The morning began like so many others for the group. Beneath the familiar oak tree, Dorian practiced his magic while Ryssa provided tips, Lucas lounged in the grass with a stick in hand, and Bogo quietly carved a new project nearby. Around them, the village hummed with life as the day carried on.
Lucas tossed his stick up and caught it absentmindedly. "So, fire today? Or are we moving to something less exciting—like summoning chickens?"
Dorian laughed. "One thing at a time. Fire first."
"I expect a full dragon's breath by lunch," Lucas said, smirking. "Anything less, and you'll officially be banned from barddom."
"Is that a word?" Ryssa muttered, raising an eyebrow.
"It is now!"
Bogo chuckled softly but kept his eyes on his whittling. His silence was uncharacteristic—he usually contributed small observations, but today, his focus seemed heavier. Dorian noticed but said nothing, filing it away for later.
Dorian's attempts at conjuring flames didn't go as planned. The flickering sparks he had managed before refused to cooperate, sputtering out no matter how he concentrated. Ryssa observed quietly, her golden eyes narrowed thoughtfully.
"Maybe you're overthinking it," she said finally. "Sometimes magic's about feeling, not forcing."
"I've been 'feeling' for several days," Dorian muttered, brushing ash off his fingers. "I need a new approach."
"Maybe your veins aren't suited for fire," Ryssa offered. "It's rare, but it happens."
"That'd be unfortunate," Lucas quipped, lying back on the grass. "All the cool bards use fire."
Dorian turned to his lute, plucking the strings in frustration. His thoughts raced. "What else can I try?"
"Lightning?" Ryssa suggested. "It's related to fire, but more precise."
Bogo looked up from his carving. "That'd suit you. You like fast things—melodies, words, chasing ideas."
Inspired, Dorian refocused, the intensity in his eyes returning as he adjusted his stance and gripped his pendant. The group leaned forward as faint arcs of light began sparking between his fingers and the lute strings. The first jolt snapped with a sharp crack, eliciting a cheer from everyone.
Mid-morning experiments yielded another small victory for Dorian. Though his attempts at fire continued to sputter out, he managed to conjure a crackling arc of lightning that danced along his fingers before grounding itself in his lute strings. The others cheered as he grinned, his excitement undeniable.
Lucas clapped Dorian on the back with exaggerated enthusiasm. "Careful, now. If you keep showing off, we'll have to start charging admission!"
Ryssa observed him quietly, her golden eyes flicking between his hands and her own. "You're getting closer to something big," she said, her voice warm but tinged with hesitation. She tucked a strand of crimson hair behind her horn and stood abruptly. "I'll get more candles. You should keep practicing."
"Candles?" Lucas muttered once she was gone. "I didn't realize we were starting a temple."
Bogo finally looked up from his carving. "Some spells need focus," he said simply. "Quiet helps, too." His gaze lingered on Lucas for a moment before returning to his work.
That afternoon, while the group took a break, Lucas and Dorian wandered down the dirt path toward the edge of Suntails Hollow. Lucas was tossing his stick again, but the motion lacked his usual energy.
"You've got it easy," Lucas said suddenly, his tone light but carrying an undertone Dorian couldn't miss.
Dorian raised an eyebrow. "What do you mean?"
"You're... someone. I mean, not yet, but you've got a thing. A story to tell. Me?" Lucas tossed the stick higher, caught it, and shrugged. "I'm just some farmer's kid. Move dirt, haul water, die in the same place I was born. Sounds fun, right?"
"That's not true." Dorian's voice softened. "You're funny, brave—you could be anything you wanted."
"Could be," Lucas said, his grin faltering slightly. "But people like me don't get far. All I've got is jokes, and they don't exactly build bridges."
Before Dorian could reply, Lucas turned back toward the others, his grin snapping back into place. "Come on, lightning boy. The world's waiting."
By the time they resumed their experiments, Ryssa had withdrawn slightly, quietly testing a flame spell at the edge of the grove. Her tail flicked restlessly as she muttered under her breath, small flickers of fire glowing in her palm before extinguishing.
"Ryssa," Bogo said quietly, stepping closer, "you've been practicing that same spell all week."
"I'm just being thorough," Ryssa replied curtly, though her voice wavered.
Bogo raised an eyebrow. "You're as restless as Lucas today. What's on your mind?"
Ryssa sighed heavily, sitting down beside him. "I'm good at this. I know I am. But every time I get better, someone expects more. My mom, my grandfather—it's like they think I'll wake up tomorrow and be some... prodigy who'll carry the family name or whatever. It's exhausting."
"They'd be proud of you anyway," Bogo said.
"Yeah, maybe," Ryssa replied, staring at the extinguished flame in her hand. "But would I?"
As the afternoon wore on, the group shifted focus to experimenting with weapon coating spells. Bogo handed Dorian a freshly polished wooden practice stick.
"This one might hold the energy better," he said, adjusting the balance.
"Thanks," Dorian said. "How do you always have these ready?"
Bogo shrugged, scratching his chin. "I like building stuff. It's... easier. Straightforward." He didn't elaborate, but Dorian caught a flicker of something deeper in his expression—an unspoken longing, as though his work with tools was both a refuge and a cage.
"Have you thought about building something... bigger?" Dorian asked gently.
"Maybe someday," Bogo replied, but his tone was uncertain. He handed over another tool and returned to his work, avoiding Dorian's eyes.
**A/N**
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**A/N**