The day Elyas left for Faldore dawned bright and promising. His parents had kissed him goodbye, his mother handing him an unnecessary amount of sandwiches, and his father reminding him—yet again—not to turn anything into a chicken. Elyas, laden with bags and enough nerves to power a windmill, climbed into the carriage that was bound for the magic academy.
The carriage was already crowded with traders, merchants, and travelers, all of them talking loudly about their business, completely ignoring the nervous young wizard huddled in the corner. Elyas had tried to relax, but sitting in the sweltering heat in his thick traveling robes, he felt like a roast turkey by the time the carriage had made it halfway through the journey.
Elyas (thinking): Why didn't I pack lighter clothes?
The smell of sweat and packed bodies was beginning to overwhelm him, and a bead of sweat trickled down his back. He shifted uncomfortably, tugging at his collar. His mind raced with a simple solution: Why not use a spell to change my clothes? It's a basic transformation spell. What could possibly go wrong?
Famous last words.
With a subtle flick of his fingers under his cloak, Elyas whispered the incantation. He imagined a light, breezy tunic replacing his heavy robes. A simple, harmless spell. Except, as always, Elyas's magic had its own interpretation of "simple."
There was a bright flash of light, followed by a sudden whoosh.
Elyas blinked, confused for a moment, feeling a draft where there shouldn't have been one. As his eyes adjusted, the collective gasp of the passengers hit him all at once.
Passenger 1 (horrified): "What in the—?!"
Passenger 2 (panicking): "My trousers! Where are my trousers?!"
Elyas looked around in dawning horror. Not only had he failed to change his own clothes—he had accidentally removed everyone else's. The entire carriage was now filled with half-naked passengers in various states of disbelief. Some were clutching bags, hats, and whatever fabric they could find to cover themselves.
One particularly large woman was screaming, "My dignity!" while a merchant, now clad only in his undergarments, glared daggers at Elyas, who sat frozen in shock.
Passenger 3 (angrily): "What kind of wizardry is this?!"
Passenger 4: "I've been robbed! Of my pants!"
Realizing what had happened, Elyas felt his face flush crimson. This was bad. Very bad. He tried to stammer an apology, but the words caught in his throat as chaos erupted inside the cramped carriage. People were scrambling to cover themselves with blankets, cloaks, even sacks of potatoes. One man tried to use a chicken crate, which backfired when the chickens inside decided they didn't appreciate being part of the wardrobe emergency.
Elyas, mortified, mumbled a frantic incantation to reverse the spell, but in his panic, the magic fizzled, making things even worse. Instead of restoring everyone's clothes, the spell created a sudden gust of wind that blew open the carriage doors.
Now the passengers were not only half-naked, but also being buffeted by a magical breeze that seemed intent on humiliating them further. Hats flew, sacks overturned, and the chicken crate burst open, releasing a storm of squawking birds that flapped madly around the cabin. Feathers, cloth, and curses filled the air as Elyas's magic spun out of control.
Passenger 5 (screaming): "My chickens! Get back here!"
The large, angry man from earlier stood up, his makeshift blanket-toga billowing in the magical wind. His face was red with rage as he pointed a sausage-like finger at Elyas.
Angry Man: "You! You're the one who did this!"
Elyas, realizing the situation had gone from bad to disastrous, did the only thing that came to mind—he tried to escape. But in his haste, he forgot the spell for normal teleportation and instead performed his signature move: a chaotic half-teleportation.
With a loud pop, Elyas disappeared from his seat. Unfortunately, he didn't teleport far. In fact, he reappeared in the worst possible place—halfway embedded in the cargo hold at the back of the carriage. His legs dangled awkwardly in the air while the rest of him was stuck, face-first, in a barrel of flour.
Elyas (muffled): "Help... a little help here?"
From his precarious position, Elyas couldn't see the passengers' reactions, but he could hear them. And it wasn't good.
Passenger 6 (yelling): "That blasted boy is stuck in the luggage!"
Passenger 7 (sighing): "At least he's not here to strip us again."
The coachman, hearing the commotion, finally pulled the carriage to a halt. With a loud sigh that spoke volumes about his patience—or lack thereof—he climbed down and came around to inspect the situation. What he found was Elyas's legs flailing helplessly out of the back of the carriage, surrounded by half-naked passengers and a flurry of rogue chickens.
Coachman (grumbling): "This is why I don't drive wizards."
After some tugging and a lot of flour spilling everywhere, the coachman and a few grumpy passengers managed to pull Elyas free from the cargo hold. He emerged covered head-to-toe in white powder, looking like an awkward ghost with legs. As he stumbled forward, sneezing from the flour, the passengers were too busy trying to reclaim their dignity to pay him any more attention.
Passenger 8 (sarcastically): "Well, this is one way to liven up a carriage ride."
Elyas, mortified beyond words, shuffled back to his seat and tried to sink as deeply into it as possible. The chickens, now wandering freely through the carriage, pecked at bits of spilled grain as if nothing out of the ordinary had happened. The large angry man, still clutching his makeshift blanket, glared at Elyas one last time.
Angry Man: "If you even think about doing another spell, I'll turn you into a chicken myself."
Elyas (sheepishly): "No more spells. I swear."
The rest of the journey continued in awkward silence, punctuated only by the occasional cluck of a chicken or the embarrassed shuffling of passengers adjusting their impromptu outfits. Elyas kept his eyes firmly on the floor, praying that the ground would open up and swallow him whole—or at least get him to Faldore as quickly as possible.
When they finally reached the city gates of Faldore, the passengers practically leaped out of the carriage, eager to get as far away from Elyas and his magic as they could. The coachman gave him a weary look, wiping flour from his brow.
Coachman (dryly): "Good luck at the academy, boy. I think you'll need it."
Elyas nodded weakly, stepping out of the carriage with his flour-covered robes and a new resolve: he was never, ever using magic in public again.
As he walked toward the grand gates of the magic academy, a stray chicken followed him, clucking quietly at his heels.
Elyas (muttering): "Of course. Why wouldn't there be a chicken?"