Chapter 1: "You Are Not Gifted"
Xylaraea
Today was the day I had been waiting for—the day I would finally discover if I possessed any magic. As I watched others confirm their abilities, some with success and others with disappointment, a sense of confidence washed over me.
I knew I wouldn't be among the unlucky ones. After all, my parents had told me that our ancestors were known for their magical abilities, so it was almost certain that I would inherit this gift. I was convinced that I would possess magic, and the thought sent a thrill through me.
"Xylaraea," they called out my name. I stood up, wondering what was taking so long. "Finally," I thought, "this is ridiculous." As I walked to the front, the Council of Mages, a group of wise and powerful magic users, gazed at me with an unreadable expression.
The leader, a tall and stately woman with long silver hair, spoke in a voice that was both gentle and commanding. "Xylaraea, daughter of Eira and Thorne, we have summoned you here today to determine whether you possess the magical abilities that have been passed down through your family's lineage."
My heart skipped a beat as the woman raised her hand, holding a small crystal orb. "Please, extend your hand and let us see if the magic within you will respond to our call."
Today was the day I would finally confirm what I had always known to be true: I was meant to be a mage. With absolute certainty, I believed that magic coursed through my veins, waiting to be unleashed.
I had spent years preparing for this moment, studying ancient spells and practicing intricate incantations. Every fiber of my being told me that I possessed the gift, and I was eager to prove it to the world.
As I stood before the Council Chamber, my heart swelled with confidence. I was ready to demonstrate my abilities, to show the Council that I was a true mage. I had no doubts, no fears. I knew that I would succeed, that I would unlock the secrets of magic and claim my rightful place among the gifted.
As I began to recite the words of the ancient ritual, my voice trembled with anticipation. I had rehearsed this moment countless times, poring over the intricate phrases and gestures, and I knew every syllable by heart. But now, as I spoke the words aloud, I felt a thrill of excitement coursing through my veins. This was it—the moment I would finally unlock my magical potential.
But as I continued to speak, a creeping sense of unease began to seep into my consciousness. I felt... nothing. No surge of power, no spark of magic, no whisper of the arcane. The words that had once seemed so full of promise now felt hollow and empty, like a spell that had been drained of its potency.
My gaze darted nervously to the Council, their faces a blur of disappointment and dismay. Their eyes, which had once shone with hope and expectation, now seemed dull and lifeless, like candles that had been snuffed out. My heart sank, a heavy weight settling in the pit of my stomach.
I tried to push on, to force the magic to come, but it was like trying to grasp a handful of sand—the harder I squeezed, the more it slipped away. The words faltered on my lips, and I felt a cold dread creeping up my spine. Something was wrong. Something was terribly, horribly wrong.
My mind raced with frantic encouragement, a desperate attempt to will the magic into being. "You can do this," I told myself, my inner voice a frenzied chant. "You've practiced, you've prepared, you've got this." But the words rang hollow, a futile attempt to shore up my crumbling confidence.
I tried again, my voice shaking with effort, but the silence that followed was oppressive, a heavy blanket that suffocated my hopes. The Council's faces seemed to grow longer, their disappointment deepening into dismay. My heart sank, my thoughts spiraling into a vortex of self-doubt.
"Why isn't it working?" I wondered, my mind a jumble of fear and frustration. "What's wrong with me?" The questions swirled, a maddening litany that echoed off the walls of my mind. I felt like I was drowning, suffocating under the weight of my own expectations.
And still, I tried. I poured all my energy into the spell, my voice hoarse from shouting, my body trembling with exhaustion. But the magic remained elusive, a mirage that vanished whenever I reached out to grasp it. The silence was deafening, a crushing reminder of my failure.
The Council's leader, the tall, stately woman with silver hair and a face as unforgiving as stone, stepped forward, her eyes filled with deep-seated disappointment. I felt a sense of trepidation as her gaze settled upon me, like a weight pressing down upon my shoulders.
"I'm sorry, child," the woman said, her voice firm but laced with a hint of sorrow. "You do not possess magic."
The words fell like a hammer blow, shattering my hopes and dreams into a thousand pieces. I felt as though I'd been punched in the gut, my breath knocked from my lungs. My mind reeled, struggling to comprehend the enormity of what I was being told.
"No," I whispered, my voice barely audible, a desperate plea to undo the verdict. "That can't be. I've felt it. I've felt the magic inside me, burning to be set free."
The Council leader's expression remained unyielding, her eyes filled with deep sadness. "I'm afraid it's true, child. Magic is not something that can be willed into existence. It's a gift, a spark that's either present or not. And in your case..." She paused, as though searching for the right words. "You are not gifted."
I felt like I'd been punched in the gut again, my breath knocked out of me. I stumbled backward, my mind reeling with questions. My parents had always told me we came from a magical lineage, that I had a special gift waiting to be unlocked. But now, I wondered... was it all a lie?
Why would they deceive me? What could they possibly gain from making me believe I was something I'm not? Or was it a mistake? Or is there a misunderstanding among the councils?
When I arrived home, my parents enveloped me in a warm embrace, but I saw the faintest glimmer of disappointment in their eyes. They tried to comfort me, but their words felt hollow, their hugs a little too tight.
My mother took me aside, leading me to the quiet of our kitchen. "Xylaraea, sweetie, we need to talk," she said, her voice soft and gentle, but laced with a hint of regret.
"What's going on, Mom?" I asked, my voice shaking. "You told me we came from a magical family. Was that a lie?"
My mother's eyes dropped, her voice barely above a whisper. "I'm so sorry, Xylaraea. We don't have magic in our family. I lied to you because I didn't want you to feel... less than. I wanted you to feel special, to have something that made you stand out."
I felt like I'd been punched again, the wind knocked out of me. I thought of all the times I'd practiced spells, all the times I'd dreamed of being a powerful mage. It was all a fantasy, a fairy tale my mother had spun to make me feel better.
I felt a deep hurt as I replayed the Council leader's words in my mind... "You are not gifted."