Rondar blinked at Darian for a long moment, his ginger brows knitting together. "Ye sure about that, lad?" he asked slowly. "The other humans, they ain't gonna take kindly to ye messin' about with magic. Might think yer in league with the devil or some such nonsense."

Darian swallowed hard. He knew Rondar was right. If anyone found out he was trying to learn magic, even just a little bit, they'd probably run him out of the village. Or worse.

But then he thought about everything that had happened to him. About dying, not once, but twice. About waking up back in his bed like it had all been a bad dream, the day rewound like a spool of thread.

If the priests can't give me answers, who else can I turn to? he thought desperately. Something brought me back. Maybe magic has the answers.

He met Rondar's gaze, trying to project a certainty he didn't quite feel. "I'm sure," he said, his voice only wavering a little. "I don't have a choice. I need to understand what's happening to me."

Rondar sighed, a great gust of breath that made his beard flutter. "Aye, I reckon ye do at that." He shook his head. "Alright then, lad. I'll do me best to teach ye what I can. But ye have to swear, swear on whatever you hold most dear, that ye won't go blabbin' to anyone else about this."

"I swear," Darian said immediately. "On my life, I won't tell a soul." And he meant it. This wasn't the sort of secret you went sharing around.

Rondar nodded, looking a little relieved. "Good. That's good." He shifted on the bench, getting comfortable. “But a bit long in the tooth to be starting out, aren't you?"

Darian blinked in confusion. "Um, what do you mean?"

"Well, most dwarves yer age would have been practicing magic for decades by now! But I suppose ye humans age differently." Rondar squinted at him. "How old are ye anyway, fifty? Sixty?"

Darian's jaw dropped. Him, sixty years old? He was only twelve! But not wanting to embarrass the dwarf, he simply nodded. "Uh, yes, something like that."

"Ah well, better late than never!" Rondar declared, clapping him on the shoulder. "I'll do my best to teach an old dog like ye some new tricks!"

Darian bit back a laugh. If only Rondar knew how "old" he really was! But he straightened his face and said seriously, "Thank you, I'm eager to learn...no matter my age."

Rondar chuckled. "That's the spirit! Right. Well then." He stroked his braided beard thoughtfully. "Not sure where to start, as I've never had to teach a human lad before. But tell me, my boy, what do ye already know of magic?"

Darian bit his lip. "Um...not much," he admitted. "Just that some people can do impossible things, like make fire or heal injuries.”

Rondar nodded sagely. "Aye, that’s one way to look at it but magic is woven into the very fabric of this world. The elements, the seasons, growth and decay...all underlain by the ebb and flow of energy."

Darian's eyes shone with interest. This was the most anyone had ever explained to him about the mysteries of magic. "But what is magic truly? And where does it come from?"

"Ah, good questions, but not ones this old dwarf can answer," Rondar said, chuckling. "The wise magisters in yer human cities might know, but out here...magic just is. As natural as stone and sky."

Darian nodded slowly, trying to wrap his mind around the concept. "And dwarves have always been able to use it? Without training?"

"Indeed, ever since the creation of our kind," said Rondar, puffing up his chest proudly. "Mahal - whom ye humans call Moradin - gifted dwarf-kind with an innate sense for magic and stone. I could feel flows of energy through the rock and metal from a wee babe."

He went on to explain that dwarves often became masters of specific magical talents aligned with their inner natures. Some had an affinity for metal and rune work, like Rondar. Others were natural healers or elementalists. But regardless of speciality, magic came as easily to them as breathing.

Darian nodded. "That’s how you can make your axe faster and stronger? With an inscription?"

"Exactly! inscription magic can enhance weapons and armor. A useful skill in a fight. But ye're not here to listen to an old dwarf ramble about runes and glyphs for hours!" He leaned forward intently. "You want to unlock yer own human magic, yes?"

"More than anything!"

Rondar smiled through his bushy beard. "Well, sadly I cannot awaken any gift that is not there. But perhaps I can help ye grasp the basics."

The dwarf slowly made his way back to the shed and a few moments later, he brought out a small leatherbound book and placed it in Darian's hands. The cover was plain, but Darian's eyes went wide as he realized what he held.

"A spellbook?" he whispered in awe.

"Just a beginner's primer I acquired in my travels," Rondar said. "But it should teach ye how to sense and draw on yer inner magic. The rest will be up to ye, lad."

Darian's fingers trembled with excitement as he cracked open the book. Inside were pages crammed top to bottom in cramped but legible handwriting. Diagrams and symbols decorated the margins. He had never seen anything so wondrous.

A case of content theft: this narrative is not rightfully on Amazon; if you spot it, report the violation.

"This is...this is amazing," Darian breathed, looking back up at Rondar. "Are you sure I can keep it?"

Rondar patted his shoulder. "Of course! Consider it proper payment for saving me," his eyes twinkled. "Study it well, practice hard, and perhaps ye will show me a trick or two someday!"

With that the dwarf trudged back to the shed, leaving Darian staring at the book in his hands.

***

Sitting cross-legged on his bed, Darian poured over the first pages of the spellbook. He quickly realized the words were not written in Aerish, the common tongue of the land. Instead, the spidery script flowed in sinuous curves and sharp angles - it was Archaic Tevaran, an ancient language considered long dead.

Darian frowned, brow furrowed in concentration as he sounded out the unfamiliar words. He silently thanked the long hours spent studying dusty Tevaran grammar guides in preparation for the City Official Exams. Most citizens never learned more than a smattering of the archaic speech. But to enter the prestigious Academies, prospective students had to demonstrate mastery of at least the basics of the classical tongue.

I never imagined that dry historical language would actually prove useful, Darian thought wryly. His Tevaran was far from fluent, but with careful examination he found he could piece together the gist of the spellbook's contents.

The initial pages described methods of calming the mind and turning one's focus inward to become aware of the innate magic flowing through all living things. Darian read slowly, running a finger under each line, making sure to fully grasp each passage before continuing on.

After the meditation section came guidance on how to actually connect to and direct magical energy once one was aware of it. This part was more challenging, full of advice on proper visualization and mental discipline. Darian had to go over the steps several times before he was confident he grasped them.

Finally, after lengthy background, the book presented three actual spells to practice. They were simple cantrips suited for students, but Darian's heart raced faster as he saw the precise hand gestures and pronunciations laid out beside each one. A spell to momentarily stun a target; a basic protective ward; and a minor fire ball.

Darian leaned back against his pillow, mind spinning with all he had read. This was incredible! Already he had learned more about magic than he could have imagined. He couldn't wait to find a secluded spot to try these beginning spells for himself.

For while the book's words and diagrams had been fascinating, only through practice would he discover if he had any talent for spellcraft at all. The prospect both thrilled and intimidated him. What if he failed at every attempt?

Darian shook his head, banishing the doubts. He had to try, no matter the outcome. Magic was the only explanation to how he came back from the dead, twice.

A loud rumbling in his stomach finally drew his attention outside. Blinking, Darian realized hours had passed. The sun was starting to sink low in the sky. And he was absolutely ravenous.

Carefully hiding the precious book beneath his bed where he hoped Talia wouldn’t find it, Darian rushed to the kitchen. Mara looked up in surprise from chopping vegetables for the evening meal.

"There you are! I was about to send Talia looking for you," she admonished. "You missed lunch completely."

"Sorry, I lost track of time reading," Darian explained sheepishly.

Mara raised an eyebrow. "Reading? What were you reading that had you so captivated?"

Darian thought fast. He couldn't very well tell her about the spellbook. "Just some texts to prepare for the academy," he said, trying to sound casual. "I want to make sure I'm ready when the term starts."

Mara's expression softened. "You work so hard, my boy. But don't forget to take breaks too, hmm? The academy will still be there after a meal with your family."

Darian nodded, feeling a twinge of guilt at the deception. But he pushed it down. What Ma doesn't know won't hurt her, he reasoned. And if I can master even a little magic, it will only help keep her and Talia safe.

Aloud he said, "You're right, Ma. I'll be better about that." He sniffed the air appreciatively. "Smells delicious, by the way. Can't wait to dig in."

Mara smiled, gesturing with her knife. "Then go fetch your sister and Thomas. Supper will be ready soon."

Darian nodded, he deserved a good meal after all that studying. He had pored over every word in that book twice over, until he nearly had the simpler lessons memorized. It was only a tiny taste of true magical knowledge - but it was a start.

And with the power he hoped to gain, he would never need to worry about money or his family's safety ever again. Not to mention, he might finally figure out what was happening to him. For Darian, that made any risk worth taking.