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    <b>Chapter 4 - The Witch of Rivenari</b>


    <b></b>


    The day of the teacher’s arrival came, heralded by the rolling creak of a carriage as it approached the hill leading to Marth’s home. Aric, Marth''s father, stood outside the gate, his stance formal, waiting for the visitor to disembark. The carriage came to a halt, its wheels sinking slightly into the soft earth of the road. The door opened, and out stepped the woman, shorter than Marth had expected, no taller than 5''4", with long, dark hair that cascaded down her back in waves. Her attire was striking—a witch’s hat, its jagged, knife-like edges curving upwards, a cloak of deep black that shimmered in the sunlight. Beneath it, she wore a deep maroon dress, the fabric flowing and delicate, accented with gold, intricate designs that caught the eye. made even more imposing by the silver scepter she held in one hand.


    The scepter was no longer than her arm, with a pitchfork-shaped top, the half of the hilt crafted from some black, unknown material that almost seemed to absorb the light. Her every movement carried the confidence of one used to both power and respect, yet her youthful face belied the many years she had lived. As a Rivenari, she was one of the few of her kind—an ancient human race known for their innate connection to magic and their capability to live far longer, stretching beyond that of any normal human.


    “Good day,” she said, her voice smooth and commanding as she extended her hand toward Aric. “I am Serafi Rivenari. It is an honor to be here.”Aric shook her hand firmly, his posture as respectful as it was professional. “hello, I’m Aric Aelaris and this is my family.” He turned to Marth, who had been standing behind him, nervously. “Marth, meet your new teacher.”


    Marth hesitated for a moment, then stepped forward, his heart racing with excitement. Serafi’s sharp, perceptive gaze fell upon him and Lumi, standing close by. Her eyes narrowed slightly, an almost imperceptible glint of recognition in their depths as she took in their magical auras. “These children,” she remarked, a quiet admiration in her voice, “have clear remarkable affinity for magic. Have they been practicing?”


    Marth puffed out his chest, eager to impress. “Yes, with my parents grimoires as guidance, we’ve learned a lot—especially about elemental magic.” Serafi nodded, her gaze lingering on him with a quiet approval. “Dedicated young mages, I see. You are worthy of my teachings it seems.” Aric, his tone laced with humor, added, “We’re paying you handsomely for this, so I expect results, Serafi. Don’t leave us disappointed.”


    Serafi gave a soft chuckle, but it was clear she didn’t take Aric’s words lightly. “Of course,” she replied, giving a brief smile, before it quickly faded as she turned her attention back to Marth. “Let us begin,” she said. Leading Marth and Lumi to the fields beyond the house, the air fresh with the scent of earth and grass. The stillness of the surroundings made it easier to focus, and Serafi began, her voice rich with experience. “Marth,” she began, “before you can truly understand magic, you must grasp the fundamental structure of it. There are stages—like a river’s flow. Each step brings greater depth, greater power.”


    She paused, her gaze focused on him as she continued. “The Mage Ranks mark the stages of a mage’s journey, from apprentice to god given power. Apprentices are beginners—entering into the arcane, learning basic spells. As you progress to an Intermediate Mage, you gain command over simple magic, allowing you to take on lesser threats and obstacles. Advanced Mages are those who master more complex spells and can take on mid-ranked foes.” Marth nodded, following her words closely.


    “Arcanists specialize in one school of magic, gaining the ability to perform devastating feats within that school. Ace Mages, however, have mastered multiple schools—able to call on various powers. While Archmages are the true masters, wielding magic that can reshape entire regions. Grand Arcanists, Supreme Mages, and Archpriests stand above all others, each capable of altering the very world. And at the pinnacle, the Mage God or Goddess holds dominion over reality itself.”


    Marth absorbed the weight of her words, feeling the weight of the journey ahead of him. Serafi''s tone shifted to something more serious as she continued. "Now, let us move on to the Spell Rankings. They follow the same progression as the Mage Ranks, with each level signifying greater mastery over the arcane." She paced slowly, her hands clasped behind her back, looking over Marth. "At the lowest level, Basic Magic. These spells are simple—lighting a fire, creating minor illusions, or moving small objects. The first degree is where every mage begins, learning to manipulate the elements on a basic scale."


    "Once you reach the Intermediate level, you gain more control and power. Spells become more versatile, and you’ll start handling things that can affect your surroundings on a larger scale—like controlling wind or water, or summoning balls of flames out of thin air." Serafi’s gaze became more intense. “Advanced Magic is where the true mastery begins. At this level, you can influence entire ecosystems, create powerful storms, or manipulate the land. As your skill grows, the power of your spells increases exponentially.”


    "Masterful Magic allows for feats that would be considered impossible by most. You can cause destruction on a grand scale—level cities, create elemental storms, or reshape the land itself. These spells require immense stamina and focus." She gave a brief pause before continuing. "Then there’s Royal Magic. At the highest level, this magic has the potential to alter reality itself—creating small worlds inside a small pocket in space, control the flow of time, or shift the very tilt of existence." Marth stood wide-eyed, eager to understand. “And Divine Magic?” he asked, already anticipating the answer. "Divine Magic," Serafi said gravely, “is a power that transcends the physical realm. It is said that only the most powerful mages, even those considered gods, can wield this magic. It can create worlds... And life, or destroy them.”


    Serafi then straightened up, a sharp glint in her eye. "Each spell consumes not only mana but also stamina. The higher the ranking of the spell, the greater the cost. And as you progress through the ranks, the more control you must gain over your body and mind to handle such immense power." Her words lingered in the air as Marth absorbed the weight of what she had just explained. His mind raced, already envisioning the boundless possibilities of what lay ahead. But a question rose in him, and he hesitated before speaking.


    "Excuse me, Master Serafi," he began, his voice laced with sincerity, "but this entire time, you''ve spoken of magic as a tool for combat. I want to become an adventurer... but is fighting truly necessary? I only ask because of a bad experience... and I wish to avoid any more." Serafi’s gaze softened for the briefest moment before hardening again. She took a step closer, her voice unwavering as she explained, “Young Marth, in this world, filled with chaos, it is impossible to avoid trials of combat. Perhaps there exists a utopia, where children do not need to fight to survive. But that utopia does not exist on this world.”


    Marth felt a chill at her words. He opened his mouth to speak, but she continued, her tone cutting through the silence. “The very origin of magic was to fight with the god-given grace. And with that grace, wars were waged. Wars that scarred this land and left it for us to fix, to make change. But change is slow, Marth. And for now, we must prepare... for your survival.” Marth stood still, processing her words as the weight of their meaning settled in his chest. After a moment, he let out a quiet breath. “I see, Master... I wish to not be weak. I want to be strong, so I can become a great explorer and mage.”


    Serafi nodded once, a flicker of approval in her eyes. “Good. Then let us prepare.. Come now, Marth," she said, her voice taking on a more focused tone, "you’ve grasped the theoretical. But theory without practice is like a weapon without a hand to wield it.” Serafi stood with her arms folded, watching Marth carefully. "Show me what you’ve learned, Marth. I wish to see how far your control over magic extends."


    Marth stood, confidence gleaming in his eyes. He walked a few paces forward, his feet barely disturbing the dry grass beneath him. He raised his left hand toward the empty space ahead, taking a slow, steady breath. His mind focused, shutting out all distractions. He closed his eyes, visualizing the flame in his palm, building the sensation from within. He felt the heat slowly take form, the raw energy of his mana building up in his chest, radiating outwards through his arm and into his palm.


    As the warmth intensified, he could feel the coolness of sweat beginning to crawl down his back. It wasn’t fear. It was the discipline of controlling his own body and mind while the fire grew. The sensation of it was almost familiar now, though still challenging. As the heat continued to grow, a gentle shiver coursed up from his chest, settling in his arm as it reached his hand. He could feel the very essence of fire pooling at his fingertips.


    Opening his eyes, he exhaled softly, his focus now absolute. "Let heat swell and light devour... Ember Cannon!" he spoke the incantation, his voice steady, yet filled with purpose. A great ball of fire, the size of a melon, erupted from his hand, hurling forward with explosive speed. The ball shot through the air, cutting through the harsh winds of the valley, before it struck the earth with a powerful explosion. Sparks and embers flew in every direction, igniting the grass in a wave of flames.


    Serafi''s eyes sharpened, and she raised her right arm in a swift, controlled motion. However, she was cut off- Marth''s eyes widened as he realized the flames were threatening to spread. Without hesitation, he reached out again, gathering the air around him, pulling water from the damp ground and the surrounding atmosphere. He focused, visualizing the liquid coalescing in his hand, the cold chill of it filling him.


    A ball of water materialized before him, rippling with latent power. With a flick of his wrist, he hurled it toward the flames. The ball surged through the air, striking the fire, dousing it instantly, the flames sputtering out with a hiss. Marth exhaled, his chest rising and falling, but then he noticed Serafi''s expression. Her brows were furrowed, her lips drawn tight, and the calm confidence she usually displayed had been replaced with a look of something far closer to concern.


    Marth wiped the sweat from his brow, walking toward her with a cautious step. “Is everything all right, Master? Did I do something wrong?” he asked, his voice laced with unease. Serafi took a long breath, her gaze never leaving him. She kneeled to meet his eyes, her expression a mix of curiosity and something more. “Marth,” she began, her tone laced with intrigue, “how did you learn to silent-cast?”


    Marth blinked, a frown tugging at his brow. "Silent-cast?" he echoed, confusion in his voice. She nodded. “You cast without speaking the words aloud. Tell me, how did you manage that?” Marth paused for a moment, clearly puzzled. “I... I simply recreate the feeling I have when I cast,” he explained slowly, his voice thoughtful. “When I first learned the spell, I focused on the heat and the mana. The fire came easily. And with the water... I did the same. I didn’t speak the words, I just felt it. The mana, the flow. It happened the same way, without a sound.”


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    Serafi’s lips twitched upward, the slightest hint of a smile forming on her face. She chuckled softly, the sound surprising both Marth and Lumi. It was a rare thing for Serafi, and it seemed out of place for her. "You’re quite the rare case," she said, a note of amusement in her voice. Marth and Lumi exchanged a glance, confusion evident in their eyes. Serafi stood and turned to face them both, the rare smile still lingering. "No, do not mistake me," she said, her voice steady and serious once more. "What you’ve just demonstrated is no small feat. Silent casting is not something many can achieve, not even in the first few years of training. You’ve mastered it without even realizing it."


    Marth’s chest swelled slightly, a surge of pride rushing through him, though he remained humble. “So, it’s a good thing?” Serafi nodded firmly. “A very good thing. Your mana control is impressive, and your ability to silently cast spells places you ahead of most intermediate mages. If you continue this path with focus and discipline, I’ll have you trained to an advanced mage before long. And once you’ve proven yourself, that’s when your true training begins.”


    Marth straightened, his earlier exhaustion momentarily forgotten as a determined grin spread across his face. “I understand, Master!” he said, his voice filled with newfound resolve. Serafi gave him a sharp glance of approval. "I will speak with your parents about the new terms of my teachings. But for now, let’s see just how much you can improve in a few hours." She gestured for Marth to continue, and without hesitation, he began his next round of casting.<hr>


    Serafi watched closely as Marth worked through his spells. His technique was growing sharper, more controlled, but the hours of continuous casting began to take their toll. As Marth exhausted himself, Lumi, ever the attentive companion, ran forward with the dark, iridescent liquid in hand. "Veyrn’s Vein," Lumi said softly, offering the elixir to Marth. “Drink. It will help.” Marth took the drink, feeling the cool rush of energy filling his veins, but the exhaustion hadn''t entirely lifted. His body ached from the strain, and he looked down at his trembling hands. "I... didn’t think it would be this hard," he muttered, barely able to keep the weariness from his voice.


    Lumi, watching him carefully, smiled gently. "You did well, Marth. You’ve shown great potential. Mistress Serafi said you’re ahead of most intermediate mages. That’s something few can say." Marth nodded, though doubt lingered in his eyes. “But I’m not there yet,” he said, exhaustion creeping back into his tone. Serafi’s voice interrupted, soft but firm. "Marth, you’ve mastered silent casting without even realizing it. That alone places you far ahead of most. You’ll go far, if you keep this up.”


    Marth stood a little straighter at the praise, feeling a fire stir within him. "I will, Master. I won’t stop." Serafi’s eyes softened for a moment, though her usual stern demeanor remained. "Good. But remember, you’re not just learning spells. You’re learning to control your very essence. Magic is not something to be taken lightly. You’ve taken the first steps, but it’s the steps that follow that will define you."


    The hours passed, and with each spell cast, Marth’s control grew more precise. Finally, after the final round, he collapsed to his knees, exhaustion settling over him like a heavy cloak. Serafi watched with her arms crossed, unperturbed. "That will be enough for today," she said. Lumi, already there with the elixir in hand, smiled as she helped Marth up. "You did great," she said softly.


    Marth wiped the sweat from his brow, his breath ragged. "I’m exhausted," he muttered. "You will feel it soon enough. The ‘Drought,’" Serafi said, her gaze steady on him. She knelt slightly, examining Marth more closely. "It’s a side effect of pushing your mana too far. It drains more than your energy. Your body feels empty, like the life is being sucked out of you. But if you don’t eat and replenish your energy, it can leave you weak for days... even weeks." Marth frowned, his hand hovering over his chest where the fatigue pulsed through him. He wiped his brow again. "And if I don’t rest properly?"


    Serafi’s expression softened just slightly, though it didn’t lose any of its commanding presence. "You’ll be more susceptible to illness. Your body will crave sustenance, but it won’t be able to digest properly. And when you try to cast again, your mana will be unstable. It’s dangerous, Marth. You must take care of yourself." Marth nodded slowly, still feeling the heavy weight of his exhaustion, but understanding the seriousness in her words.


    Serafi stood, her arms folding as she looked at him with approval. "Good," she said firmly. "You''ve done well today, but this is only the beginning. Your body is weak, but your mind is sharp. You’ll need both if you are to walk the path ahead."  Serafi turned to leave, her hand flicked out, and Marth could see the bag of supplies levitating behind her, following her like an obedient servant. Marth spoke "I understand, Master," he said, his voice steady but filled with the fierce determination that had been building inside him. Serafi turned her head slightly to glance at him, a slight smile tugging at the corner of her lips, before she continued forward. "Good. Tomorrow will be another day. For now, we go rest." <hr>


    Returning to the cottage from the fields, Marth’s father, Aric, was out front, his form moving fluidly as he swung a sword in the air. Each slash, each strike, was executed with practiced ease, his composure unmistakable. The dull sound of the blade cutting through the air was accompanied by the soft thud of it striking a target made of potato sacks and hay set up at the far end of the yard.


    As Marth, Lumi, and Serafi passed the gate entrance along the winding path, Aric’s focus remained sharp. His next move—a spinning slash, a flourish of steel cutting through the still air. The force of the blow sent a shockwave of energy rippling outward, aimed directly at the three of them. But before the strike could reach them, a brilliant blue translucent barrier erupted from the ground between them, swallowing the attack whole. The blade’s force dissipated harmlessly against the shimmering light, leaving the target undisturbed. Aric’s eyes widened as he realized his lapse in attention.


    “Ah,” he said, lowering his sword and wiping the sweat from his brow. “I didn’t see you there. Apologies, I had my guard down.” Serafi gave him a knowing look, her lips twitching with a slight smile. “I trust you’re sharpening your skills, Aric?” Aric chuckled lightly and nodded. “Always, though I suppose I should be careful who I aim for.” He glanced over to Marth, who had watched the entire exchange in awe. “How did it go?”


    “Great,” Serafi replied, her voice as calm as always. “In just a few hours, Marth’s casting speed improved considerably. He’s already ahead of most in his age group.” Aric’s face lit up with pride as he turned to Marth. “That’s my boy,” he said, a genuine smile tugging at his lips.Serafi leaned closer, her voice dropping to a whisper for only Aric to hear.  “I must speak with you about Marth’s training. He is far more skilled than I had assumed.” Aric’s smile faltered, his brow furrowing slightly. He nodded silently, his gaze drifting to Marth for a moment before returning to Serafi. His expression was unreadable, though his pride remained evident.


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    Later that evening, after the sun had set and the golden hues of dusk had faded, the family gathered around the dinner table. The scent of freshly baked bread mixed with the savory aroma of roasted pork and vegetables. Fruit, vibrant and fresh, lay in neat bowls along the edges of the table. Lysandra offered a quiet prayer, her voice calm and measured as she spoke the words that had been passed down through generations.


    “Oh Will that binds all things, hear me.


    Let your roots steady our steps, that we may not falter.


    Let your branches shelter my kin, that no harm may find them.


    As the sun rises and falls, as the river bends and the winds whisper, let your silent voice guide them.


    May their hands build, not break. May their hearts remain light, yet strong.


    And if sorrow comes, may it only be the passing of leaves, falling to nourish the next season of life.


    I ask not for riches, nor glory, only that they walk in your grace and be remembered as good.


    In the greater will, I place my trust.”


    When her prayer ended, the family began to eat. The soft clinking of utensils against plates mingled with the laughter of Elysia, who was eagerly recounting her adventure. “I found a toad!” she exclaimed, her mouth full, not noticing her mother’s disapproving glance. “Elysia, you know better than to speak with your mouth full,” Ida chided, shaking her head, her tone gentle yet firm.


    Elysia frowned, her excitement momentarily dampened. Aric, ever the playful father, stood from his chair, a mischievous glint in his eye. Without warning, he scooped Elysia up in his arms, wiping the crumbs from her face with exaggerated care before showering her with kisses. “Father!” Elysia squealed, wriggling to escape his affectionate assault.


    Lysandra cracked a smile at the scene, her eyes warm. She turned to Marth, who was quietly devouring his food, an almost comical amount piling on his plate. “Slow now, Marth,” she said, her voice soft. “You don’t want to upset your stomach.” Marth, his mouth full, nodded and continued eating at a slower pace. Lysandra watched him, a fond smile curving her lips. “And how was your day, my sweet boy?” she asked, her tone full of motherly warmth.


    Marth swallowed quickly, taking a moment to collect his thoughts before responding. “It was amazing, Mother. Serafi is incredible. She makes everything seem easy.” His voice filled with admiration. “I hope to be like her one day.” Lysandra’s smile softened, her eyes glimmering with quiet pride. “You are well on your way, my dear. You’ve always had great potential.”


    The family settled into a comfortable rhythm, the children laughing and sharing stories, Aric making faces at them as he played. Ida rolled her eyes but couldn’t hide the faint smile tugging at her lips as Aric “made a fool of himself.” Lysandra looked around at the scene, her heart at ease for the first time in what felt like ages. The noise of her family filled the room, the warm glow of the candlelight softening the edges of the evening.


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    Later that night, after dinner, the cottage grew quieter. The soft crackle of the hearth was the only sound accompanying the dim flicker of candlelight. Lysandra sat at the edge of their bed, her hands moving deftly as she knitted a small shirt for Kael. The door creaked open, and Aric walked in, his hair still damp from his bath. He rubbed the towel against his hair, then draped it over his shoulders as he approached Lysandra.


    “Serafi said Marth is well above the skill of his age group,” Aric began, his voice serious yet laced with a note of concern. “She believes he has the potential to reach advanced rank. She suggests harsher training.” Lysandra’s needle paused mid-stitch, her gaze distant. “Is all of this necessary?” she asked quietly, her voice tinged with worry. “He’s only a boy... He has much of his life ahead.”


    Aric sighed, kneeling beside her. “Lysandra, if Marth can truly achieve this, he will be one of the youngest to reach advanced rank in the academy’s history. It could open doors for him, give him opportunities beyond our reach.” Lysandra’s gaze hardened slightly, a flicker of disapproval in her eyes. She exhaled sharply and lowered her face into her hands. Aric, noticing the shift, rushed to comfort her, sitting beside her on the bed. “What is it, my love?” Lysandra’s voice broke as she whispered, “He’s my child, Aric. I only want him to have a normal childhood. One that’s different from ours.” Her voice was filled with a quiet sorrow, her tears betraying the weight of the past she wished to escape.


    Aric’s heart ached at her words. He wrapped his arm around her, pulling her into a tender embrace. “I know,” he murmured, pressing a kiss to her forehead. “But we can only help him walk his own path. If he’s meant for something greater... we must trust him to find it.” Lysandra’s silent tears fell, but Aric held her, grounding her in the present as the weight of their past quietly settled between them.