Amisha, clad in her flowing black robe, glided into the alchemy classroom, her spirit buoyed by anticipation. This was the most exciting class of the week, and she could feel a buzz of energy in the air as she surveyed the little witches seated attentively at their desks.
However, instead of the expected array of fresh branches and sticks, a peculiar silence filled the room. Amisha raised an eyebrow, curiosity piqued. "Where are the fresh branches I asked you to gather yesterday? Are they ready?"
"Ready!" the little witches chimed in unison, but a few stifled giggles hinted that something was amiss.
Suppressing a smirk, Amisha pressed further, "Then show me what you've got."
With a flourish, the little witches revealed their collections of short sticks, each one neatly tucked away in their sleeves. The longest was barely half an arm's length, while the shortest was only two palms long; perfectly sized for little hands, and all trimmed to perfection.
It was clear they had a specific purpose in mind.
"Dean, how did we do? Are we well prepared?" Vasida asked, her eyes sparkling with mischief.
Amisha feigned exasperation. "I fear for the trees in the castle garden after your little adventure!" she quipped, knowing well where they had sourced their materials.
A wave of alarm washed over the little witches. Though they had been careful, it was obvious they had pilfered from her cherished collection of branches.
Amisha, sensing their panic, chuckled softly. "Let's consider it a warning this time. But please, avoid recklessly damaging the plants in the garden. They may not be magical, but I selected them for everyone to enjoy."
"Yes, Miss Amisha!" the little witches chorused, relief flooding their faces.
Lyra, the ringleader of the branch raid, let out a breath she hadn't realized she was holding. She had only intended to grab some easy picks from near the west tower, blissfully unaware they were Amisha's favorites.
"Alright then! Now tell me, how did you figure out today's lesson?" Amisha inquired, her disappointment at the lack of branches momentarily forgotten as she settled into her chair at the front of the class.
The little witches all turned to look at Lyra, their eyes wide with expectation. It was clear who had the answer. Amisha, observing the scene, immediately understood that this little witch had played a central role in the day's events.
Lyra, usually bright and alert, seemed a little more tired than usual. Her face showed the signs of a sleepless night, but her enthusiasm remained strong.
"It's from the book 'Magic Wands'!" Lyra blurted out. "The second paragraph on page 237 it says, 'The original magic wand was created by infecting fresh branches with magic!'"
She had clearly spent the night immersed in the text, reading so intently that it seemed the entire book had become a part of her memory, like a living encyclopedia. Her voice brimmed with confidence, as though she had the passage etched in her mind.
Amisha raised an eyebrow, half-amused, half-impressed. "Well, that's quite the surprise, but when it comes to you, Lyra, it's no surprise at all," she said with a smile. Lyra's habit of diving deep into books was well known.
After all, it was only the first week of class, and yet here was this little witch already practicing spells and preparing for lessons during her break time. Amisha couldn't help but feel a swell of pride for her students' eagerness.
"Alright, since you've guessed the topic of today's lesson, let's get started!"
The room buzzed with excitement. Amisha continued, "As Lyra correctly mentioned, the most primitive form of a magic wand comes from fresh branches infected with magic. And lucky for you all, you've got those fresh branches right here. Now it's time to infuse them with magic and make your own wands. Try it yourself!"
A collective gasp echoed through the room. The witches exchanged nervous glances, clearly unprepared for the challenge. "Dean, shouldn't you tell us something; anything, about what to do or watch out for?" one of the witches finally asked, her voice tinged with uncertainty.
Amisha chuckled softly, shaking her head. "You all need to get used to exploring and learning on your own. In five years at this academy, I can't teach you everything. What you'll gain here is basic knowledge and, more importantly, the ability to teach yourselves. Most witches who graduate only reach the level of junior witches; only a few rise to the intermediate level before leaving. The rest of your magical journey will be your responsibility. You must study the classics, practice, and push yourselves to grow."
She let her words sink in, her voice steady and full of wisdom. "Today's task is the perfect chance to begin. The failure rate for making a wand is low, so even if you don't succeed, you can simply try again by gathering another branch during the lunch break. Now, let's begin."
With that, Amisha sat down at her desk and calmly began preparing tea, her movements graceful, showing no sign of concern for the witches' nerves. It was clear that she wouldn't be offering any further help.
The witches looked at one another, realizing there was no escape. This was their moment to prove themselves. Fortunately, thanks to Lyra's early morning explanation, they had some understanding of what needed to be done. However, the dean's lack of direct guidance left them feeling both cautious and determined.
No one asked Lyra for more help; they knew what had to be done and understood that Amisha's message was clear; learning to navigate the unknown was as important as mastering spells.
One by one, the witches picked up their branches, mentally preparing themselves. They carefully trimmed and shaped them, following their instincts, and then, with bated breath, began the process of infusing magic. It was time for them to take the first step into the world of wandcraft, each of them creating something uniquely their own.
Lyra worked slowly, her movements deliberate and precise. This was her first wand, and she knew it would likely serve her for a long time. She wanted it to be perfect, something that reflected her personality and craftsmanship. After all, once the branch was infected with magic, it would harden, making it nearly impossible to reshape. The carving had to be flawless before the magic took hold.
With practiced hands, she used the tools she had once employed to create her witch's book. She began by carefully peeling away the bark from the green sandalwood stick in her hand, revealing the smooth wood beneath. The scent of sandalwood filled the air as she worked. Next, she set to grinding and polishing the stick until it gleamed, paying particular attention to the handle.
Lyra was a perfectionist. She carved intricate, swirling cloud patterns on the handle, designed not only for aesthetic appeal but also to prevent it from slipping during spellwork. Her hands moved with care as she etched her name in delicate witch script along the base, marking it as uniquely hers. She even hollowed out a small space at the end of the handle, a perfect spot for a gemstone inlay she planned to add once she mastered more advanced alchemy.
After hours of painstaking work, she finally brushed a thin layer of olive oil over the polished wood. The stick gleamed under the soft light, its grain glowing with a newfound luster. Satisfied with its appearance, Lyra was ready for the most crucial part of the process; infusing it with magic.
She began cautiously, releasing a faint stream of energy toward the wand. Under her energy vision, the wand glowed ever so slightly, as if it were waking up. The infection of magic had started. Gradually, she increased the flow, feeling the wand absorb her power. The light on the surface brightened, shimmering as the energy began to bind with the wood.
Lyra knew that the wand, now infused with magic, had become more than just a stick, it was a tool that could channel and stabilize her magic. The faint glow was a sign of success. But she also knew that over time, as she used the wand, it would grow more attuned to her, improving the connection between them. The process could be accelerated by further infusing it with magic, so she spent a few extra moments deepening the bond.
By the time the noon bell chimed, signaling the end of class, Lyra was exhausted but content. She gazed at her creation, pride swelling in her chest.
Ms. Amisha rose from her chair and walked gracefully among the little witches, inspecting their progress. "Well done," she announced with a smile. "All of you have succeeded."
A chorus of excited cheers erupted in the room.
"I can't believe it!" one of the witches exclaimed. "It actually worked!"
"And we did it without anyone guiding us!" another added. "We didn't even watch each other!"
"Lyra's few words this morning were all we needed!" a third chimed in, beaming with pride.
For the first time, these young witches had crafted a magical item entirely on their own, without any direct instruction. The thrill of success filled the room, bringing with it a newfound confidence. Each of them had faced the challenge and triumphed, and the sense of accomplishment was unmatched.
Amisha looked at her students with satisfaction. "Class dismissed," she said warmly.
Though the lesson had lacked the playful excitement of some others, it had been a resounding success. The little witches left the classroom not only with new wands but with a deeper understanding of their own abilities. They had learned something far more important, that they could succeed even when faced with the unknown.