Seven months later
"Again," Borris's grumpy voice rumbled through the crisp morning air as we took our stances, kicking our feet high into the air.
"Hahhh….."
Our voices rang out as we shouted. The snow beneath our feet had started to melt, the sun's warmth slowly reclaiming the frozen ground. We were all perfectly aligned, our bodies moving in unison, kicking into the air.
"Again!" Borris barked. Why does he always sound so grumpy? Maybe that's just his voice. We reset, taking our stances, feet firmly planted in the slushy snow. My breath came out in steady bursts as I concentrated on the next move.
"Hahhh….."
Seven months. Seven long months since my village had been reduced to ashes since the screams and flames had taken everything I loved. My parents... gone. It felt like an eternity, yet at the same time, the memories were still fresh, and raw in my mind. In those months, we were taken in by the Covenant Leader, Sillus. He was one of the cloaked figures I had seen that day.
Liam, Aoife, Conor, and I are the only survivors from Dallis Town, a small village that was part of the Zires Isle. Like me, they lost their parents that day. But it turns out, it wasn't just our village that burned. The werewolves' rampage swept through other parts of Zires as well. Few survivors were left.
Cillian, Sean, Ronan, Roisin, and Maeve—each from a different village, attacked on the same night. We all come from Zires, an island in Eurka, where once every year, during the first month, a fierce snowstorm would freeze the waters and create a path connecting the island to the mainland of Eurka.
Everything changed so quickly. We were children once, but now, we don't have the luxury to be. They trained us to survive, fight, and seek revenge on the werewolves that destroyed our homes.
And I thirst for revenge.
"Take a break," Borris grunted as he left the training grounds. Exhausted, we all collapsed onto the cold ground.
"This is wrong," Cillian groaned, rubbing his sore legs. "We're witches and warlocks. We should be training with magic, not… this." He gestured at the wooden training swords, frustrated and so do I.
"I agree," Sean added, rolling onto his back. "What good are these kicks and punches going to do when the wolves come for us again? I want to learn real spells.
"Yeah, we need to use magic!" Ronan chimed in. "They can outfight us, sure. But they can't outspell us."
Even I silently agreed, though I stayed quiet. Magic was what we were born with—what set us apart. Yet, here we were, spending days learning how to throw a punch rather than cast a spell.
"I mean, what's the point of being witches if we're not using magic?" Maeve added, crossing her arms. "It's like they don't trust us to use what we're good at."
The complaints echoed around the circle, a mix of tiredness and irritation feeding us the fire of frustration. Then suddenly—
"Ahem."
We all froze. Slowly, we turned toward the voice. Thalia stood behind us, arms crossed. Silence filled the air as fear crept in—we had just been complaining, and we knew we were in trouble.
"That is one of the reasons why most witches and warlocks are easy to kill or… they just suddenly die," Thalia said. We exchanged uneasy glances as she made her way to the haystack, sitting down casually.
"Do you know why we're teaching you self-defense without magic?" Thalia asked her question sparking our curiosity. Of course, we wanted to know—it's been months, and we haven't even learned any battle magic yet.
"Why?" Cillian was the first to ask.
"You all know that magic comes from the elements," Thalia began. "Elements are a natural source of power in our world. But to manipulate those elements, you need something more—something within you that connects to them. Once you learn to harness that connection, it becomes what we call magic. But, of course, it's not easy. Now, the question is, why do you think we can manipulate the elements?"
"Because we're warlocks and witches," Liam answered confidently, leaning forward as if the answer was obvious.
"Wrong," Thalia said sharply, causing Liam to sit back, deflated. "In ancient times, there were thirteen gods. Each god contributed to the creation of the world we live in. But of course, not all creation is perfect. The first inhabitants they created were the Pyragons—large, terrifying creatures with wings and immense power. Pyragons could unleash such devastating forces that they destroyed nearly everything in their path, including the gods' creations—humans included."
I heard that there are old tales passed down through the ages. They're just stories, but no one knows where magic came from. There are so many stories about its origins. One tale my mom told me is about a Goddess who could create other Gods, and that those Gods are what we call magic.
"The gods soon realized they had created a monster, something far beyond their control. So, they made another race—the werewolves. The werewolves were tasked with balancing the world, but even that wasn't enough. They granted us humans a gift—the ability to manipulate the elements. This gift of magic was meant to help the werewolves protect the world. But here's the key: that gift wasn't given to everyone. It is rare. Only a few humans carry the potential for it." Thalia's gaze swept over us, making sure we listened.
"That gift is what fuels our ability to manipulate the elements, but it isn't infinite. It can get tired. Sometimes, it recovers, but in many cases, it fades away—forever. If you rely only on magic, you risk draining that power completely, leaving yourself defenseless. That's why we train you in self-defense without it. Your body is your first weapon, not your magic."
"Why would that Fuel vanish? It's part of us," Sean asked, his brows furrowed in confusion.
Thalia smiled, shaking her head slightly. "You're not listening, little man. Imagine yourself not eating for a week—what would happen to you?"
Sean thought for a moment before replying, "I'd starve… and probably die."
"Exactly," Thalia said, her smile fading. "Just like that, the Fuel would die without replenishment. But in our case, it's not food that keeps the Fuel alive—it's endurance. We may be witches and warlocks, but we are still human. Our magic has limits. If you keep using it without rest, without balance, it'll drain you until there's nothing left."
Her eyes swept over us. "And when that happens, when you've pushed yourself too far… it may never come back."
"Also," Thalia added with a mischievous grin, "if you ever find yourself in a battle and you can no longer cast magic, a little hand-to-hand combat might just save your life."
She winked, and without another word, stood up and began walking back toward the castle. We all each other.
"I guess we should start to work out every morning?" Aoife suggested, raising her hand with enthusiasm.
Roisen, without a word, was the first to stand and head back toward the castle. He wasn't much of a talker, and he never had been since we met. His silence was unsettling, but we'd grown used to it.
"We already practice every morning, Aoife," Conor muttered as he grabbed a barrel of water, and took a long drink. "I could use some rest."
"Well, anyone?" Aoife pressed, trying to rally some enthusiasm.
I didn't understand her. I'd heard her mother was brutally killed in front of her, yet she still managed to stay so positive. I envied that. Or maybe… I used to be like her—jolly, always laughing. But that part of me was gone. I had learned the hard way that such an attitude might kill me one day. Being carefree wasn't safe anymore.
I stood up, ready to leave, but Aoife grabbed my hand, stopping me in my tracks. "Orla," she called, her silly smile still plastered on her face.
I sighed, forcing a neutral expression. "You do know our next session is in the library? We need to clean up before we enter. Lady Layla doesn't like dirt anywhere near her books."
Aoife pouted, letting go of my hand, her infectious energy fading a little. The others began to trail back toward the castle. I followed, but as I glanced back at Aoife, part of me wished I could still smile like she did.