“Look, some people will tell you that you need to breathe aether, live aether before you are considered to be even half of a mage, and others will tell you that the first are bumbling savages mucking naked in the mud, right as they shove down your throat a thousand different factors you need to consider if you want to fart upwind.

  I call them all fools, because while they do understand that everything is connected, they don’t understand either how or why.

  The physical world is more than it seems to be, and the spiritual world, in all of its many facets, it’s both less mystical than we think and realer than some things that you can touch.

  And so the answer to your question is: You can’t. You can’t become a Mage by blindly following a path, like billions do every year in every grand academy of every backwater planet, galaxy, or cluster they happen to be born in.

  You can’t brave a new path, immerse in the wonders of the cosmos, or gallivant naked high on mushrooms to forge what is, essentially, just a foundation.

  You need to understand. Understand what you can touch, feel, see, and perceive.

  Understand physics, chemistry, anatomy, and more. If you can’t go wide, go deep, and if you can’t go deep, specialize, narrow your vision, and become a master of a single facet of reality, of yourself.

  Even then, the universe is vast, and in our travels we will find many that have uncovered different ways to reach our heights.

  Realizing how complex the weave is may be the most important step of all.

  That will be the beginning of your path, so pack your things, disciple. We are leaving for the stars.”

  Words of Samuel Voss, first of his name, Claimed Archmage of the Warp, addressing his chosen at the start of their Quest.

  The big man's radical change in attitude was soon explained after some surprisingly polite shopping.

  The anger directed at Sebastian completely dissipated from his features, and this complete turn left Omri confused for a moment.

  His prize however had already been packaged and cut with a minimal amount of haggling, and so he thanked him and made to leave.

  Right as he was leaving, the butcher stopped him to cautiously ask.

  "Hey, youngster, let me get this straight, is Owen finally gone mad from his fumes, or is he telling the truth when he talks about a bearskin big enough to cover a wagon?"

  "News seems to run fast around here," thought the boy, noticing the group of hunters who, interested in the subject, had not yet left, hanging nearby even after Edward's threats.

  "Well, I would say it depends on the size of the wagon, but if it is the one I brought in, then sure, it was downright enormous. Terrible bastard though, he almost got me a couple of times," he replied with a hint of pride in his voice.

  The murmurs in the village were still spreading, and Omri could not say he was displeased with the situation. Back at the temple, every time he did something he considered worthy of praise, his masters all acted like success was the only acceptable outcome, and encouraging words were way rarer than a damn unicorn.

  His single kill, while definitely impressive, was certainly not something impossible for one of the elites back at what he was realizing no longer felt like home.

  It had, however, turned him into a small celebrity, a dangerous stranger, and a possible trading partner, all in a single fell swoop, and the youngster was savouring the unexpected attention.

  “And you truly killed it alone? No helpers or, I don’t know, a damned ballista?” asked the butcher, his gaze now a bit dubious.

  “I mean, everything I did I did it alone. I don’t want to go into details, but I was separated from my party years ago, and I’ve just managed to get back to civilization,” answered the young hunter.

  “He was a force of nature, though. I tracked him to his den, laid a trap, peppered him with arrows, and still I had to get close and personal to take the beast down. It was truly a difficult hunt, and I’m glad your tanner told me he could make good work of the pelt”.

  The other man clapped his hands, a happy child looking at fireworks, before slowly pausing, processing what the youthful adventurer in front of him was saying.

  “You mean you fought it up close, like a boar? Single combat, you, an animal, and a spear?”

  Omri looked at the shopkeeper confused “It was more sword and knife rather than spear, I only had access to wood and bone, so I was worried they would not be enough to pierce his hide, but yes, in the end I was clinging to his body so I could land the kill. It doesn’t get closer than this”.

  Fear, mixed with respect, was now apparent in the vendor's eyes.

  “Good gods above, that is incredible. Are you sure you’re all sane up there? Look, I’ve taken too much of your time, and I know how Mabel gets cranky if you make her wait, but I need to know the details. Once you’re done with dinner, come down to the tavern, I’ll keep you well stocked on wine, and you’ll give me the meat and bones of the matter” a guffaw left the merchant at his own small pun, and he sat down on a nearby stool, looking dazed by the conversation.

  “It has been a pleasure, Hunter, keep my words in mind and show your face around, ay?”

  Omri’s smile was actually genuine when he gave a small nod, ensuring the admirer of his presence.

  “Certainly, Mr Carlson. I’ll be sure to poke my head in before leaving.”

  “Ah, to hell with the formalities, just call me Ed”.

  The man's mean streak was just cleverly hidden, it seemed.

  They concluded their business with those last few words, clearly destined for Sebastian, who was still standing at the square’s edge with his clique, as he strained his neck listening to the conversation between them.

  For good measure, the butcher also loudly addressed the group, “You see, lads, that’s a real hunter right there”.

  Omri felt Sebastian’s glare, almost as clearly as the butcher’s echoing words.

  While leaving the merchant's booths behind, mindful of Ed's counsel about Mabel's less-than-stellar patience, he looked at the sky, realizing he didn’t have long left until sunset.

  He hurried up on his quest, rapidly gathering a colorful assortment of vegetables from the helpful ladies at the market, thanking them silently while he quickly jogged to his host abode.

  The narrative has been taken without permission. Report any sightings.

  Entering the house, he made his way towards the kitchen, where he found the elderly woman already stirring a pot of stock.

  “I’m back, Mrs Mabel,” he said, plopping his bounty down on the countertop.

  “Atta boy, have you got everything from those old raisins?”

  Instead of pointing out that she was the oldest person he saw around, he wisely decided to just show her what he bought, opening up the wide bag she gave him for his shopping spree.

  A hum of assent rose as she looked over each ingredient, placing the meat on a scale near the sink.

  “Good work, lad, you even managed to grab one of the good cuts from Ed, color me impressed! Now let these old bones do their job properly, too many hands in the kitchen will only get things messy. And I think I told you already, just call me Mabel”.

  He answered with a rising half-smile.

  “Okay, Mabel, but are you sure you don’t need any help?”

  She grinned at him, the joyful expression not matching her next raspy remark.

  “Of course I don’t need a huge lad mucking things around. Shoo!”

  The boy half-faked a run out of the room, his chest slightly swelling at this unlooked-for warmth as he plopped down on a couch, waiting patiently for what he knew would be another heavenly meal.

  Half an hour later, the woman called him, and he sat down to enjoy a huge serving of steak, mashed potatoes with plenty of gravy, and a deliciously crispy stir-fry of the fresh vegetables he brought.

  Dinner was spent in uncharacteristic silence, his elderly host quietly picking at her food while watching him eat, content in his enjoyment of the meal.

  Once they were finished, she relented and let the young hunter help her clean the kitchen, announcing she would take a well-deserved nap shortly after.

  During the short trip to the living room, her lively voice came back.

  “I’ll tell you, young one, that these old bones are not what they used to be. Now, after a couple of chores, I’m tired already. Back then, I wrestled entire classrooms of rascals like you!”

  Taking a look at the youngster figure, she cackled, before adding under her breath.

  “Maybe a little smaller, but you still get the gist. Anyhow, I’ll have to tell you that tonight I’m having some lady guests over. We’re playing cards and swapping gossip! Lovely, but I doubt you would be interested in us old wenches chatting around. You could go to the tavern and meet some of the townspeople, we’re good folks.”

  Lightly raising his brow, the boy answered, “Sounds great, I’ve already told Ed I would show up sooner or later, but I doubt I’ll enjoy his company as much as yours. And I’m impressed Mabel, still gambling at your age?”

  Their eyes locked, both surprised by the light teasing, and suddenly the elderly woman started boisterously laughing, ending up with a wheeze as she wiped a tear in her eye.

  “Oh, lad, that was great! Sharp with your quips, are you? I’d say you deserve a tan for referring to my golden years with the word “age”, like I’m some kind of fossil, but you get a pass this time.”

  A mischievous glint was clear in her eyes. “ And I’m telling my little coven what a charmer you are. Now, trot along, I’ve got to get my beauty sleep in after all.”

  Swiftly recovering his poise, Omri’s lightly bowed.

  “I hear and obey, Ma'am, but I’ll still check on you once I’m back.”

  His piece said, the young hunter gathered a few coins in his pouch, tied his knife to the borrowed belt, and set off for the tavern, guessing it wouldn’t be hard to find in the small settlement.

  History proved him right, and soon, the echoing notes of a lute weaved easily through the quiet night, coming from a blocky building noisily alive in the otherwise silent dark.

  When he entered, the place was already packed, the sweet smell of mead and roasting meat mixing in the air.

  Being one of the few entertainment sources for the islanders seemed to be a blessing for the keeper, who was busy serving pints of ale to a row of rowdy youths.

  A couple of drunken men were conversing noisily at the counter, their words mingling with the rhythmic chanting of the musician, who was expertly stringing a slow ballad, tinged with many… creative terms not to be repeated in the good company of a lady.

  The main room itself was quite large, but the inclusion of a bar, a stage, and seating for the patrons made everything seem smaller, and with every table somewhat packed, space was already a commodity this early into the night.

  Some people stopped their endeavours to point at the stranger coming in, but Omri, not minding the attention, quickly found his target.

  The butcher sat at an oaken table in the company of his inebriated clique, among whom the boy recognized Owen the tanner and a few other familiar faces he had seen at the market during the day.

  He started to approach, and before long, one of the new guys tapped on Edward's shoulder, pointing at the youngster.

  Turning on his seat, their eyes met, and Ormi’s new acquaintance rose, greeting him with a wave and a smile as he closed the short distance between the two.

  “Look who's here, folks, I told you, if you promise a man a drink he’ll come galloping like a horse drawn to water ahahaha. Come here, lad, there's a spare seat. I’ll begin to cover my deal”.

  The youngster took his seat, greeting the cheerful diners, while the butcher, wasting no time, was already calling out to the host.

  “Luka! A beer for our friend here, he has a story to tell and a dry throat that needs cold ale!” He exclaimed, before focusing on the boy again. “Ah, and while we spoke, I think I didn’t catch your name? What are you called, hunter?

  Their conversation flashed in Omri’s mind as he belatedly realized that he, in fact, did not share his name with the butcher.

  “Uh, it must have slipped my mind in the rush. I’m Omri, sorry for the delay, Edwards, I did not mean any offence”.

  The few pairs of eyes around him, trained on him since the conversation’s beginning, were confused by the sudden formality of his speech.

  His new acquaintance, already used to his usual speech, paused a bit as if expecting something else from him, and after a short wait, he asked, “You don’t have a surname?”

  “Um, no, I’ve never met my parents, so even if I do have one, I don't know it,” said the boy, forcing a tense smile.

  The butcher, sensing his discomfort, quickly changed the subject, steering the conversation into more well-tested territory.

  “Well, nobody here to hear me prattle along as you recount your hunt. We are here for a story, and I see our beer coming”.

  And so, the tale began, the young hunter regaling his audience with a detailed account of his encounter with the beast, maybe leaving out a few of the more undignified details, like his mud bath and the ichor that got in his mouth, but still without too much embellishment.

  With a frothy mug of ale in his hand and the attention of a gaggle of life-worn, middle-aged islanders, each coming from a different walk of life, Omri felt like one of those old masters telling their adventures around a fire, puffing out smoky forms for the listening children to wonder at.

  Seeing the visage of his peers, especially from the village head hunter, he reasoned that the only difference was their age.

  Unknown to the boy, a few tables away sat Sebastian, close enough to hear them.

  The unwilling listener was trying to enjoy the company of his fellow hunters, but the nearby spectacle stoked him, and he began fuming as he thought about the humiliation he had suffered just a few hours earlier.

  “Look at the way they hang onto his every word, those old drunks would believe anything you tell ‘em...even my father’s there getting fed all this crap” his alcohol-dazed face contracted into a grimace as his anger rose, each word punctuated with a sip from his cup.

  “Come on, Seb, don't ya say that about your father, the stranger will be gone soon and in a week's time no one will remember him.” Seeing his grim face and knowing his temperament, one of his friends tried to calm him down with little success.

  The intoxicated hunter robbed him of his ale for the affront.

  “Why do they respect him like this? He came the other day, looking like a savage covered in skins and now they are all together, ganging up like lifelong friends!”

  Someone on his left murmured

  “Maybe because they saw that giant thing he hunted? Apparently while hanging from a knife he stuck on its back to fucking kill it??”

  That seemed to stop the ruddy youth for a few seconds, before his face lit up, a victorious expression on his features.

  “I have an idea.”

  Collective groans rose from all around the table.

  He robbed another member of his entourage of his drink, swallowed it down in one go, and stood up on the table, bellowing.

  “Hey, adventurer! I know you’re full of crap, and I have a way to prove it!”