CHAPTER 3

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The morning light filtered through the trees, casting faint shadows on the forest floor as I stirred from another night of restless sleep. My body ached, and my mind was still tangled with frustration. It had been weeks since I had first arrived at the hermit’s camp, and though I had learned much about survival, he still refused to teach me magic.

Every day was the same routine: gather firewood, hunt, clean. Menial tasks that felt like a waste of time, especially with the demon still out there, somewhere. The old man was holding back, and it gnawed at me. He watched me, observed my every move, but never spoke of the magic I had seen him use. Every night, as we sat by the fire, I wanted to ask him why, to push him harder. But I knew the answer already: "You’re not ready."

I clenched my fists, feeling the familiar burn of anger rise in my chest. I needed that power, not his survival lessons. But the hermit was unmovable, and I was trapped in this routine.

The hermit was a mystery, quiet and focused. He spoke in riddles sometimes, warning me about the dangers of power and the consequences of anger. I didn’t care about the consequences. I only cared about strength.

One day, as the sun set over the horizon, the two of us sat by the fire, the silence between us thick with unspoken words. My frustration had built up over the past weeks, and tonight, I couldn’t keep it bottled up any longer.

I turned to the old man, my voice low but sharp. “Why won’t you teach me magic?”

The hermit didn’t look up from the fire, his expression calm. He stirred the flames with a stick, watching them dance before speaking. “You think you’re ready for magic?”

“I’ve done everything you’ve asked,” I said, unable to hide the edge in my voice. “I’ve worked hard. I’ve learned how to survive. What more do you want from me?”

He looked at me then, his eyes calm but piercing. “You think survival is enough?”

My frustration boiled over. “I need more than this. I need power. I need to be strong enough to kill that demon!”

The hermit’s gaze never wavered. “And you think magic is the answer?”

I clenched my fists, my teeth grinding together. “What else is there?”

He sighed, shaking his head slightly. “You still don’t understand.”

I leaned forward, the firelight casting sharp shadows across my face. “Then make me understand.”

The hermit was silent for a moment, his eyes locked on mine, measuring something within me. Finally, he spoke, his voice quiet but firm. “Magic isn’t about strength, Niv. It’s about balance. You’re filled with anger, and that anger will destroy you if you’re not careful.”

I wanted to argue, to push back, but his words cut deep. I couldn’t deny the anger that fueled me, the rage that burned in my chest every time I thought of the demon. But what else was I supposed to feel? My family was gone. My life was gone. All I had left was the need for revenge.

The hermit must have sensed my turmoil because he softened his tone. “You’re not ready for magic yet because you haven’t learned control. Power without control will consume you.”

I looked away, my jaw tight. “So what am I supposed to do?”

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He stirred the fire again, the flames crackling and spitting. “You’ll keep learning. Keep training. When the time comes, you’ll understand why I’ve held back.”

The following days passed in a blur of frustration and routine. I threw myself into the tasks the hermit gave me, trying to push the anger down, trying to focus. But every night, as I lay by the fire, my thoughts returned to magic. I needed it. I needed that strength.

The hermit remained patient, his eyes always watching, always waiting for something I couldn’t quite understand. He would offer quiet advice, small observations about the world around us, but never the lessons I craved.

But then, one morning, something changed.

It began like any other day. The sun was just rising, the light filtering through the trees as I went about gathering wood. I felt the weight of the routine pressing down on me, the same frustration bubbling beneath the surface.

But when I returned to the clearing, the hermit was standing at the edge, staring into the distance, his posture tense in a way I hadn’t seen before. He turned when he heard me approach, his face unreadable.

“Come with me,” he said, his voice quieter than usual.

I blinked in surprise, but followed without question. We walked through the forest in silence, the air between us heavy with something I couldn’t quite place. It felt different, charged with an energy that made my skin tingle. I had no idea where we were going, but the hermit’s pace quickened, and I had to hurry to keep up.

Finally, we arrived at a small, circular clearing. At its center was a large stone slab, surrounded by the thick trunks of ancient trees. The air was thick with magic. I could feel it pulsing beneath the ground, humming in the air.

“This is where your real training begins,” the hermit said, his voice low.

I stared at the stone slab, my heart racing. This was it. The moment I had been waiting for. Finally, I would learn magic.

“Sit,” he instructed, motioning toward the ground.

I did as he said, my pulse pounding in my ears. The air around us felt alive, vibrating with an energy that made the hair on the back of my neck stand on end.

The hermit knelt across from me, his expression calm but serious. “Close your eyes.”

I obeyed, shutting out the world around me. The only sounds were the distant calls of birds and the faint rustling of leaves. But beneath that, I could feel something else—the magic. It was faint, almost imperceptible, but it was there, flowing through the ground, the trees, even the air itself.

“The Aetheric Flow connects everything,” the hermit said softly. “It’s the energy that binds all life, the force that fuels magic. You’ve felt it before, in small ways, but now you need to learn to control it.”

I focused on the sensation, reaching out with my mind, trying to grasp the elusive flow of energy around me. It was difficult, like trying to catch smoke with my bare hands, but I kept at it, pushing through the frustration.

Suddenly, I felt it—a faint pulse, a flicker of energy just at the edge of my awareness.

“There,” I whispered.

“Good,” the hermit said, his voice barely audible. “Now follow it. Let it guide you.”

I concentrated harder, my breathing steady, my mind focused. The pulse grew stronger, the energy flowing around me, through me, until it felt like I was part of the forest itself.

But then, without warning, the energy surged, rushing through me like a tidal wave. It was overwhelming, too much, too fast. My heart raced, and I gasped, trying to hold onto it, but it was like trying to catch the wind.

“Control it!” the hermit barked. “Do not let it control you!”

I struggled, my muscles tensing as I fought to rein in the wild magic. It was powerful, more powerful than I had imagined, and for a moment, I feared it would tear me apart.

“I can’t—” I gasped, my voice strangled with fear.

“You can!” the hermit shouted. “You must!”

I gritted my teeth, forcing myself to focus, to pull the magic back, to bend it to my will. Slowly, painfully, I began to wrestle control from the chaotic flow of energy. It took everything I had, but finally, the magic calmed, settling into a steady, manageable pulse.

I collapsed onto the ground, gasping for breath, my body trembling with exhaustion. But I had done it. I had felt the Aetheric Flow. I had touched magic.

The hermit knelt beside me, his expression unreadable. “Now you understand,” he said quietly. “Magic is not something you can force. It’s a force of nature, and it will destroy you if you’re not careful.”

I nodded weakly, still trying to catch my breath. I understood now. This was only the beginning, and I had a long way to go.

But I would master it. I would learn to control the Aetheric Flow. I had to. My revenge depended on it.