she said, her voice unyielding.

And so I tried again. And again. The sun dipped lower in the sky, and the chill of evening began to creep in, but I didn’t stop. Not until my fingers ached and my mind felt like it was wrapped in fog.

Finally, Emberfist knelt beside me, her sharp eyes scanning my latest attempt. She nodded once, curt but approving. 'Better. Still sloppy, but better.'

It wasn’t exactly glowing praise, but it was enough to spark a flicker of pride in my chest.

***

As we sat around the fire later that night, the frustration of my failed magic circles still gnawing at me, I couldn’t help but ask. 'So, why those six spells? You’re Emberfist. You’re supposed to be one of the best, right? Why not go for something… flashier?'

She looked up from her meal, her expression unreadable as the firelight danced across her sharp features. For a long moment, I thought she wasn’t going to answer. But then her gaze shifted, and I saw something distant in her eyes, as if she were looking through me and into another time.

'Flashy doesn’t keep you alive, Tavalor,' she said quietly, her voice lacking its usual edge. '[Fire Lance] cuts through barriers. [Flame Shield] keeps me standing. [Infernal Step] gets me out when things go sideways. [Heat Surge]? Practical. It melts ice, starts fires, saves lives when there’s no other way. [Blazing Beacon]? Communication can mean the difference between life and death. And [Cauterising Touch]…' She hesitated, her tone softening. 'It’s saved more lives than I care to count. And…' She trailed off.

I watched her, the silence between us heavy with unspoken things. 'And?'

Her eyes snapped back to mine, the sharpness returning. 'And it’s none of your business.'

I held up my hands defensively, but I couldn’t help the respect that crept into my voice. 'I wasn’t judging. Just… curious.'

She didn’t reply, but the distant look didn’t leave her face for a long time. It was the first moment I realised that Emberfist wasn’t just a powerful mage. She was someone who had lived through things I could barely imagine.

***

The next several days were gruelling. From sunrise to sunset, Emberfist drilled me in the basics of magic circles. My mornings began with aching fingers, my afternoons were filled with sweat and frustration, and my evenings ended with her curt criticisms.

'Sloppy,' she’d say, pointing at a line I’d drawn too hastily. Or, 'Unfocused,' when my concentration wavered and the magic fizzled before it even began.

But slowly, imperceptibly, I started to improve. The circles I drew became cleaner, the runes more precise. The flow of magic started to feel less like a chaotic storm and more like a stream I could channel. A spectral hand formed before me.

When that happened, Emberfist gave me a single nod. No words, no smile, but the approval in her eyes was enough to light a spark of pride in my chest.

I had learned [Mage's Hand].

A notification popped up from the system.

=== System Notification:

Ability has been added [Mage's Hand]

Hint: The Mage’s Hand spell allows you to create a spectral, floating hand capable of simple tasks. It’s versatile, nimble, and perfect for both utility and creativity.

===

I looked at a change in my stats for the first time in quite a while.

=== Tavalor

Mana: (Max)

Power Level: ★★★★★★ (Ancient Dragon)

Spells: [Mage's Hand]

Special Abilities: Ancient Dragon

Active: [Dragon’s Breath], [Dragon's Flight], [Intimidation], [Appraisal]

Passive: [Dragon's Sight], [Ancient Scales]

===

I had picked [Mage's Hand] for the same reason everybody else did. Super versatile. It was an insanely broken spell in the hands of a max level character. I could lift heavier objects, manipulate multiple items simultaneously, and extend farther than normal.

It was like cloning myself.

Plus it was cool to make things float. I felt like a capital-M-Mage using the spell.

***

The morning started with a knock on the cottage door, a young courier holding a small, glowing package. His nervous energy matched the faint hum of magic radiating from the parcel, which he cradled as if it might explode at any moment.

'It’s for the hermit in the deep forest,' he explained, shifting from foot to foot. 'We… we normally don’t deliver this far, but, uh, the guildmaster said you might help?'

Emberfist crossed her arms, her fiery red braid catching the morning sun. 'What’s in it?'

The courier gulped. 'I, uh… don’t know. They just said it was urgent. Please?'

She turned to me, her eyes narrowing. 'Feel like stretching your legs, Tavalor?'

I shrugged. 'Why not? A stroll in the forest with a glowing mystery sounds like a great way to start the day.'

***

The trek through the forest was anything but peaceful. The parcel pulsed faintly in Emberfist’s pack, and the closer we got to the hermit’s supposed location, the thicker the air seemed to grow. It wasn’t long before we encountered the first set of traps.

The ground beneath my feet shifted, and a net of vines shot up, nearly ensnaring me. Emberfist smirked as I stumbled back. 'Keep your eyes open,' she said. 'The hermit’s not big on visitors.'

'Noted,' I muttered, brushing dirt off my robes.

The traps grew more creative as we went. Illusory walls appeared out of nowhere, shimmering like heat waves, while the sound of whispering voices filled the air. Emberfist dismantled most of them with a flick of her hand, her Fire Lance making quick work of an enchanted barrier of brambles.

By the time we reached the hermit’s hut—a moss-covered cabin tucked into a grove of ancient trees—I was on edge. He looked like a druid. Green robes. Tall and skinny. Burning eyes. His long beard streaked with green and his sharp eyes scanning us like he could see straight through to our souls.

I [Appraised] him.

===*****

Power Level: *****

===

He looked sharply at me when I did that.

A system notification popped up

===System Notification:

This information is out of scope of the system. Please gather more information and ask again.

===

What the hell was going on? I had met an [S-Class] gnome and a man who’s power-level I couldn’t read. I suddenly felt like I had over-estimated myself.

'What took you so long?' the hermit grumbled, snatching the parcel from Emberfist. He muttered something under his breath, and the glowing package floated to a nearby workbench.

'What is it?' I asked, unable to contain my curiosity.

The hermit glanced at me, his expression unreadable. 'Something to keep this forest safe,' he said cryptically before retreating into his hut.

As we made our way back, I couldn’t help but feel like we’d been part of something far bigger than just delivering a package.

***

The villager was waiting for us just off the main road, his weathered face streaked with worry. 'The storm last night,' he started, wringing his hands, 'it took the bridge. Half of it’s gone, and the rest... well, it won’t hold much longer. We can’t get our carts across, and supplies are running low. Please, we need help.'

I glanced at Emberfist, expecting her usual indifference to tasks that didn’t directly involve magic or danger, but instead, she nodded. 'We’ll take a look.'

The river roared with the force of the storm, its swollen waters rushing past the jagged remains of the wooden bridge. Broken beams jutted out at odd angles, some dangling precariously over the edge. It was a mess, and it didn’t take a seasoned adventurer to see that rebuilding it wouldn’t be easy.

Emberfist knelt near the edge, inspecting the wreckage with a critical eye. 'This isn’t just a bridge,' she said after a moment. 'It’s a lifeline. No bridge means no trade, no supplies, no connection between these people and the rest of the world.'

'It’s a lot of effort for a small village,' I said, looking at the wreckage. I sighed.

She straightened and fixed me with one of her sharp stares. 'The Adventurers’ Guild isn’t about glory, Tavalor. It’s about service. Protecting those who can’t protect themselves. And sometimes, that means doing the unglamorous work—like rebuilding a bridge.'

Her words stung, but I couldn’t argue with them. I set my jaw and nodded. 'Alright. Let’s do it.'

***

The villagers brought what they could—planks of wood, nails, rope—but it wasn’t much. Emberfist took charge, delegating tasks with her usual no-nonsense efficiency. 'We’ll use [Heat Surge] to fuse the beams,' she said, gesturing to the pile of wood. 'Tavalor, use [Mage’s Hand] to stabilise and position the planks while I secure them.'

I stared at the jagged remains of the bridge, feeling the weight of her words. Stabilise and position planks? Right. Sure. No problem.

Summoning my [Mage’s Hand], I marvelled at how natural it felt now. The spectral hand flickered into existence, a faintly glowing outline hovering near me. I willed it toward the first plank, gripping it gently and guiding it over the gap. The weight was no issue—the spell could handle it easily—but the precision was trickier. One false move and the whole thing could come crashing down.

'Steady,' Emberfist said, her voice calm but commanding. 'It’s not a battering ram. Treat it like an extension of yourself.'

With a deep breath, I focused, imagining the hand as just that—an extension of me. The plank steadied, hovering just above the jagged remnants of the bridge. Emberfist’s Heat Surge flared, fusing the wood together with a satisfying hiss of steam.

'Good,' she said, already moving to the next section.

Piece by piece, we rebuilt the bridge. The Mage’s Hand proved invaluable, reaching places I couldn’t and holding beams steady while Emberfist worked her magic. I even used it to thread rope through pulleys, a task that would’ve taken far longer without its precision.

***

I had thought more about what she said about being an adventurer during my first outing. It was very different to what I had expected. I had a tick-the-box mentality when I had started out. Just complete job. Do the next thing.

But that wasn’t it. It was all about the boring and mundane stuff. Not about the quests. The quest and missions were just an excuse.

I stopped being so impatient and went with flow. By late afternoon, the bridge was complete. It wasn’t perfect—some of the planks were uneven, and the rope handrails were a little loose—but it was sturdy. The first villager to cross did so cautiously, testing each step before breaking into a relieved smile.

Cheers erupted from the crowd as more villagers followed, their carts laden with supplies. A group of children ran across, laughing and stomping on the new planks just to hear them creak.

One of the elders approached us, a small pouch of coins in his hands. 'Thank you,' he said, his voice trembling. 'This bridge... it’s more than just wood and nails to us.'

Emberfist accepted the pouch with a curt nod, but I could see the faintest flicker of satisfaction in her eyes. As we walked away, leaving the grateful villagers behind, I turned to her.

'You really believe all that?' I asked.

She didn’t reply right away, her gaze fixed on the horizon. Finally, she said, 'Belief isn’t the point. Action is.'

For the first time, I began to understand what it meant to be an adventurer.

***

Later that night in front of the fireplace I unrolled the scroll again. The parchment crackling faintly. The text glowed faintly in green ink, written in a flowing script that shimmered with latent energy. I scanned the instructions again, my brow furrowing.

'[Vineweave]?' I muttered to myself, holding the scroll up to the light. 'Seems... simple.'

Emberfist, peering over his shoulder, snorted. 'Simple doesn’t mean useless. That spell has saved lives—mine included. It’s a lot more powerful than it looks.'

He raised an eyebrow. 'How so?'

'You ever had to climb a crumbling cliff while dodging fireballs?' she asked, smirking. 'That spell turns a death sentence into a ladder.'

I frowned, but my curiosity was piqued. I imagined the spell’s potential, not just for utility but for creative applications. My mind was already turning over ways to weave the vines into something greater.

***

The forest clearing glimmered with frost as Emberfist handed me the scroll. The parchment felt heavy in my hands—not from weight, but from the significance of the decision it represented.

'Alright,' she said, leaning casually against a tree. 'You’ve got two options here: the flashy or the functional.'

'[Fireball] or [Vineweave],' I muttered, glancing between the fiery sigil and the elegant green glyph etched into the parchment.

'Exactly.' Emberfist smirked. 'One blows things up. The other ties things up. Both have their uses, but it depends on your priorities.'

[Fireball].

The fiery sigil flickered faintly, radiating heat even through the scroll. It was the quintessential adventurer’s spell—a weapon of raw destruction, capable of turning an enemy camp into a smouldering crater in moments.

'[Fireball] is a classic for a reason,' Emberfist said, her tone serious for once. 'It’s direct, powerful, and guaranteed to make you feel like a god on the battlefield.'

'Tempting,' I admitted, rolling the scroll slightly.

'[Vineweave],' Emberfist said, holding up her hand. 'A spell for the thinker. The problem-solver. You can use it to restrain enemies, climb walls, fix broken structures, or even reinforce your defences in a pinch. It’s not as glamorous as [Fireball], but it’ll keep you alive longer.'

Even though I didn’t need a magic circle to cast a [Fireball] it would be useful for cover. I would have ‘learned’ it.

I glanced at Emberfist. 'Which one did you learn first?'

She raised an eyebrow. '[Fireball],' she said, without hesitation. 'It’s what every fledgling mage wants. Big, flashy, and makes you feel like a hero. But I’ve burned down enough things in my time to know it’s not always the best choice.'

'And now?' I asked.

'Now?' She shrugged. '[Vineweave]. Every time.'

I rolled the scroll one more time, thinking of my own goals. What kind of mage did I want to be?