The wagon rolled steadily toward Solheim, the sky ahead slowly turning the color of old parchment. The merchant stole a glance at him. The boy had been quiet most of the journey, his polite, watchful eyes soaking in the world like it might slip away if he blinked too long. He had a stillness to him, one that comes when one is much older and more sure of who they are and their purpose in life.. Rooted, the merchant thought. Like something old and planted deep. Shaking the thoughts away, the merchant turned to Mortimer.

  “First time to the capital?” the merchant asked.

  Mortimer nodded, gaze lingering on a hawk wheeling above them. “It’s... bigger than I thought it’d be.

  Mortimer felt his chest tighten and his breath catch. The journey had been smooth, and the roads were clear. Sometime during the trip, Jinx had joined him in the wagon, perched on the window. Now, they’d arrived at the gates of Solheim, the royal capital. Solheim was a world away from his quiet village. Bustling crowds filled the streets everywhere you looked, pulsing with energy that set his nerves alight. Off in the distance, he could see the royal castle standing tall as the symbol of the royal family, a golden crown sitting on a crimson sun, waving high above. Surrounding the castle were the estates of the four ducal families, Brightwood, Nightshade, Everwell, and Weaver, the most powerful families in the kingdom.

  Like most noble families, the royal family and ducal houses each had a signature element that ran through their bloodlines. The Royal Family has boasted a lineage of Fire and Light magic practitioners, with Solar magic being their most prominent magic, a fusion of Light and fire, the power of the sun. That Solar magic is why their kingdom has taken the moniker of The Kingdom of the Sun. It's not hard to spot a member of the royal family because their hair burns with the light of the setting sun, and their eyes are the color of rubies.

  The Brightwood family is a distant relative of the royal family. Their element is Light. They walk around with a subtle glow around them and seem to have an aversion to dark-colored clothing. They focus on the kingdom's appearance, from fashion to foreign relations. Their counterparts are the Nightshade family, a family of spies and assassins. Their element is Darkness, and they practically live in it. They boast their mastery of Shadow magic.

  The Everwell family is a bit of an oddity when it comes to noble families. They don't recognize the divide between nobles and commoners. Being practitioners of Life magic, they see life as a virtue and don't disparage any life, whether young, old, rich, or poor. Life seems to thrive, and their estate is the only one that remains fruitful even in the barren months. Occasionally, they have members who are gifted in Soul magic. These members are even more of an oddity due to their nature of seeing beyond the physical.

  Not much is known about the Weaver Family. They specialize in Space magic and occasionally Time magic. They maintain portals for the kingdom, but aside from that, many can not say what they do. If one ever got close enough to a Weaver, they would notice how space seems to warp around them, as if they don't belong. Aside from that, they seemed to be a recluse family.

  At the gate, there were numerous knights stationed. Some were checking papers, and others were checking goods. Each seemed stern but friendly, a picture of what a knight should be: chivalrous. As Mortimer passed along his letter of acceptance, he watched something flicker in the eyes of the guard. He glanced back at Mortimer as if to say something wasn't adding up. He handed Mortimer his papers back and waved him through.

  The wagon rolled past the gates, and the city opened to Mortimer like a living tapestry. Laughter could be heard ringing out from the taverns, and the children who darted down alleyways after one another. The street vendors called out from their stalls overflowing with food, trinkets, and a multitude of other things with practiced cheer. Mortimer couldn’t help but marvel at everything before him. The towering buildings made from stone, bridges that arched gracefully over the river that flowed through the heart of the city, made it seem as if he had just stepped into a novel, only it was much louder and a little overwhelming.

  Later that day, after the wagon had been unloaded and the merchant had pressed a few silver coins into Mortimer’s palm. Mortimer blinked at them, stunned,” I-I can’t take this. It’s too much, and you already gave me a ride,” his throat a bit dry.

  "Take ’em and have some fun while you’re here. The portal to the academy is closed today. It'll be open tomorrow, but if you want to get through without any hassle from the nobles and rich merchants, I suggest you go at the 7th bell when the portal magicians arrive or wait until they're about to leave for the day." With a smile, he patted Mortimer on his shoulder, climbed up onto his wagon, and began to leave.

  As the merchant left Mortimer in the middle of the city, he suddenly became aware that he was new to this place, and an uneasiness crept upon him. Mortimer exhaled slowly, gripping his bag tightly. The streets buzzed around him as he tried to find his center, and the swirl of noises tried to throw him off balance.

  After taking a few moments to gather himself, Mortimer turned and began to explore the capital with his newfound free time. Wandering through the capital’s maze of stalls and signs, Mortimer ducked into a small magic shop tucked between two bakeries. The air inside hummed faintly. Shelves lined with glowing trinkets and runes glimmered as though whispering secrets only the initiated could hear. After marveling at the various tools and trying to understand the underlying spellforms, he continued down the street until he came upon a bookstore nestled between an apothecary and a cafe.

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  The sign was weathered and creaking as a breeze blew past it. As Mortimer pushed open the old oak door, the scent of aged paper and ink embraced him. There were towering shelves crammed with dusty tomes and scrolls. Mortimer trailed his fingers across the spines, making note of the titles and pausing at the ones that caught his interest, two in particular. The first was a hefty volume titled Compendium of Familiars and other Enchanted Beasts, the cover was decorated in intricate illustrations of winged cats, fireflies, and serpentine dragons.

  The other book was bound in leather. It lay half-hidden underneath some scrolls and papers. Its title, Spirits, Dragons, and Fae: Guardians of the Hidden Realm, was written in silver ink that seemed to shine despite the dim lighting in the store. After pulling it free, Mortimer leafed through it. Drawings of ethereal fae courts and some majestic dragons convinced Mortimer to buy it. Feeling a spark of excitement, Mortimer rushed to the front of the store and paid with the silver he’d gotten from the merchant, leaving him with just enough to get dinner and a room at a decent inn.

  After looking around some more and even stopping at the local library, Mortimer began to search for an inn to stay at for the night. He found one relatively close to the portals so he would be able to be there before the seventh bell. It was a cozy place, small but not tiny. It seemed to stand out from the other buildings around it, as if it somehow didn't belong there. Upon walking in, Mortimer felt something begin to affect him, but not in a harmful or malicious way. An unnatural yearning; a pull to this place. The entire place felt like being back home, and a feeling of warmth and comfort radiated in the air. It felt like being hugged after a long, stressful day. Before he knew it, he stood in the entryway, eyes closed, and just embraced the feeling. Opening his eyes revealed a small, older woman with dark brown hair. She had a few grey hairs and smile lines of a happy and jovial person. As if feeling his presence, the innkeeper turned with uncanny precision and stared into his eyes. Her eyes were a deep red, rich and burning with flecks of crimson, and she moved with an unnatural grace for someone her age.

  She spoke before he could, breaking him out of a trance he didn't know he was in. "How can I help you, dear?" A small smirk played on her lips. Once again, before he could reply, answered for him. "Of course you'll be wanting a room," she was like a whirlwind, making decisions without input, "and something to eat, something meaty and a warm beverage perhaps."

  The next thing he knew, he was seated at the counter with a plate of rice and stew beef and a mug of ginger tea in front of him, and the old innkeeper staring at him again with those deep and vibrant crimson eyes. The warmth of the food grounded him. It was simple, but perfect—like something his grandmother used to make.

  He glanced toward the innkeeper, now humming softly behind the counter. There was something strangely familiar about her.

  Mortimer’s spoon hovered halfway to his mouth. His heart thudded."I don't think I can pay for all of this", he said shakily, more concerned with being able to pay than understanding what had just happened. She chuckled, her voice seeming like a glass windchime but weary at the same time. "Don't worry about that, dear. You keep your money, after all, we take care of our kind."

  All at once, Mortimer's mind snapped the pieces together, "You're a witch," he breathed, his eyes wide with awe and something close to admiration. She smirked and nodded with her eyes closed. Mortimer's mind began to reel at this, "But I'm not a witch," he blurted, the words tasting strange on his lips. Once again, she smiled, this time a hint of sadness lingered behind it. "I know," she whispered to herself rather than to him, "I grew up with your grandmother. We were the closest of friends, and I'd know her spell work anywhere."

  "That's how I recognized you," the innkeeper continued, her voice softening further. She came around the counter and wrapped him in a hug. "She loved you so much that she changed her plan."

  A tear slid down Mortimer's cheek before it evaporated in the quiet warmth of the room. A thick air of silence closed around them.

  He swallowed hard. "What spell did she place?" he asked tentatively.

  The innkeeper's expression grew distant.

  "Oh, dear. I wish I could tell you, but I'm afraid that wouldn't do. Besides, you'll find out soon enough." She shook her head and gazed at the countertop. Beneath her breath, more to herself than to him, she murmured, "I just hope it's not too soon."

  Then, in another whirlwind of motion, before he could even question any of these new revelations, she cleared the dishes and ushered Mortimer to his room. "Goodnight, dear. Rest well, you'll have to be up early if you want to make it to the portal in time." With that, she closed the door, and Mortimer was left alone again. He sat at the edge of the bed, his mind whirling with the facts he’d learned tonight. His grandmother, the woman he'd spent so much time with, had hidden such a huge part of her life from him. But he couldn't be upset because, after all that he had learned, the one thing he truly learned was just how deeply she loved him.

  Lying back, he began to reminisce on his time with her. He thought about how often he'd missed the hint of recognition in her eye when he would tell her about some new magic he'd learned about. He wondered what her element was, what his would have been if he'd been a witch. That night, he dreamed deeply about his grandmother, a memory that was somehow lost. He was seven again, running into his grandmother’s arms with tears on his cheeks and blood on his knee. She’d hushed him, holding him close, her hand brushing against his scraped skin. It had stopped hurting almost immediately, but at the time, he’d thought it was only her love that had made it better.

  Now, he wasn’t so sure.

  Maybe it had always been magic.