Our little group of five soon became inseparable. Every chance we got, we escaped the confines of our homes and gathered at the edge of the nearby forest, where adventure—and occasional chaos—awaited us.
The forest wasn't particularly dangerous, though its dense canopy and twisting paths gave it an air of mystery that kept us hooked.
Ryn, with his fearless grin, would lead the charge, swearing up and down that he'd heard of treasure buried somewhere in the woods. Thad, ever the reluctant follower, usually trailed behind with an annoyed "Why are we doing this again?" while Lena alternated between bossing us around and ensuring her younger sister Serra didn't get into trouble.
And then there was me. The "weird" one who brought books to a forest.
At first, they thought I was joking when I pulled out a thick tome titled 'Introduction to Basic Magic: Grade 1 Fundamentals'. Ryn even laughed so hard he fell out of the tree he'd been climbing. "You're going to read that here?"
"Yes," I said, dead serious. "And you're all going to help me practice."
For all their teasing, it only took one demonstration of Sparkflare—a tiny burst of light and heat, no bigger than a candle flame—to shut them up.
"Teach me that!" Serra had exclaimed immediately, her eyes alight with excitement.
From then on, the forest became our training ground. I read every book on Grade 1 magic I could get my hands on, and together we practiced under the dappled sunlight filtering through the trees. Casting spells wasn't easy, but repetition (and my incessant coaching) eventually bore fruit.
Ryn mastered Gust, summoning small bursts of wind that sent leaves scattering.
Thad learned Tremor, a minor shake strong enough to rattle rocks and scare bugs.
Lena developed an elegant Water Arc—a thin, controlled stream of water she loved to use to splash her brother when he annoyed her.
And Serra? She outshone us all. Her Flame Spark was brighter, hotter, and lasted longer than anyone's. "It's not fair," Ryn once whined, shielding his face from one of her glowing sparks. "Why's she so good at this?"
"Because I listen to Venzel," she replied sweetly, which earned her a smug smile from me and a groan from everyone else.
I didn't mind, though. Teaching them was more satisfying than I'd expected. Seeing their excitement when they finally got a spell right—watching the sparks, gusts, and ripples come to life—was genuinely cool.
---
It wasn't just magic, though. Somewhere between our chaotic forest explorations and hours of training, I realized something strange: I was… happy.
At first, I'd treated this whole "befriending children" thing as strategy. A way to secure allies for the future. But the more time I spent with them, the less it felt like strategy and the more it felt… natural.
Was it the forest air? The simplicity of our games? Or was it just this small, growing body of mine?
My mind wandered to my past life sometimes, like a flicker of a dream I couldn't quite recall. I knew I'd been someone else once—someone older, more jaded. But those memories were like faded ink on old parchment. The details were blurry, and no matter how hard I tried to hold on to them, they slipped through my grasp.
And honestly? I wasn't sure I cared anymore.
What use was that past life to me? I was here, now, in this world—a world of magic, alchemy, and blooming explosions. My "mature" mentality from before felt more like an echo, fading with every year I spent growing up alongside my friends.
Being Venzel Kaelith felt good.
---
Ten Years Later:
Time, as it always does, moved faster than expected. Before I knew it, ten years had passed since our first forest escapades.
We were all ten years older now—bigger, stronger, and smarter (some more than others, I'd argue).
Each of us had grown in different ways.
Ryn's (15 age) Gust had evolved into something more refined—he could now propel himself a short distance into the air, much to Lena's horror and Thad's boredom.
Thad (14 age) , predictably, learned how to shake things harder, using his Tremor spell to knock fruit from trees without lifting a finger.
Lena's (16 age) control over Water Arc was practically artful now; she could shape thin whips of water that moved like living ribbons.
But Serra was the undeniable prodigy of the group.
At just fourteen, she was on the cusp of mastering Grade 2 magic. Her control over Flame Spark had transformed into a blazing Flame Orb—a ball of fire that hovered obediently above her hand. When she cast it, the heat rolled off her like waves, and even Ryn (who was usually reckless) kept his distance.
"You're almost a Grade 2 mage already," I told her one day, as we sat in the grass after practice.
"Not yet," she replied, though her smile betrayed her pride. "But soon. You'll see."
The others were catching up too. Grade 1 magic, once a distant dream, was now something they could wield with confidence.
And me?
I was still at Grade 1.
It wasn't that I couldn't advance—no, I could. But my focus had shifted. While the others poured their time into magic, I buried myself deeper into my alchemy studies.
Pyro's writings, my mother's experiments, and my own tinkering consumed me. I wanted more than simple spells; I wanted "creation"
I'd crafted glowing potions, fizzling powders, and even small bombs that sent bursts of colored smoke into the sky. But practical applications came slowly, and as much as I hated to admit it, I wasn't much closer to Grade 2 magic than I had been a year ago.
"Why don't you practice magic more, Venzel?" Lena asked me once, her sharp gaze catching me with a half-finished vial in my hand.
"I'm practicing in my own way," I replied, swishing the liquid to test its color.
"You're weird," Ryn chimed in, upside-down from a low-hanging branch. "But that's why it's fun hanging out with you."
They didn't get it. To me, alchemy was magic—just a different kind of magic. Why cast a Flame Orb when you could craft a potion that exploded into a thousand blooming sparks?
Why rely on Gust when you could create an elixir that let you float for hours?
Magic is fleeting, I thought. Alchemy is forever.
Still, watching Serra shape flames in her palm, I couldn't help but feel a twinge of impatience.
Grade 2. I'd get there eventually—on my own terms.
For now, I had flowers to bloom and explosions to perfect.
And, of course, friends to keep up with.