I spent much of my early years indoors and was thus not especially proficient at walking, which was rather more of a wobbly challenge than a sure thing. Those few days were to prove to be some of the most fruitful of my life so far. The world outside of my nursery was restricted, but within the confines was treasures beyond my greater imagination. First and foremost, Father's study. Having permission to step into that pantheon of knowledge was, in itself, a shortcut to my own freedom.
Of all the books on the towering shelves lining the library, one became my constant companion: "The Natural History of Aevaris" by Magus Mayjory. It was no dry collection of facts but a tapestry of the world alive. Mayjory's prose was like a poem, bringing together careful description and tales of wonder. In talking about bioluminescent flora in the Verdant Fade, he refers to it familiarly while explaining, as if making a point: in stories which have brought him as much respect as Arcwhales have welcomed him within the Azure Expanse. He was near-bursting from off the page, and I traced along with my little fingers pictures which he drew, that I could name the beasts scurrying round and scuttering over upon the ground; how mana ebbed and flowed and the strings well strung to the fine limit of tautness which might keep all that weltering whole. And it hungered within me to understand how things were done and to know how to fashion the world according to my heart's desire.
The afternoons were filled by the regular, rhythmic sound of a knock on my door. I knew who it was without fail. Even though I was entrenched in my studies, I would dash to the door as fast as my little legs could carry me. Respect for my elder sister, Qwuine was one thing, but her visits were one highlight of my day.
"What have you been keeping yourself so busy with, you little scholar?" she teased one day as I ushered her in, her satchel slung over her shoulder and her green eyes gleaming with amusement.
"Mayjory," I replied simply, holding up the well-worn book.
She laughed, ruffling my hair before settling onto a cushion beside me. "Then let me add to his wisdom," she said, pulling out a scroll. It unfurled to reveal diagrams of mana circuits and spell formations. "Today, we'll talk about the magical systems of the world."
The lessons Qwuine taught me were as informative as they were humbling. She spoke of the old orders of magic and how our family, the House of Menin, rose from among common knights to become nobility, merely through unyielding tenacity. Our magic was pragmatic—it sprang from the earth but was tempered to equal any noble house's finery.
She said, tapping on a diagram, the key is balance. The mana we channel is like a thread. Too tight, it snaps. Too loose, it unravels.
She spoke, and all made sense: mana dance, circuits, natural relations, and powers to exalt or annihilate. This was, however, not a theory of particular interest to me. It is the context: Qwuine went on to elucidate a world where magic doesn't just create a means toward an end in life but serves as life; this frames one's identity and, therefore, fate.
One day, in the middle of one of our briefings, she unrolled a map of our fiefdom, Nymedia. My eyes expanded as I took in the expanse-2,500 square miles of seacoast, pines, and open evergreens. "Home," she said, tracing her finger over the topography of the map. "Our charge."
"What are the people like?" I asked, full of curiosity.
"Oh, varied," she said. "Beastkin in the woods, Plantkin in the fields, and the rest—eight different kinds. And they all live in peace."
Not good enough for me. "How do they live? Are they happy? Do their needs get met?"
She looked taken aback. "They have food and shelter," she said, choosing her words carefully. "They live their lives well enough."
That made me want her more. After dinner, I decided I needed to find my answers myself that night. I knew who to ask first exactly: the head butler. He seemed to be a stoic, massive figure knowing every little detail of the house.
"How are the people here working?" I asked him flat-out.
He raised an eyebrow and replied me accurately as usual. "Faithful and diligent. Everything is available for them."
This was a diplomatic reply, and I knew he would say nothing more. So I turned to the junior butlers, Carl and Jung, who were far more approachable. They spoke of their families, their struggles, and the 25 silver pieces they earned each month to support their loved ones.
"It's enough," Carl said, though his voice betrayed the contradiction.
Jung nodded, an almost wistful note at play with him.
Their words now started planting thought inside my brain. How so many within those walls - our private little nobles-cope beneath the ceiling's burden; yet how much still surrounds the fortress? So at least for as long as it existed, there went with the burden of my hopes that rather vast baggage. To be a good son, a decent student, and then an heir as a noble prince was one thing; to lead sincerely meant to lead them to proper knowledge and upward rise was yet another.
Days went by with me throwing myself back into my studies. Every lesson by Qwuine, every page of Mayjory's book, was a piece of the puzzle. I sketched preliminary designs of irrigation systems when I learned how mana could purify water. Ideas like capturing the glow of the Starroot Trees to light villages at night probably showed a naivety in me, but at least I had an actual handle on one basic truth: knowledge is power, and power is responsibility.
That evening, sitting in my room, a faint glow of mana began to shimmer around my fingertips. It was so weak it was barely perceptible, but there it was. A shiver ran through me. I was learning about the world, and I was just beginning to touch it, to mold it.
"By Qwuine she was pointing to the faint light coming from the practice the day following as she peeked at it the next day
The world is really, really big." I said in a serious consideration of Mayjory's book lying on the desk. "I want to explore it all. But before anything else, first in line is I want to improve this tiny space of it a little bit," I said determined.
"You will do great things, Lynt," she said softly. "Just remember: magic can free, but it can also enslave. Choose wisely."
I disagreed but did not show it, she may be smart but she was not educated towards political problems, which I will help her with.
Her words lingered in my mind as I continued walking, doing my silent experiments and conversations. For the first time in my life, I felt that stirring of a higher purpose. My travels were just but a start; I already knew which path to take: of understanding, empathy, and transformation.