For days after seeing the green-cloaked bard, Dorian couldn't stop talking about him. Every conversation led back to the mysterious performer, his magical illusions, and his incredible harp. The stories spilled out during meals, while delivering goods in Silverhill, and even while doing chores at home.
"He used magic! Do you know how rare that is?" Dorian said one afternoon as he handed a potato pot pie to Old Master Gresham, the jack-of-all trait gnome next door.
Gresham huffed, dusting dirt off his gnarled hands. "Magic? Rare indeed, boy! I've only met a handful in my years who could do so much as conjure a spark without setting their pants on fire. Fancy work like you described? That bard must've trained for decades."
Dorian's brow furrowed. "Can anybody train for it?"
Gresham laughed. "Anybody? No, lad. Mana doesn't come to just anybody—it's like finding a golden carrot in a field of ordinary roots."
At Silverhill's market, Dorian's obsession spilled into his banter with the regular merchants.
"Tell me, Miss Hearthcrown," Dorian asked while dropping off a crate of eggs at the baker's stall, "have you ever seen a magician before?"
The plump gnome baker glanced at him over her glasses while she expertly juggled the egg basket. "Oh, the proper one? once or twice. Though the only magic I really care about is dough rising perfectly." She slid the crate into place, a playful smirk lighting her face. "Don't tell me you're hoping to cast spells, lad? What's wrong with good honest farm work?"
"Nothing's wrong with it!" Dorian protested. "It's just—why's it so rare?"
Hearthcrown shrugged. "Magic's rare 'cause it's tied to mana. Not everyone's born with mana veins wide enough to channel it. You're either lucky or... you're noble."
Dorian tilted his head, confused. "What do nobles have to do with it?"
"Oh, fancy families have royal mages who can open their mana for them, you see. Nobles get their mana unlocked whether they're suited for it or not, because apparently throwing around fireballs is a symbol of wealth these days," she said, miming an exaggerated explosion with her hands.
"That's not fair!" Dorian exclaimed, his voice indignant.
"Ha! Lad, fairness is as rare as magic," Hearthcrown chuckled.
Dorian nodded slowly. His family might have land enough for several farms and respect in their rural community, but in the cities and courts of nobles, they were "nobody." And yet, the bard he had seen didn't look like a noble, not with that scrappy, wandering air.
"But I'm not worried," Dorian said cheerfully, tilting his head to the sky. "Maybe my mana's sleeping, but who says it can't wake up?"
Hearthcrown chuckled. "Well, you've got dreams bigger than this town, that's for sure."
Even neighbors back in Suntails Hollow offered small glimpses into how the magical world worked.
"Did you know some folks don't have mana at all?" asked Jenni Fenbark as she held her puffhound on a leash. The blue-furred creature yipped excitedly, pawing at Dorian's feet. "If your veins aren't built for it, no royal mage can help you. You're stuck."
"Well, you have magic," Dorian pointed out, watching her tiefling tail swish idly behind her.
"Yeah, but tieflings cheat," she replied with a mischievous grin. "It's kind of in our blood, isn't it?"
"So there's no way for an ordinary person to get it, then?"
She shrugged dramatically. "Oh, don't pout, Dorian! You can still be interesting. Just not set-stuff-on-fire interesting."
Even as Dorian rolled his eyes, her teasing only deepened his determination.
On every trip to Silverhill after seeing the green-cloaked bard for the first time, Dorian made it his mission to catch him before he vanished. Each time he spotted the bard in the square, he lingered as close as the performance allowed, only for the bard to disappear again just as the crowd began to disperse.
One afternoon, Bogo watched him chase the bard's shadow across the square, the wagon left entirely unattended. "He's obsessed," Bogo muttered to Ryssa, watching with a bemused grin.
Ryssa crossed her arms. "It's admirable! Kind of…" She squinted as Dorian skidded to a stop near the stage and turned in circles like a confused puppy. "Okay, no, it's just weird."
Dorian returned with flushed cheeks and his usual cheerful shrug. "Next time," he said with stubborn determination.
"Maybe the bard thinks you've got a crush," Lucas teased.
Dorian rolled his eyes. "Oh, shut it, Lucas."
One fateful day, Dorian made up his mind. As soon as he reached Silverhill, he whispered to Ryssa, "This time, I'm going to catch him. Just watch me."
When the bard began his performance that afternoon, Dorian didn't wait. He moved through the crowd, weaving between excited onlookers as the song played out, edging closer and closer to the front. The harp's notes thrummed in the air, and illusions swirled like dreams being born—a knight on horseback charging into a wall of fire, his armor gleaming in shifting golden hues.
The bard's final note lingered in the air, the illusions dissolving in a shimmer of light. Before the crowd had time to clap, Dorian bolted forward, his voice carrying above the noise. "Wait!"
The bard paused mid-step, looking over his shoulder. His green cloak swayed as he turned, his golden harp gleaming in the late afternoon sun. His eyes twinkled with amusement as he took in the determined boy standing before him.
Dorian swallowed the lump in his throat and called out, "How can I learn this splendid joy?"
The bard stepped forward and knelt, his emerald cloak pooling around him like spilled ink. His weathered face was kind, his voice steady as he spoke:
"Chase not just songs, but truth unbound.
Each lute's first tune, each word profound,
Is born of struggle, sought and found.
The world awaits, its tale begun,
Forge your journey, wandering son."
Dorian blinked. The poetic weight of his words hung heavy in the air, leaving Dorian blinking, his mouth slightly open. "…What?"
The bard chuckled, reaching into his cloak and producing a silver pendant. The delicate object, shaped like wings with a hollow circle at the center, gleamed in his outstretched palm.
"This is your first step," the bard explained. "Meditate with it every morning. Hold it close, and listen to what the world tells you. If the circle one day fills with a red gemstone, you'll know you're ready."
"Ready for what?" Dorian asked, his small fingers clutching the pendant tightly.
"To explore, to seek, and to tell your own story," the bard replied, his eyes soft.
Before Dorian could thank him, his gaze flickered to the pendant, the firelight catching in its curves. By the time he looked back up, the bard was gone, leaving behind only the warm hum of the crowd and the beginning of a dream.
———…———
"Tell me, sir," said the bright-eyed boy,
"How can I learn this splendid joy?"
The bard knelt low, his gaze profound,
"Chase not just songs, but truth unbound.
Each lute's first tune, each word profound,
Is born of struggle, sought and found.
The world awaits, its tale begun,
Forge your journey, wandering son."
———…———
**A/N**
Helloo, if u came from Multiversal Hotel I'd say 'Hello again my old friend.. I've come to talk with you again..' Anyway I still had the job, but for some reason I've got this uneasy feeling when I see my boss, don't get me wrong he's a nice boss, even the other employees said he is nice. Fortunately tho I got the night shift so I haven't seen him much. This novel has always been on the draft, Dorian the MC is my DnD character I played when I was in high school.
Also I made patre0n page, in case you want to support me, if not then no worries👍
~Read Advance Chapter and Support me on p@treon.com/SmilinKujo~
~🧣KujoW
**A/N**