The cauldron bubbles, and an ominous, black cloud of smoke begins to form just above it. Miss Eisley eyes it, full of anxiety, with her fingers gripped firmly around the handle of a bucket brimming with water at the ready. I hold my breath as the cauldron shows the usual signs of a potential explosion. I prepare to cast a spell when the cauldron begins to shake. I wonder how much longer it will continue to do that, and if I should be running.

While my spellcasting comes easily, potion making does not, and I have already mentally prepared for the worst possible outcome of this exam. I will fail again, and delay my entry into the Academy of Arcane Magic and Alchemy for another year.

“Are you sure you counted the seconds correctly? You tend to wait too long,” asks Miss Eisley, apprehensively.

“I used the Chronosphere,” I assure her.

“Did you set it correctly to thirty seconds?” She asks, looking towards a small wooden desk where the enchanted device of golden sands sits.

“I did.”

“Did you add the-”

“Yes, I added the lavender oil after I steeped the chamomile and lemon, amongst other things,” I grumble, growing more concerned as the shakes of the cauldron grow increasingly more violent.

“Fifteen minutes?”

“Miss Eisley, I’m terrible at making potions, but I can still read the instructions.”

“Hmm,” grumbles Miss Eisley. “I just don’t understand why the smoke is black. It should be purple by now, with golden sparks.”

“Maybe it can sense your stress and anxiety?”

She frowns immediately, not the least bit amused at my attempt to ease her discomfort.

“Why else do you think I’m having you brew Tranquility? Sweet Gaia, please let this girl pass her exam, so I can finally send her off to the Academy, and live a peaceful life once again!” She prays to the heavens.

“Miss Eisley,” I cry, dumbfounded. “I couldn’t have been that bad!”

“Of course, not, my dear, but if I don’t pray now, you will never pass and be accepted into the Academy,” her voice sounds desperate and anxious.

The dark smoke begins to spark with flecks of gold, and I hold a wind spell tightly in my hands to keep it from slipping from me. This action causes my fingers to go numb from the feeling I can only describe as trying to hold a mouse with the strength of a bear in the palm of your hand. The cloud of smoke suddenly disperses, and I shield my face with one arm, releasing my spell blindly towards the cauldron. Miss Eisley yelps like a wounded dog as water splashes her, and a bright, green smoke fills the room as the fire enchantment on the cauldron drops to the floor, the words now an inky blob on the soggy paper.

I press my lips together, stifling a laugh, afraid Miss Eisley will fail me and never teach me again if I release it. She frowns at me again after removing the bucket from her head. Her hair is wet, sticking to her forehead, but she’s quickly distracted by the cauldron where a cottony purple cloud with golden sparks now hovers over it. I’m grateful she’s forgotten to scold me.

“The bottle! Quickly!” She cries, holding out a hand towards me, and wagging her fingers like long, spindly spider legs.

I search frantically for any available empty bottle amongst the scattered papers and equipment that litter my work desk, and heave a sigh of relief when I locate one hiding behind a large stack of books. The bottle is quickly positioned beneath the purple cloud as it rains droplets into the cauldron like a small rain shower. Steadying my breath, I keep the bottle still, but my hands threaten to shake from nervousness. I scan the room, wishing I had a funnel, as my hands would surely stain from this artificial rain. I recite the first rule of potion making in an endless loop through my mind to help calm my nerves. ‘The fresher the ingredients,’ I remind myself, ‘the better the results.’ And the quicker I could attend the Academy.

Just before the bottle overflows, I seal it, and hand it to Miss Eisley.

“Let’s see here,” she mumbles, putting on a pair of glasses that hang from a chain around her neck.

She holds the small bottle up in front of a window, carefully examining the contents. “The color is a bit dull, but that might be due to the quality of ingredients I’ve given you to work with. The clarity is… excellent. Consistency is… perfect for once.”

“Hmm,” I grumble in protest of her insult.

“You took all the proper precautions, caught the errors in the written instructions I gave you. I say, Luna Masters, congratulations on passing your level one potions examination.”

“Aren’t you going to drink it for taste, aroma and potency?” I inquire.

She flinches at the suggestion.

“I-I trust it’s been done correctly,” she says, nervously.

“It’s quite harmless even if it was brewed incorrectly.”

“Oh, very well,” she relents, removing the cork from the bottle, and hesitating just before taking a small sip. “I suppose death is not nearly as bad as having you for a student for another year.”

“Miss Eisley!” I gasp, almost amused by her crassness.

Her face falls with the first sip, and she’s expressionless. A wistful smile spreads across her face, and she remains unresponsive for a few moments.

“Ah!” She exclaims. “Quite potent.”

Just as I think she’s frozen in place, she rushes to her desk, which is littered with papers of scrawled notes, memos, and books opened at various locations, all of them stacked on top of one another. Some of the books are marked with ribbons, quills, or leaves. Miss Eiseley’s desk always seems incredibly unorganized to me, but she seems able to find what she’s looking for at any given time.

“Congratulations, again, Miss Masters,” she says, with a smile.

She dates a yellowed piece of paper (‘14 Lunara’) with her signature on the bottom left corner, and then presses her ring into a small puddle of wax melted at the bottom.

“I can finally, and proudly, remove this certificate from my files.”

She hands me the sheet of paper, and I nearly cry as I gratefully take it from her with both hands. I bow deeply, having never been happier to be holding a piece of paper.

“Thank you so much, Miss Eisley. I truly appreciate your patience, and your time.”

Miss Eisley waves a hand dismissively, and wipes a tear near the outer corners of her eyes. I wonder briefly if she’s crying from pride, or relief.

“You’re the first Mystic I’ve had the pleasure of teaching in years. I’ve looked forward to this day since the time you initially blew a hole through the roof of this humble school.”

I feel my cheeks grow hot with embarrassment, and giggle through my tears. She’s proud of me. I should have known that Miss Eisley would be proud despite the torture I’ve put her through this past year. She’s always been kind and patient with me.

“I see so much of myself in you, as you’ve struggled through the years. You’re determined, and hard-working, just like your parents. It will be both a pleasure, and a sadness to see you leave Bellehaven. I hope the City of Lights and the Academy treat you well, teach you much, and help you master your abilities.”

“Thank you, Miss Eisley.”

“Get home, dear. Start packing a bag. I’ll drop by tomorrow with some letters allowing you entrance into the city and academy. Be sure to pack your certificate.”

I rush out of the classroom, and turn back after walking several paces away to stare at the small wooden structure that serves as the village’s schoolhouse. This place became my second home for the past year. I still remember, quite clearly, the day I cast my first accidental spell; A gust of wind to catch a child that was falling out of a second story window. It had come as a shock to everyone in Bellehaven when they learned of my Mystic powers manifesting. It’s rare for a decades old human to develop magical abilities so late in life, but it isn’t completely unheard of. There are some cases of some Mystics well into their 50s suddenly developing magic who have gone on to become some of the best in the land. But it rarely happens in our family. It rarely happens in Bellehaven. This small farming village is so close and yet far enough away from The City of Lights, that nothing exciting ever happens, and if it does, it doesn’t last for long.

“Is that you, Luna?” A warm gruff voice calls out.

I smile at Marcellus when I spot him turning the corner. Marcellus and I grew up together, and have been inseparable since the day we met almost ten years prior when I first arrived in Bellehaven with my family from Mirror Lake. Mirror Lake is the complete opposite of this place. It’s busy, crowded, noisy, and something exciting is always going on, be it parties, carnivals, or festivals.

When my powers manifested a year ago, Marcellus was my main source of comfort, and something about him changed since then. The sight of him has always made my heart flutter, my hands shake, my throat dry, and my mind blank, but lately, I think he’s caught on to how I feel. Even if he did reciprocate some feelings, I’ve decided it won’t be enough to change my mind about going to the Academy. I long to leave this place behind me, and venture to the rest of Amith.

I wave to him. His tousled chestnut hair from his long day of harvesting has a hint of red in the light of the setting sun, and his bright-emerald eyes appear to shimmer as he approaches me. There’s a blanket-covered basket in his hands, and he holds it out towards me. I look up at him, squinting until he blocks out the light of the sun by shifting in front of it. He gives me a wide grin.

“Good evening,” I say, turning to face him, raising my chin up high with pride.

I slow my pace to match his lazy saunter, and we continue down the main dirt road where my family home stands at the end, away from the rest of the village.

“I just finished my last lesson for the day. You are now looking at a level one Mystic!”

He parts his lips, his mouth hanging open for a moment, and he forces a smile.

“It’s an honor, Novice Luna Masters, only Mystic of Bellehaven, to stand before you,” he bows low before me.

I give him a look of discomfort when those around us begin to stare. One small girl watches on curiously while her mother pulls her along, seemingly scandalized at such a sight. Marcellus laughs, noticing the look on my face.

“Get up, that looks so strange.”

“Shouldn’t you be treated like royalty now?”

“Absolutely not!” I say, forcing him up. “I’m hardly anyone important.”

“I brought you some sweet potatoes, and fresh herbs from mom’s garden.”

“Thank you so much. My mother will love these,” I say, taking the basket from his hands.

“Will you be off to study at the Academy, then?”

“Yes, and unfortunately, if my potion making skills are any indication of how soon I will reach level five, I’ll be done with my studies in about a century.”

“Lou, I know you… You’re obsessive. You’ll probably get there ahead of schedule.”

“I’m counting on it,” I say, puffing out my chest, which is quickly deflated at the thought of my returning.

“I’m going to miss you, you know. You’re not going to be around to be a pain in my arse, anymore.”

I glance over at the sad look on his face, and try my best to ignore it.

“Hey!” I nudge him playfully with my elbow.

He catches my arm, and stops me from walking on. He looks down at me more seriously than I’m used to, and I distract myself by glancing around pretending to be distracted by the people walking past, feeling a little uneasy.

“Seriously, Lou, hurry back, if you can.”

“We talked about this,” I frown, feeling a knot forming in my chest. “Marcellus, it’ll be 13 to 16 years before I come back.”

We didn’t really talk about it. I mentioned it in passing one day, and left before either of us had a chance to react. I’ve avoided the subject ever since, because talking about my feelings is too difficult to do when I can’t keep my mouth shut on a regular basis.

“Do you really have to go, Lou?” 

He gives me a heart-wrenching look. It’s one he’s used on me more often recently. I can almost be convinced to do anything when he gives me that look, but I know that if I stay, there will have been no point in terrorizing poor Miss Eisley for the past year.

“Marc, please. You know I can’t stand that sad look, even if you are joking,” I poke his chest with my index finger.

If you discover this tale on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen. Please report the violation.

He winces and grunts, rubbing his chest

“And getting very good at it, I might add,” I smile widely.

“When are you leaving?”

  He feigns cheerfulness, smiling brightly, but there’s a sadness in his eyes, and he’s walking now as if he’s dragging an anchor behind him.

“The classes start in the month of Solstice, unfortunately.”

“That’s in two weeks!”

“I know. I have to leave tomorrow if I want to make it in time for registrations.”

“It’s so soon,” he panics. “If I’d known, I would have taken more time off to see you.”

“It couldn’t be helped. We were both very busy. I’m sorry to say that I really have to get going, though. I’ll see you later!”

I take off, sprinting down toward the end of the road.

“Tonight! At the usual place!” He shouts.

“Okay!” I shout, waving back at him.

When I reach my home, a two-story stony structure between a small cluster of trees, I slip through the front gate, then past the front door. A fire is crackling in the fireplace, and there’s a stew cooking in the pot hanging over it. The aromas bombard my senses, causing my stomach to growl.

“Mom, Marcellus gifted us some potatoes and herbs!” I shout, knowing she will probably be in her garden. “Should I put them in the stew?”

“Yes,” she calls from the back door.

I take the basket and a bucket that lives by the backdoor with me, and head towards the small stream that runs just behind our house. I fill it with water, and begin scrubbing the potatoes with a rag, the tips of my fingers become red from the roughness. When the water becomes muddy and dark, I pour it over the roots of the taller plants in my mother’s flourishing garden.

“Hello, love, did you pass it?” Comes my mothers gentle voice from inside the small storage shed.

Mother approaches me, and plants a kiss on the top of my head, then proceeds to comb her fingers through my hair in an attempt to make it look more presentable. She knows how much it annoys me to have my hair touched, but she can never stop mothering me. I swat her hand away, and tie my hair up, which is barely long enough to form a proper ponytail. I gather more fresh water with the bucket, and give the potatoes a second round of washing.

“I did,” I grin widely. “Are you proud of me?

“Well, I was right to start the celebrations early, then,” she says, tucking a stray strand of hair behind my ear. “I sent your father out to pick up a gift for you.”

“A gift?” I ask, trying not to sound too excited. “I don’t need a gift, mother.”

“Nonsense. You’re the first Mystic in the family to pass your level one test. You deserve it. You studied hard. You worked hard. You avoided all of your chores quite expertly. Finish up with all that, and come inside.”

“Okay,” I murmur, watching her make her way through the back door leading inside the house. “But what gifts will you get for Sols and Cels?”

“I’ll figure something out when we get there.”

I look down at my hands, rough and calloused with years of hard labor and chores. This could be the last time I scrub potatoes in a muddy dress in my mother’s garden. I’m not sure how to feel about this. I haven’t known any other life except this one. Will I actually miss scrubbing vegetables?

When the potatoes are clean, I bring them inside, and I set them on a small cutting board, which has always sat on top of the dining table since the day we moved into our home. I spread the herbs over a dry cloth to dry. Mother’s favorite knife sits on the counter, and I use it to roughly chop the potatoes. The fire hisses as the water splashes over the edge of the pot when I’ve dropped the chunks in.

“Careful, Luna,” mother warns. “Don’t burn yourself.”

“That’s exactly what I intended to do, Mother. I’m purposely trying to burn myself,” I snark. “What would you like me to do with the herbs?”

“Hmm,” mother hums, taking up a few of the herbs to inspect closely. “Put some of these into the stew, and set the rest of them to dry.”

“Got it.”

Following her directions, finely chopping some herbs, and adding them to the stew. Anything remaining is tied up with a bit of string to hang from a wooden stick positioned in the corner of the kitchen by a window that always gets the best breezes.

“You should start packing your bag,” mother chokes. “Make sure you don’t forget anything.”

My chest tightens at the tone of her voice. She always puts on a stern and serious tone with us, because my father was always too soft, and easily forgives us when we misbehave. To hear her cry is very rare, and heart-wrenching.

“Oh, mother,” I say, now becoming emotional myself. “Don’t cry. We won’t be able to enjoy dinner.”

“Oh, I can’t help it,” mother pouts, just before she begins crying. “I’m going to miss you. I’m so proud of you, and I am excited for you, but I’m going to miss you. ”

She squeezes me tightly, petting and kissing the top of my head as she does so.

“Go pack,” she says, pushing me towards the stairs, her tears drying.

I look back at her sadly, then climb the stairs towards the bedroom I share with my sisters. The three beds, Solera’s, Celestia’s, and mine, sit perfectly lined in a row, each with a wooden trunk at the foot of it, one with a moon, another with a sun, and the final one with a star. I open my trunk, and wander the room gathering up my belongings; Spell books, quills, ink bottles. I find the small box belonging to my bottle of inks, and store them securely in a bag along with everything else I’ve collected. I peer down into my nearly empty trunk. Inside is a small wooden figure my father had made for me when I was just a child; a little horse with wheels. There’s just enough room in the pocket of my bag to safely tuck it in. I scan the room one final time, in search of anything I might have missed.

“Lunaaaaa!” Celestia shouts from downstairs. “Luna?”

“Up here!” I call down.

“Come down here,” Solera calls back. “We brought you something.”

“Coming.”

I place my bag into my trunk, and shut it.

I find my family standing around the wooden dining table when I rush downstairs. On the center of the table sits a box of pastries, and an item wrapped in bright blue fabric.

“For me?” I can’t help smiling. “You really shouldn’t have.”

“Open it!” Solera rushes me impatiently.

She picks the wrapped gift from the table, and forces it into my hands. The object is weighty, and whatever’s inside is solid, with no moving parts. I remove the knot from the fabric, and set the wrapping neatly aside. It’s a book, and as I flip through the pages, I realize they’re all blank. 

“You like writing, so…” father grumbles, and I can see his lip quiver as he fights his emotions.

I rush to him, and give him a hug, feeling tears welling in my eyes. My sisters and mother join us, and we cry together, like the overly sentimental family we are.

“I’m going to write often, I swear,” I promise them.

“You better!” Celestia scolds me through her tears.

After a nice filling dinner and songs by the fire, the house is quiet, and only the sounds of my father’s snores and my sisters’ gentle breathing can be heard. I tiptoe out of my room, skipping over the creaky floorboards expertly, and gently lift my cloak off the hook by the door without a sound. I gingerly shut the door behind me, and chew on a leaf of Nightshade Lumina. The juices of the bitter herb coat the inside of my mouth like a film of oil, but I’ve grown used to it. I chew it thoroughly, and suck as much of the juices out of the leaf as possible before spitting out the pulp.

When the herb begins to take effect, my vision slowly adjusts to the darkness, and Selene appears in the night almost as bright as Sol does in the day. I walk quietly through the mostly sleepy village. Only the faint sound of music and raucous laughter from the inn down the road can still be heard from this distance. A small dirt path leads towards a lake deep in the forest, and I walk along it, as the sounds of the town die away behind me.

“Lou?” A familiar voice calls.

I freeze like a deer from fright. “Marc? Where are you?”

“Here,” he says, poking his head out from behind the trunk of a tree with a lantern. “How was your dinner?”

“It was wonderful. My mother made all of my favorite things. ”

“Come on,” he waves a hand, and begins to walk off. “I made a fire in the cave. We can keep warm there.”

Walking along the lake shore, we follow it towards a hidden cave that, as far as we both know, is undiscovered by anyone else in Bellehaven, which proved a wonderful hiding spot when we wished to not be bothered. The fire’s heat spreads over me like warm honey, and the air smells of citrus, cinnamon, and other sweet spices the further into the cave I walk. I look around, and spot a small box that contains a set of cups. There’s a pan full of wine being warmed by the fire, from which the smell of spices is emanating. 

“Mulled wine?” Marcellus offers, grinning widely.

I sit on the blanket spread out on the floor

“I wouldn’t mind,” I admit, taking up a ladle, and spooning some into an empty cup.

Marcellus takes a seat next to me, and serves some for himself. It’s silent for some time, as we watch the fire dance, and listen to the wood crackle. Embers float around us, and I follow them up into the air until they disappear. The wine begins to fill me with warmth from the inside.

Speaking first is the most difficult thing that I’ve never had the displeasure of doing, and with Marcellus, I’ve never had to, but only because he’s always been kind enough to speak up first. He hates awkward silences more than I do, and I use it to my advantage. I can always sit in the awkward silence longer than he can.

“Lou,” he mumbles. “You don’t have to go, do you?”

“Marc, please…” I plead, having already prepared for this argument. “I want to go. This life isn’t for me. You know that.”

“We could be happy together,” he says, meekly.

“Marc, what are you saying?” I place my cup down, and look over at him more seriously. “I’m going. There’s nothing here for me.”

Marcellus laughs bitterly. “Nothing? Even after ten years of driving me insane, I’m nothing to you?”

“You know what I mean. I don’t know if I could ever settle down here. I’m too restless.”

“You wouldn’t have to stay here. We could go to Port Quelil or Nien or any of those other places you’ve wanted to go to.”

“In the winter? We’d have to rush back. It’s the only time of year you’re never busy.”

“Gods, Lou,” he sighs heavily,  giving me a sinking feeling.

I’ve never heard him sound so devastatingly sad.

“I don’t know what I’m going to do without you here,” he sniffs.

“You can hang out with Mark and Abigail.”

“No thanks, they still scare me as much as they did when we were children.”

I nod in agreement. Mark and Abigail moved into the village years before from Solari, but have never shared much with the villagers about their lives. No one knows if they’re actually siblings because they look nothing alike, but I recently noticed Abigail taking more interest in Marcellus. I’m still not sure how I should be feeling about it, but I’ve been too busy with my studies to process it. It’s probably for the best if she keeps him distracted.

“That’s too bad, I heard Abigail likes you,” I say, jokingly nudging his side.

Marcellus gives me a look of absolute shock. I’ve only seen that look on his face once before, and it was when I shoved honey cake in his face after he’d spilled wine on my favorite dress.

“D-Does she? Why? We never talk,” he recoils, and furrows his brows.

I can tell the thought never crossed his mind, and he’s using all his energy to conjure up memories of such a fact. Of course he wouldn’t realize it. He’s been oblivious to my advances for the past ten years.

“You don’t need to talk, you just need to keep lifting heavy objects into the grocer’s. She couldn’t stop talking about how strong you are, buuuuut,” I say, attempting to sound more cheerful. “You should ask her to go with you to the Day of Celestial Alignment celebration.”

“Lou, you know I don’t care about any of that,” he pouts. “Or anyone else.”

“Marc, you-”

“I love you, Luna,” he whispers, timidly. “I love you so much.”

The ground is pulled out from under me, and I lean away from him, spilling some wine over my chest. Marcellus hands me a rag, and I dab it at my dress and neck. With my composure regained, I sit up a bit straighter than before, determined not to lose this battle.

“You can’t-”

“Is someone there?” Asks a timid voice from the entrance of the cave.

Marcellus and I stare at each other wide-eyed. If someone from the village spots us alone together, the rumors will be endless, and I will definitely never return to Bellehaven in fear of my mother’s wrath for starting them.

“Y-Yes!” I shout.

“Luna, why did you say anything?” Marcellus scolds, with a trembling voice. “You didn’t have to respond.”

“What if they’re just lost?” I whisper, feeling somewhat hopeful, not recognizing the stranger’s voice.

“They wouldn’t be lost here,” he whispers back, harshly.

I reach blindly towards my cloak, and take out a leaf of Nightshade Lumina from an inside pocket. I chew it thoroughly, and spit out its remains into the fire, causing the fire to hiss. The darkness lifts from our unwelcome guest. He’s a dark elf with what appears to be pale, iridescent skin, reminding me of moonlight rippling on the surface of water. His bright red eyes are similar to those of a dragon's. Two symmetrical horns, seemingly made of moonstone, stick out from beneath his head of dark blue hair, reflecting moonlight on the walls in an array of dancing colors.

“I’m… sorry for intruding…” he mutters.

“State your business,” shouts Marcellus, with a drawn dagger.

I feel my blood run frigid, and a cold sweat on my brow.

“I’m just traveling through these forests. I mean no harm.”

“Oh, really?” Marcellus challenges.

“Marc, relax,” I laugh nervously, as I lower his hand, and pry the dagger from his grasp with some force. “What’s your name, traveler?”

“Lucien Moonshadow.”

“So you are a dark elf?” I ask.

“You’re joking,” scoffs Marcellus. “You couldn’t possibly be-”

“I… am, partially,” he says, looking straight into my eyes. “You’re a Mystic, I presume?”

“I… am,” I mumble, moving away from him as I try to break away from his uncomfortable stare.

“I’m sorry for intruding…” he blushes, his gaze bouncing between Marcellus’ and my face. “I didn’t think anyone would be here today, but it seems I was mistaken.”

“State your business!” Shouts Marcellus more angrily.

His voice echoes off the walls of the cave. The elf flinches, and covers his ears.

“I’m simply seeking shelter for the night,” he says, quietly and defensively, eyeing Marcellus cautiously.

“Lou, let’s pack our things and go,” mumbles Marcellus. “We don’t need to associate with his kind.”

“Marcellus!” I gasp, feeling fury ripple through my veins like a flame. “What the hell is wrong with you?”

“Lou, seriously, not now,” he gives me an irritated look.

I nod politely to the elf, with a forced smile, then turn away from him, feeling embarrassed on Marcellus’ behalf. I pack our belongings into a box, and hand it to Marcellus. All that remains is the blanket which I gather, and throw over my shoulder.

“It’s all yours, traveler,” I say, keeping my voice level, despite what’s still left of my anger. “Enjoy your evening.”

I drag Marcellus forcefully by the arm out of the mouth of the cave. We trudge through the forest in silence as I guide him in the darkness, weaving through the trees, taking a shortcut away from the main path. At the town’s edge we face each other, and I stuff a leaf of Nightshade Lumina into his mouth. He coughs, then looks down at me, almost having the decency to look somewhat ashamed of himself for his humiliating behavior.

“Goodnight, Lou,” he says, looking down at his feet.

“Goodnight, Marc.”

We part ways, and I sneak back inside my family home. The snores of my father are loud enough to drown out the sounds of my steps over the creaky wooden floor when timed perfectly.