"He's a weakling," someone sneered, pointing at the young Victore, who stood frozen with a feather clutched tightly in his hand.
"Go on, run to Mama and tell her we said you can't do anything," Jack taunted, his voice loud enough to draw the attention of the other boys nearby.
The boys of Egasrae were relentless, their words like sharp knives cutting into Victore's pride.
They couldn't understand why the son of Ysara, one of the strongest witches in their village, was so untrained, so fragile in their eyes.
"I'm not a weakling," Victore snapped, his voice trembling more from anger than fear.
Jack smirked, crossing his arms. "Then prove us wrong." He puffed out his chest, his growth spurt making him taller and broader than Victore, even though Victore was a few days older.
Victore hesitated. "Mother said never to fight."
"Of course she did," Jack sneered. "She knows how useless you are with your little fists. 'Mother said this, Mother said that.' You're just a baby hiding behind her skirts."
Victore's cheeks burned with humiliation. The taunts dug deeper than they should have, and the mocking laughter from the other boys only fanned the flames of his anger.
He hated when they made him feel small, when they reduced him to nothing more than a "mama's boy."
Without thinking, Victore raised his hand, his mind racing with the memory of how he'd seen magic summoned before.
He wasn't sure what he was doing, but he was determined to prove them wrong.
"Victore!" His mother's voice rang out in alarm from a distance.
But the fire inside him drowned out everything else. He glared at Jack, his jaw clenched, ready to unleash something—anything.
Before he could act, Jack smirked and beat him to it. A burst of raw magic erupted from Jack's outstretched hand, hurtling toward Victore.
"Victore, no!" Ysara's voice turned into a sharp screech as she appeared, her hand snapping forward just in time.
Her magic collided with Jack's, creating a bright flash of light that sent Jack flying backward.
The other boys stumbled and gasped, wide-eyed as the force of Ysara's power rippled through the clearing.
Ysara didn't wait for explanations. She strode forward, her expression dark, and grabbed Victore by the arm.
Without a word, she dragged him back to their cottage, her grip firm but not harsh.
Inside, she shut the door behind them with a wave of her hand, sealing them away from prying eyes.
"Mother, why won't you let me train?" Victore's voice trembled with frustration, his face red as he tried to catch his breath. "Or fight? They disrespect me!"
Ysara turned to face him, her face carefully composed. She feigned casual indifference, though her heart was heavy with worry. "My boy wants to be respected," she said lightly, almost mockingly.
Inwardly, her thoughts churned. It's in his blood, she thought bitterly. His royal blood flows with an innate pride, a need to prove himself.
But I would rather he be alive and safe, even if it means he's scorned. If they discover the truth… if he's exposed as human… She shuddered at the thought, the risks far too great.
"Answer me directly!" Victore shouted, his voice cutting through her spiraling thoughts.
Ysara's eyes snapped to his, her temper flaring at his tone. "You will not raise your voice at me," she said, her words sharp and commanding.
"I'm sorry," Victore whispered, his anger giving way to guilt. He turned and left the cottage, his shoulders hunched and his steps heavy.
Ysara sank onto a cushion, burying her face in her hands. She felt a pang of regret for letting things escalate, for not being able to comfort her son the way he needed.
But she couldn't let him fall into the hands of a world that wouldn't understand or forgive his differences.
She wanted to call him back, to hold him close and explain everything, but she knew he needed time to cool off.
She had thought that for now, all she could do was pray he'd stay safe—and that the truth wouldn't catch up to him too soon.
But now, Ysara sat motionless in her bed, her thoughts a tangled web of confusion and worry.
Her mind replayed the events of earlier, overlaying them with memories of Victore's childhood and the challenges they had faced since arriving in the enchanted village of Egasrae.
Was Victore somehow blessed because he grew up here? she wondered, her fingers absently tracing the edge of the quilt. Is that even possible?
She shook her head, trying to dispel the absurdity of the idea. Egasrae's enchantments didn't simply bless humans—especially not a boy like Victore. Unless, of course, there was something deeper at play that she hadn't yet uncovered.
Or… was it all a lie?
Her gaze drifted to the mushrooms he had brought back, sitting on the table in the dim light. They were real, rare, and unmistakable.
Even in the low glow, their faint luminescence shimmered, almost as though they were alive.
Those mushrooms were no ordinary find.
They were Life Memory Caps, a species so coveted and dangerous to retrieve that anyone venturing into Life Hill for them left behind not only a suicide note but also a pre-prepared portal to transport their findings back.
And yet Victore, her human son, had walked into Life Hill and returned unscathed, casually holding these mushrooms like they were nothing more than wildflowers.
The last place such mushrooms had been spotted was Critic-Ishire, a distant kingdom filled with formidable witches and their apprentices.
Victore could not have traveled there—not without her knowing.
He was strange, yes—often found in unusual places, sometimes in positions that baffled even her. But this… this was different.
Ysara frowned, her heart heavy with uncertainty. These mushrooms, she thought, can cure any form of forgetfulness or memory loss, but they are no ordinary remedy.
They come with a condition: belief.
If the keeper didn't truly believe in their purpose, the mushrooms would vanish without a trace, as though they had never existed.
And yet here they were, tangible and potent, resting on her table.
Does he even realize what he's brought back? she thought.
Her fingers brushed the delicate fungi, and a chill ran down her spine. If Victore had truly retrieved these, then he was no ordinary child—not even by human standards.
Maybe, she thought reluctantly, maybe I've been wrong to keep him from training.
Ysara sighed deeply, rubbing her temples. She had shielded him for so long, placing protective wards over him the moment they'd arrived in Egasrae.
That vitality protection spell was still strong, holding firm despite the years. But maybe it wasn't enough.
Maybe it was time to teach him—not to fight, but to defend himself. At least if something ever went wrong, he would be prepared.
Standing, she walked over to the mushrooms, picking them up with a careful hand. They seemed to pulse faintly under her touch, as if acknowledging her belief in their power.
"This piece…" she murmured to herself, her voice low and thoughtful. "I'll treasure it until it's needed. Until it's important."
Ysara sighed again, the weight of her decision pressing on her shoulders as she retreated to her room.
There, she placed the mushrooms in a small, enchanted box—one that would keep them safe and hidden.
For now, she would keep her secrets. But tomorrow… tomorrow she would begin to teach Victore.
Perhaps that way she can understand what has happened with his body.