[https://i.imgur.com/VGCFMQy.png]

Refenial was bundled into a villager's strong, gentle arms, who easily carried him. The smell of woodsmoke and sweat sat heavily on the man and, while unpleasant, reminded Refenial of the relative safety that could be found behind the village walls.

He cried a constant stream of tears as they travelled through the forest back towards the village.

He cried from the fear and pain he had felt at the mercy of the big wolf, he cried at the damage done to his hand, but most of all, he cried at the death of Maxit. He had only known Maxit for a few hours, but the boy saved all their lives and died a true hero in that time. The lifeless look on the older boy's face and absolute despair on Maxit's father's face when he saw his son haunted Refenial every time he closed his eyes.

Soon they were through the village gate, and the villager carrying him took him to his bed and tenderly placed him in it.

Within moments a village woman came in to clean him up, tending to his wounds and dressing him with fresh clothes. When she saw his tears, she hugged him in silence as the hours passed and the tears slowly dried.

[https://i.imgur.com/oMrGBK6.png]

As the evening began to fall, Old Mother Hecate returned, and the villager quickly left, clearly uncomfortable being in the old woman's house. The Old Mother sat in silence as she stirred a pot of soup over the fire, having not said a word since returning. Refenial looked at the elderly woman, stooped low with age. Her shaky hand struggled to stir the pot. She seemed much older now, her body frailer and her eyes more tired.

"Is the forest always that dangerous?" He asked at last to break the stifling silence.

The old woman snorted bitterly. "Do you think the villagers would send their children out every day if it was? No, monsters are common, but even a child can defeat most monsters if they keep their wits about them. They're usually nothing more than a small creature twisted slightly in some way. A Rabbit with serrated teeth, a ferret that can glide, that sort of thing is usually the worst to expect.

There probably hasn't been a monster like that wolf in these parts in 50 years."

"Why then? Why did it kill Maxit? Why was it here?" He pleaded to know.

"Monsters, at least of that kind, well, to put it simply, they're born with no soul, so they devour people to steal their souls, which they then use to make their own.

That wolf must have killed hundreds. He was a good way along to having a complete soul."

"S-so Maxit?"

She gave him an annoyed look. "Don't stutter, boy, and say what you mean. Have the strength to say what you mean to say. Don't hide behind vague questions. As for Maxit, his soul went wherever souls go when people die. The monster killed him, but it didn't eat him."

"I tried to save him."

"I know, and it was a damn stupid thing to do too." She snapped at him.

"So I should have just let him die?" He asked, shocked.

"All you achieved by stepping in was getting Alton's boy beaten black and blue from a tree nearly falling on him and losing half your hand."

"But I saved Maxit's soul; you said so."

"Yes, and what difference does that make to the living? His parents are simple farmers who don't know how monsters grow by devouring souls, and all they know is that their child is dead."

"what about Maxit's soul? He risked his life to save all of us."

"What about yours? What about Alton's boy's soul? You risked both fighting a monster you had no hope of winning against." She sighed, putting down the spoon she was stirring with to look across at him. "As for Maxit risking his life? He was a fool too. I've known a lot of self-styled heroes, boy. They tend to die in horrible, grisly ways. Not just them either. Their friends and family get dragged down too. Heroics is fine as an act, but once the blood starts flying and people start dying, don't think about what's right or wrong. Think about what's smart or dumb and what it'll take to wake up tomorrow."

"You're a bitter old crone," Refenial said hatefully.

Hecate stared back, her eyes as cold as a winter's storm. "And don't you forget it, especially the old part. I've outlived more tragedies than you can imagine, and I've grown old when most everyone I know who does what I do dies young and dies screaming."

The pair sat in an uneasy silence.

"Soups done," She said in a lighter tone as if they hadn't just been arguing moments ago.

As they sat there eating, Hecate raised her spoon and jabbed it into the air vaguely in the direction of Refenial's hand. "I said about fixing that, and I said about teaching you magic. I think we will combine those."

Refenial looked down at his right hand, three of the four fingers missing as well as a large chunk of his palm, leaving only his pinky and thumb and even then, neither digit seemed capable of moving anymore. The damage still felt surreal, as if he'd wake and find his fingers back at any moment.

"What do you mean?" Refenial asked, wary of what she was planning.

"There are two types of magic. Well, there's two types of magic worth mentioning. Firstly there's 'lesser magic' or, as some call it, 'systemic magic'. It's got its benefits, and in the right hands, in the right situation, it is even powerful. It's limited, though. It'll do what it'll do, no more, no less."

She paused to let him consider this.

"Then there's 'true magic'. Now, that's where real power lies. That is the magic that any immortal worth his salt learns, the really powerful ones; they learn a type of true magic known as 'scriptic magic'. With enough mana, if you know what you're doing, it's limitless in its use."

She chuckled darkly. "Course, you mess up scriptic magic; it's also limitless in the ways it can kill you or make you wish it had."

"Immortals, so there's humans that live forever?"

The old woman tutted irritably, "No, boy. I'm the closest to that. 'Immortals' is what people call all the things that don't die easy: monsters, fae, beings of inscrutable nature. When a person has all the time in the world, they tend to pick up a nasty magic trick or two. They tend to be paranoid, scheming bastards too, and they have to be if they want to live long enough for being immortal to be worth a damn. Being immortal doesn't usually make you immune to being stabbed."

Stolen from its rightful place, this narrative is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

"So, which magic are you going to teach me?"

"A little true magic, then lesser magic. I'd also teach you some scriptic, but we probably don't have the time."

"What do you mean, is something going to happen?"

"There hasn't been a monster in these woods like that in 50 years, and it happens to turn up a few days after you and instead of attacking the village, something a monster of that power would normally do, it went after a bunch of little children in the woods. And let's just say a little birdy told me whoever sent it wasn't the only one who took an interest in you."

"I-it's my fault we were attacked?"

"No child, but if you are given the chance of power I am giving you now and squander it through mediocrity, apathy or indecision, then your weakness and everything that comes from it will be your fault, and every death that comes from it will be blood on your hands."

"How will this all help my hand?"

"Lesser magic, those with lesser magic will heal wounds faster. They'll even regrow missing limbs. Don't get cocky with it, though. Dead is dead, and there's no coming back from that. There's plenty of illnesses, poisons and diseases that it does nothing for, even some injuries if they're bad enough. But a few fingers, it'll have no problem with that."

"Why, why are you helping me?"

"Why indeed. Now it's getting late. Let's sleep now."

Later as He tried to sleep, he still struggled, seeing the moment of Maxit hitting the tree over and over again in his mind, reliving the sickening feeling of wrongness he had felt as the monster whispered into his ear. Even when he finally found sleep, it was troubled once more with visions of the ruined temple and strange figures chanting.

[https://i.imgur.com/oMrGBK6.png]

He awoke in the morning to find his old clothes by the bed repaired with even more patches of disparate cloth.

He dressed as quickly as he could but found it slow going due to his wounds. Once dressed, he found Old Mother Hecate, who guided him through his revised chores. He was thankful that she didn't expect him to get more kindling from the forest, but as he moved around, he saw in the distance, the rest of the children save Obit, whose leg was still injured, going out—this time with two adults as guards.

He found even the simplest tasks much more challenging with only one working hand. Despite this, Hecate was still exacting in her expectations, constantly correcting and chiding his work.

Once he finished, Hecate had him bring her stool out to a small grassy green near the centre of the village and had Refenial sit on the grass in front of her.

Once he had sat, she began to talk. "The first step of learning true magic is so simple a half-wit could understand, yet it's been the death of magic seekers smarter than you'll ever be, Refenial." Old Mother Hecate said, pausing for emphasis. "Don't do anything I don't tell you to. Listen exactly to what I say and do nothing more. Do you understand?"

"Yes." He said, glancing behind her as he noticed Obit hobbling towards them, leaning on a large stick for support.

Old Mother Hecate noticed his gaze and stiffly turned to see the boy nearly to them. Both watched in silence as the injured boy approached.

Obit's breath was slightly laboured from coming over to them, his hands and arms marked with scabs from his fall. "Old Mother Hecate, Refenial," He said, giving an awkward approximation of a bow while still holding the stick for support.

"This isn't a royal court, and you're a farmer's son, not some young lordling. Why are you bowing?" Hecate asked coldly.

"I wanted to thank you for saving me. Mommy and Daddy always said not to talk to you so they'll be mad, but both of you saved me, saved me from the..." Obit's face scrunched up as he was unable to finish the sentence.

"I see," said Hecate neutrally.

Obit brightened slightly, and he leaned forward on the stick and whispered theatrically, "Also, I worked it out. I know your secret. Don't worry. I'll keep it a secret, I promise."

Hecate raised her eyebrow. "And what secret would that be?"

"Well, I already worked out Refenial is a noble or a prince or something. And I saw you do magic, real magic! Not making turnips disappear like Uncle Ha-"

Hecate interrupted Obit's rambling, "Focus."

"Oh, right, sorry, I worked it out. So you must be a wise and kind magic teacher who's looking after Refenial till he goes home to become king or lord or something. Everyone thinks you're mean and scary and really, really, really, really old, but I know you're just pretending. Well, except about the old part. You do look really, really, really old. It's just like the stories I get told at bedtime."

Old Mother Hecate's face twitched slightly as she listened to the boy.

Obit continued, unfazed by the old woman's silence. "Anyway, I wanted to ask Refenial if I could be his squire. I don't know what a squire is exactly; I think it might have something to do with horses. But then we could work together and be heroes and save princesses and stuff."

"No." Old Mother Hecate said firmly, turning away from the boy and back towards Refenial.

Obit's face scrunched up again for a moment before he smiled. "I knew you'd say that, but my Daddy told me a story once about a brave knight who asked a princess to marry him, and she said 'no', so he asked again and again for more than a hundred days and even did a bunch of stuff like killing monsters for her and in the end she said yes. So that's what I'll do even if it takes more than a hundred days. I'll come and ask you and do anything you ask, though I don't think I can kill a monster. Then you'll say yes!"

Old Mother Hecate looked back at Obit, leaning away from him slightly. A hint of uncertainty in her expression.

After a moment, she pulled herself up to as close to her full height as her decrepit body would allow and looked down at the boy with an imperious expression. "I'm an ancient and powerful witch; you're a small, fragile child. Are you really so foolish as to threaten me?"

Obit crossed his arms and glared back defiantly. "I'm not threatening you; Mommy says you should never threaten people even when they're mean, like you're pretending to be. I'm promising you."

Hecate looked at Refenial with a pleading look, but he stared back in surprise. This was the first time he'd seen her looking so flustered. Even against the wolf, she'd been nothing but calm.

Hecate slumped slightly. "Fine, if you want a task to prove you're serious. I'll give you a task. Can you read, little boy?"

Obit shifted nervously. "A little but readings boring. I'd much rather go on an adventure."

Hecate pulled a sizeable leather-bound book out of seemingly nowhere, "This is a very large and very boring book. If you want to be a squire that badly, then reading this is part of that. Do you give up?"

"Never." Obit said, clenching his fists in cold determination as he stared at the book like a hero staring down a dragon.

"A squire should be a master of etiquette. This book would teach a young squire everything he should know about how to behave in the company of those of a noble station. It is very long and very boring with lots of big words." The Old Mother spoke in a soft tone, but the iron cold of her meaning was poorly hidden beneath it.

"To be a squire, I'd have to read it all?" Obit said still not breaking his staring contest with the book.

"And memorize every word. Now will you go away?" She asked hopefully.

"Give me the book, and I'll remember it all," Obit said, transferring his gaze to the crone.

Refenial watched the back and forth between the two, very glad he was being left out of the conversation. The pair were staring at each other with such determination that he felt mountains would sooner crumble than either would back down.

"You can take it but make me a promise you'll not speak to me again until you've remembered every last boring, self-righteous, pompous word of this damn book." Old Mother Hecate said with the cold satisfaction of someone who knows they've won.

"I promise!" Obit said excitedly, his face gleeful at his victory.

"Here you go! And remember, a true squire keeps his word, so if you ever speak to me again without finishing that book, you can never be a squire." Hecate said, shoving the book towards him.

Obit gave a defiant nod before taking the book and storming away with as much vigour as he could manage while still hobbling and carrying the large book.

Old mother Hecate relaxed slightly, glancing at Refenial as if she had forgotten he was there.

"I'm not a noble. Won't he be mad if he finds out?"

"Children like that have no sense of commitment, and that book is the driest, most boring pile of drivel I've ever had the misfortune of reading. He'll give up before the day ends, and then we can be left alone without being disturbed by the rude brat."

"But what if he reads the whole thing?"

"What if the sky turned yellow? What if I woke up tomorrow young and beautiful? There's no point worrying about impossibilities. That book would put a scholar to sleep. If he reads it, he'd be the most stubborn person I've ever seen outside of a mirror." She said dismissively.

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