Ignis’ First Firesday of Harvestfall, 1442, market plaza, city of Luminara.

  Vaelith wove through the morning market crowd, her steps light and buoyant as she blinked her way across the cobblestones. The vibrant midday sun bathed the city, and the familiar sounds and smells of the market enveloped her once again. The savory scent of sizzling meat reached her before she even spotted the skewer stall.

  Her keen fins picked up the chatter around her as she made her way through the crowds. But Vaelith filtered most of it out, focusing instead on the warm glow of the sun and the thrill of anticipation that tingled in her fingertips. She clutched her two precious coins, already picturing the sizzling skewer they would buy. She smiled as she neared her destination.

  The skewer master, a gruff-looking homini with a short, peppered beard and a worn apron, stood behind the counter, watching over his grill. He had decorated his stall in crimson cloth, with golden embellishments hanging from the edges, catching the sunlight like flames dancing in the wind. When he saw her, a flicker of recognition crossed his face.

  “Ah, I remember you from last night,” he greeted with a casual smile, wiping his hands on his apron. “You and the shield maiden, right? Had a whole plate of skewers between the two of you.”

  Vaelith blinked, pleasantly surprised. “Yes, that was us,” she said with a smile, stepping up to the counter. “It was so good too! I’m back for another one today.”

  The man chuckled, flipping some skewers over the flames. “I thought I’d see you again. You were eyeing those skewers like they were something from your childhood. Reminded me of a young Dracan I once hired for a few summers... Looked a bit like you, too. All silver and gold.” He winked, his tone casual but his eyes studying her closely.

  Have I worked here before?

  A flicker of confusion and nostalgia sparked in Vaelith’s chest. The man had to be mistaken—no memories surfaced—but this world had a way of making her question what she thought she knew.

  “No? That wasn’t me,” she said. “I’m sure I’d remember if I worked for you before…”

  He rubbed at his chin, squinting.

  “Hmm? Well, if you say so, miss.”

  She gave him an apologetic smile and steered the conversation in a different direction.

  “I’d like to order a single skewer, please.”

  “Sure thing! One skewer coming right up!”

  Vaelith handed over the two cuprum pieces she had been holding firmly, enjoying the light clink they did as they traded hands. The skewer master carefully stowed them away in his coin box and handed over her change—eight cuprum chips.

  “Your change, miss.”

  She counted them twice before sliding them into her coin purse, picturing them cheerfully reuniting with the others of their kind. The man gave her a slight nod of approval before tossing a few vegetables onto the grill and setting the skewers into place.

  “Go ahead, take a seat. I’ll have it ready in a few minutes,” he said, gesturing to the nearby tables.

  Vaelith thanked him and headed in that direction. There were a few tables scattered around, but the same one she had used the previous night caught her eye. The two stools looked just as austere as they had yesterday, but today, she had an idea.

  Flexing her fingers, she whispered an incantation, recalling the lamp makers’ lessons. He had shown her how magic was not just about raw power—it was also about control. Small, subtle applications of magic could be just as effective as grand displays.

  With a quiet pulse of energy, Vaelith shaped a cushion of force on top of the seat. She tentatively pressed one hand on it. It was ticklish, reminding her of the feeling of blocking a jet of water in a hot tub, but it offered just enough resistance to suit her needs.

  She sat herself atop the invisible force, the sensation pleasantly soft, as she floated at the perfect height, feeling both proud and comfortable. A small smile tugged at her lips—this was far better than sitting awkwardly on that rough wooden chair. She could mark off the need to buy a cushion after all. Levitating with some telekinetic force was far more convenient.

  Once settled, she reached into her satchel and pulled out her grimoire. The weight caught her off guard—it was far heavier than she expected. Placing it on the table felt more like letting go than setting it down, gravity doing most of the work as it landed with a resounding thud. For an instant, she wondered if her belt and bandolier were enchanted. When tucked against her hip, the tome had never felt this cumbersome.

  Vaelith unbuckled the massive brass latch that kept the book closed and carefully flipped the leather cover of the book open.

  On the first page, a crest marked her as the owner—her unique mage sigil, both a proof of ownership and a binding attunement to her magical signature. Whenever she channelled her power, the energy would surge through the casting circle on this page, amplifying as it wove through the intricate design.

  As a mage’s power grew, the glyph evolved in complexity—layered magic circles and runes intertwining, inscribed in enchanted inks crafted from rare materials. Each refinement enhanced its potency, further amplifying her spells.

  The current design was a rather simple one, but one she felt proud of, regardless. Creating it had been part of her proof of graduation at the magic academy. Every mage was required to draw their own casting circle as they received their grimoire.

  Comparing her first page to her professors’, Vaelith felt humbled. Their tomes were intricate masterpieces, far beyond her own. She had a long journey ahead before hers could match their level of refinement—but time was on her side.

  Good things come to those who wait.

  Flipping through the next few blank pages, she imagined the glyphs that would one day fill them, expanding the casting circle into a complex, three-dimensional, multi-page construct.

  She eventually reached the section of her grimoire dedicated to ritual casting. The first ritual was a versatile cantrip, and the first spell taught to neophytes at the academy. With it, a mage could create some minor harmless sparkles, some wind barely strong enough to blow a candle, harmonic chimes and the likes.

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  Vaelith flipped to the next page. She wanted to try something more impressive than parlour tricks—she felt like the way she could repurpose her combat spells into utility spells, like her force cushion, had made the cantrip obsolete.

  She kept flipping through the pages, scanning the neatly inscribed runes and symbols. Each of them detailing rituals she could eventually perform, and Vaelith found herself momentarily lost in the possibilities.

  Eventually, she found two rituals which held her attention: Create Food and Create Water. Simple utility spells. But life-saving, in the right circumstances. She focused on the ritual circle, tracing the patterns with one finger as she memorised them, feeling the soft glow of magic in the runes.

  “Let’s try them,” she said, pulling a glass out of her satchel.

  She opted to start with Create Food.

  A voice from her past, a professor or motherly figure, perhaps, came to her mind, filling her with confidence.

  “Yes, you can do it! Chant the words. Visualise the circle. Trace the pattern. Let my light guide you. Focus on the result.”

  I can do this!

  She pushed the grimoire off to her left. As instructed, she then imagined how the ritual circle would look on top of the table, in the empty area where the grimoire had just been.

  Following the lengthy instructions, she chanted softly under her breath, her hands hovering over the table as the spell took shape. With one finger glowing with arcane power, she reproduced the magical lines and runes as shown in her book directly on the flat of the table. Bright blue lines of arcane energy remained behind, eventually forming a perfect copy of the original.

  The lines shone brightly, turning to gold before evaporating in fine particles of light. A loaf of bread materialised in front of her—a simple, hard-looking piece of bread. Nothing too exciting, at first glance.

  She inspected it further. The crust was stiff, but she assumed dipping it in water or gravy would soften it. The bread, despite how crude and plain it was, was undeniably food. She smiled with pride at her success.

  Oh! Maybe I can use it to soak up the grease at the bottom of the plate when I’m done?

  She set the piece of bread aside, preparing herself to cast the Create Water spell next.

  She set the glass down, picturing the ritual’s focal point. Vaelith focused on the magic as it flowed into her fingertips, and began the same process, with the new runes and glyphs.

  After she finished tracing the glyph, it glowed. This time, fresh, clear water had filled the glass to the brim.

  She picked up the glass and inspected it, tasting and smelling it.

  It was perfectly ordinary—just regular, clean water—but it felt like an accomplishment. She raised the glass, examining it in the sunlight. It looked normal. But she remembered she came from a world with running water available to almost everyone.

  Clean water like this, in medieval times? That’s actually rather impressive.

  For a moment, she let herself feel a quiet sense of pride.

  “Fresh water, and some stale bread? That’s not bad,” she said, satisfied with her magical experiment.

  Just as she set the glass down, the skewer master approached her table, a steaming plate in hand. “Here’s your skewer, miss,” he said with a smile, setting the plate in front of her. The charred vegetables and juicy meat looked just as tempting as they had the night before, and the smells made her stomach rumble again.

  But before he walked away, his eyes fell on the glass of water Vaelith had conjured. “That’s a neat little trick you’ve got there,” he remarked, nodding toward the glass. “Conjured that up yourself, right?”

  Vaelith blinked in surprise. She had expected no one to pay attention to what she was doing.

  “Oh, yes. Just a simple spell.”

  The man rubbed his chin thoughtfully. “You know, freshwater’s a bit of a luxury around here. We’re right by the ocean, so we’ve got plenty of saltwater, but turning it drinkable is a hassle. We mostly rely on rain barrels—and when that’s not enough, we get fresh water from alchemists. If you don’t mind, I’ve got an empty barrel out back. It could use a refill. Think you could handle that for me after your meal?”

  Vaelith tilted her head, surprised by the request. “Oh, sure,” she said with a smile. “I’d be happy to.”

  “I’ll even pay you for the trouble,” he added, winking at her as he walked back to his stall.

  Did I just get a mage-specific tutorial quest from a random street vendor?

  The request had all the hallmarks. It was just like a quest that asked, “Use your class ability 3 times on a target dummy.” Except, in this case, the dummy was an empty barrel.

  And some cook would enjoy fresh water.

  Vaelith chuckled softly to herself and took a bite out of her skewer. The familiar flavours of the charred meat and seasoned vegetables were just as good as the night before. Between bites, she glanced down at her grimoire, wondering just how far she could push the limits of her magic in this world.

  She chewed slowly, taking the time to truly appreciate each bite.

  Curious, she looked around. Nobody seemed to pay particularly any mind to her displays of casual magic. The guards focused elsewhere; the rest of the crowd were not any warier than they were before. She thought it strange.

  Other adventurers attract critical looks for far less...

  Done with the skewer, Vaelith dipped the bread in the juices and took a tentative bite. She smiled, savouring the rich, greasy bite.

  Perfect.

  Having polished off her plate, she picked up her tome and made her way to the back of the stall where the skewer master kept his rain barrel.

  Filling the barrel would not be difficult; she just needed to repeat the ritual as often as required. She stood an arm’s length away and went to work.

  She used Create Water multiple times, watching as liquid magically appeared, slowly filling the container. With each use, Vaelith noticed she was getting faster and more efficient. Thanks to muscle memory, she no longer needed to look at the reference drawing, further accelerating the process.

  Her mastery of the spell also directly influenced the amount of water summoned. She did not bother measuring the difference, and it was even more difficult to simply eyeball it, but she could instinctively tell. With each use, her mastery of the ritual improved.

  Someday I might be able to fill a whole barrel in a single cast!

  Finally, after the sixth use, the barrel was filled to the brim with clean, drinkable water. The skewer master thanked her with two full ferrum chips.

  That’s enough for fifteen skewers!

  Vaelith protested, as the reward felt completely unproportional to the difficulty of the task.

  “But this is way too much! It’s a simple spell, really.”

  But the man chuckled, forcing her hand closed over the coins.

  “Little lady, if you knew what alchemists charge for a barrel of clean water, you’d know I’m getting this at a bargain.” He leaned in slightly, lowering his voice like he was sharing a secret. “Trust me, alchemists services don’t come cheap. I guarantee you: any other stall owner would rather pay mages such as yourself. But there are precious few who’ll listen to our requests.”

  He pushed her gently towards her table, showing that it was pointless to argue any further. As she relented and accepted the reward, she received a notification.

  “You have reached level six for the mage class.”

  As Vaelith returned to her table, a thought crossed her mind.

  Jason had always felt like a misfit—adrift, disconnected. But here, as Vaelith, everything clicked. The magic, the people... for the first time, she belonged.

  She was part of something, not just filling space. Maybe it was not just the magic; maybe it was her. Vaelith felt like she had a place in the world, a role to play.

  Before she could sit down, a familiar voice called out to her.

  “Hey, dude! It’s you! Vaelith, right?”

  Vaelith turned to see Zyra Talovren standing by the skewer stand, where she had last seen her the previous evening.

  She must have just logged back on.

  The taller dracan looked as casual as ever, her eyes gleaming with recognition. Her appearance gave off such a different vibe from Vaelith’s. She had red scales, a narrower and longer forked-tail, and fin-like horns. She looked much more demonic than draconic, although her friendly demeanour clashed with that image. Her sand-brown hair and gleaning armour gave off a grounded look. In comparison, Vaelith looked otherworldly and ethereal.

  “What are the odds?” Zyra said with a grin. “A friend is logging on and wanted some help grinding. You interested in joining a party to level up? We’ve got room for a damage dealer, and we’ll be running some lowbie party duties. Mage’s a solid choice for consistent damage, and you can help our casters regain their mana faster with your summoned water. If we get you a few more levels, we could even tackle dungeons?”

  Vaelith smiled, her heart fluttering at the invitation. Yesterday, she would have been hesitant to accept such offers, but today felt different. Today, she was ready for more.

  Catching up to her party mates’ levels would be faster this way—certainly better than filling water barrels.

  “Sure,” she said with a soft smile. “I’m in!”

  “Bitchin’. Ryssa and Orion’ll love you, dude."

  - Do you enjoy seeing magic used for small, practical things in fantasy stories?

  - What do you think of the vendor mistaking Vaelith for someone else—coincidence, or something more?