《August and The Magicast》


 Small, Terrified Beginning

    Small, Terrified Beginning


    I tried to disappear at the end of June, when I was little. It wasn¡¯t something I planned for long, but that summer¡­ It just felt like the only time I could really escape from everything.


    I know it¡¯s a bold way to start a story, but I need you to understand why I¡¯m telling you all of this. Why I started doing my magic podcast ¡ª The Magicast, as I call it. So that¡¯s why I had to grab your attention first.


    It¡¯s important so please listen.


    Part of me thought that there wasn¡¯t any point in trying all of this.


    It hurts to keep on going whenever I¡¯m reminded of my mistakes and losses over the course of my entire life, yet I just kept going.


    Sometimes, I can¡¯t help but feel a little aimless¡ªlost, constantly wandering through the chaotic wilderness we call life. It¡¯s full of people, yet somehow, it feels vast and empty all at once.


    Maybe I was a coward: a scaredy cat. I keep running away all the time, living in the traces of my mother, whose face I never got to see.


    Back in high school, the other students called me the Somber Cat. Always frowning, always looking tired and grumpy. I wasn¡¯t that somber, though.


    It¡¯s just that everything felt so numb, so dull at the time¡ªeven when they threw paper balls at my face. It was like nothing really mattered.


    I tried my best to smile and that was all I could do. I was still small¡­ and terrified.


    Even if I tried jumping off a 21-story building, looking back, I see that final moment as an act of cowardice. I felt so small that day¡­ like nothing I did or felt could ever be enough to escape it.


    The cold night rain drummed relentlessly against my back, my body heavy, frozen in place before I could even move.


    I was as small as an ant. Wait¡­ no, not an ant. Ants are tough. I was smaller than that.


    I was as small as Augustine Rowe. Me.


    The one who couldn¡¯t even meet the panicked, terrified eyes of my father, who only ever wanted the best for me¡ªeven if it meant the two of us living this sad, quiet life together.


    He shook, hugged me close, and kneeled to my level on the rooftop because he didn¡¯t want to let me go. His body seemed to shiver just as mine did while the chilling raindrops fell from the sky and hit us. He was trying to keep me warm.


    When dad spoke, his voice sounded warm too. Almost as if he tried to sound strong even if my ears would deceive me into thinking he was stuttering and his breath was shaky.


    ¡°You¡¯re gonna miss all of your opportunities if you end it here and I¡¯m gonna miss you so much.¡±


    I didn¡¯t reply at first. Only the pitter pattering of the raindrops answered. I huffed out a puff of air, cold smoke escaping from the imprisonment of my quivering lips as my ears twitched.


    ¡°I know it hurts right now and it really hurts that I can¡¯t do anything to take away your pain like this, Auggie¡­ Even magic can¡¯t take away how you feel from all of this mess and I get so mad that your very own pa can¡¯t do miracles to fix and make everything feel better.¡±


    ¡°And I know¡­ I know that your therapy sessions aren¡¯t working for you either. So sometimes I don¡¯t even know what to do, except to be here for you, offering all the love and care I can bring with just being here. Life is so unfair, Auggie. Not just to you, Auggie, but to me as well.¡±


    ¡°I love you very much, Augustine. I hope you know that. I love you so much that it even hurts me to see you torn down like this. Losing yourself would mean I¡¯ll lose you. It¡¯ll hurt me forever.¡±


    I quietly bury my face on the notch of my dad¡¯s neck as a response, a few tears escaping my eyes as I sniff. I felt his soft and fluffy tail, grazing on my arm, that gentle touch enough to somehow tame and control my overwhelming emotions just for a bit.


    ¡°I-I wanna go home, pa...¡± I stuttered, tugging at his shirt as I pleaded for him to listen.


    ¡°We¡¯re already home, Auggie.¡±


    ¡°It doesn¡¯t feel like home.¡±


    ¡°I know. But I promise to make a new one¡­ One where you can feel like you¡¯ll never be alone again. One where you¡¯ll never feel scared of trying new things. Just you, me, and everybody close to us. Even magic isn''t as powerful as love and nothing can change that. ¡±


    My dad answers, his lips curling into a genuine and heartwarming smile. His eyes twinkled and smoldered with invigorated passion and warmth. I felt my stomach twist itself into a knot, a familiar feeling of nervousness and joy.


    ¡°Here, I¡¯ll show you something for a change of pace. Come. It¡¯ll be exciting!¡± he pulls away from our tight embrace, encouraging me to follow. He lifts me up, cradling my head and carrying me gently in his arms while I almost doze off to sleep. I gently plant my snout on his chest, feeling all warm and cozy.


    All I could see was the color of apricot, invading my senses as the warm glow of lights welcomed my view. We were back inside the apartment, slowly drying off from the cruel and chilly temperatures of the rain.


    The walk all the way back to our room felt like it stretched on, each step heavy with time, before my father would set me down on the bedside. I sat there, my legs dangling and swaying back and forth in a rhythm only I could dictate.


    Inside our apartment, it didn¡¯t feel like home. It still felt cold in the same way as the rain pouring hard outside and I meant that in a metaphorical sense. Not in a literal way.


    I don¡¯t even know why. I always knew something was missing in my entire life. A part of it felt off¡­ Was it love? I felt an outstanding amount of love from my dad so that can¡¯t be it.


    What am I truly missing?


    Father disappeared for a moment, leaving me alone in my bedroom to recollect my thoughts and emotions as I lay on my bed and stare at the ceiling with nothing to focus on. Everything felt like a blur to me; my feelings were all jumbled into a ball made out of a conglomerated mess. I felt empty yet my mind was filled with negative thoughts that I blocked out and ignored.


    It took almost 10 minutes before my father returned with chopsticks on top of the hot and steamy cup noodles in his fuzzy hands while delicately and gently placing them near the small bedside table.


    He brought me food to keep myself warm and it was my favorite flavor as well. Spicy curry.


    ¡°Here¡­ Something to warm yourself up and keep your belly full.¡± he answers with a toothy grin before raising a finger. ¡°Also give me one sec, I¡¯ll be right back!¡±


    I respond with a thumbs up, pushing myself up from the bed and easing into a seated position as I gently grab hold of the cup noodles trying to be careful not to be burned by the steaming heat.


    I grasped the chopsticks between my fingers, licking my lips in anticipation. My dad had taught me how to use them years ago at a ramen shop, so I knew the basics. But I was still clumsy, struggling to pick up food with one hand. Despite the awkwardness and humiliation of the attempts, it was fun to learn and get better with each try.


    Should¡¯ve asked for a fork. Or maybe not¡­


    I slurp the noodles happily, savoring each bite as the rich, earthy flavors flood my mouth. Warm and savory, with layers of complexity, the taste was a blend of spiciness and the hint of sweet, tangy flavor that would tickle my taste buds as I let out a satisfied grunt of enjoyment.


    I don¡¯t regret this at all.


    As if on cue, dad returns, cradling a thick and weathered book in his hands. The cover looked like it was dusted with the weight of years, and faint images would whisper and seemingly appear from its pages.


    In short it looked quite old. Very old¡­?


    He sat down next to me without saying a word, patting away and blowing the motes of dust accumulated on his book cover. I let out a small, high-pitched sneeze, wrinkling my nose before setting aside my cup noodles on the small table.


    If you stumble upon this narrative on Amazon, it''s taken without the author''s consent. Report it.


    My ears flicked in curiosity as I leaned forward, staring at the book my father was carrying. The Expedition Logs was its title. ¡°What¡¯s this about?¡± I asked.


    ¡°My record of events, and the stories of adventurers from my journey¡ªwhile I was with your mother,¡± he answered with a grin. Dad¡¯s chest swelled with pride, his confidence clear as he showed off his book. ¡°I want to read it to you.¡±


    My eyes sparkled in fascination, eager to listen and learn more about his so-called expedition logs. While my gaze drifted over the cover, I noticed the author¡¯s name: Q.K Rowe. The ¡®Q¡¯ stood for Quincy, my dad¡¯s name, and Rowe was our surname.


    But what did the ¡®K¡¯ stand for¡­?


    ¡°That¡¯s your mom¡¯s name¡ª Katherine.¡± Dad says, his hand resting gently on my head and patting me as if he could hear my thoughts.


    ¡°I¡¯ve seen pictures of her before.¡±


    ¡°She was very beautiful¡ª way more beautiful than the sunsets we¡¯d watch together over the golden horizon. She almost had the same color as your eyes: heterochromia and all.¡±


    I quietly nodded in response, unsure how to reply about a mother I had never truly known or felt love from. For a brief moment, an uncomfortable silence and tension hung between us like opaque curtains. Neither of us spoke, until dad finally broke the stillness.


    ¡°Auggie¡­ you know..¡± he starts off, letting out a theatrical cough before flipping open the book. The first page read:


    Rowe the Great Wizard !!!


    I couldn¡¯t help but let out a small chuckle, feeling second-hand embarrassment from his stupid and silly title. He shared a warm laugh in return before pulling me gently into a brief hug.


    ¡°You know¡­¡± he continues after a laugh or two ¡°Life will always be a journey, Auggie. Just like the stories in my expedition logs, we find ourselves lost along the way, yet we fight back against our fears and doubts with our soul and spirit. They¡¯re very strong even if they¡¯re fragile, believe it or not.¡± my father¡¯s eyes lit up with joy, a smile tugged at his lips, and there was a note of resoluteness in his voice.


    Small sparks of concentrated magic crackle in the air, glowing with a soft lavender hue as they leapt and swirled around us. It was his power, a delicate, wispy orb that hovered gently in the palm of his hand, manifesting with quiet grace.


    ¡°Our mind will always tell us we¡¯re not good enough, but we¡¯ve been doing everything we can to move forward. Be kind to yourself and treat your flaws like trophies. The past and future no longer matter¡ª they hold no meaning when we are here, in the present moment.¡±


    With a snap of his fingers, my dad conjures a breeze, soft and tender, carrying the scent of lavender. Its delicate petals flutter in the air, like murmurs from the Earth itself, gently nudging the page of my book as it turns, the quiet movement almost as serene as the moment itself.


    And for the briefest moment of my life, I felt a profound peace, as if I had almost finally come to terms with everything.


    My dad begins to narrate, and while he speaks, purple lines and images materialize in the air before us, conjured by his spell, perfectly aligning with his story


    A mountain with snowy peaks would emerge, shrouded by a fierce and angry blizzard. There was also a group of people who sat around a small campfire, their tents pitched nearby, one of them marred by a tear in its fabric and had a small hole.


    ¡°From Katherine Young. It was the coldest night of November 15th, in the 22nd century, near the summit of Mount Silverveil. Everyone was exhausted, ready to give up on the venture to slay the Serpent of Twilight. Rationing our food had been a struggle, and we almost lost a team member along the way. But somehow, we managed to keep going. I didn¡¯t have to sacrifice and lose an arm or an eye so thank the gods for that.


    Huh¡­ It¡¯s crazy where life takes you, right? Never thought I¡¯d find love along the way, too. I always knew Quincy was shy, especially for a reclusive goof like him, but he was my wizard. My cutest wizard, honestly. So, I figured I¡¯d make the first move¡ªhad to, right? I¡¯m confident, prideful, and daring like that. Haha¡­ Might be the death of me, but enough with the mushy, corny, sentimental nonsense. It¡¯s way too cold to think straight right now.¡±


    Out of the corner of my eye, I saw my dad¡¯s face flush with embarrassment, just from reading Mom¡¯s words. His cheeks were all rosy red, completely flustered by how she called him cute, without a second thought.


    A quiet smile tugged at my lips, it was kinda wholesome seeing him like that.


    A pot, a campfire, a telescope, books, a map, and herbs materialized as glowing purple sketches evoked from my dad¡¯s magic.


    ¡°Everyone had their role in the camp; Quincy handled the cooking. Vourtsanis, our warlock, buried himself in his spell tomes, studying the map, and probably talked to his deity too. Eufracia and Donovan were off foraging, hunting for food and supplies. Theo? He was our lookout, keeping watch and making sure we all stayed safe. And me? Well, I helped Quincy with the cooking, sorted through herbs and spices, and made a few health potions and bandages. You know, just doing my part as the best cleric in the group or so they say¡­


    There¡¯s something really special about this party. It just makes me feel¡­ warm, you know? Everyone¡¯s doing their part, and we all make sure to take care of each other. And if you think Vourtsanis isn¡¯t doing much, well, think again! He¡¯s actually been learning a new spell, getting ready for our last fight. I don¡¯t know what it is, but I¡¯m quite excited.


    Once the cooking was done, I just had to figure out how to let everyone know supper was ready¡ª especially before we headed out to take on the serpent in our final battle. Calling them on the phone or sending a text message was useless, knowing there wasn¡¯t any signal, no connection to the internet so I had to adapt and come up with creative solutions without drawing any unnecessary attention or putting our camp in danger.


    Using a flare gun was out of the question, especially since I¡¯d have to mute its noise with a silence spell. It could still be too bright anyways, and I didn¡¯t want to risk drawing the attention of any beasts in the forest.


    Or maybe I could also use the Skywrite spell to send a quick message. Something like: ¡°food¡¯s ready! Can¡¯t hide from me forever - Kath¡±, but, honestly, it¡¯s probably too dark for anyone to see, and with the blizzard and strong winds, the message wouldn¡¯t stay up long enough to be noticed.


    Unless¡­


    I had Quincy by my side to help with that problem. Aurora¡¯s Lights and Whimsical Winds. We could use Dancing Lights to grab their attention, turn them into lanterns. They wouldn¡¯t be as bright as a flare gun¡ª just a faint glow ¡ªand the blizzard¡¯s strong winds could carry them farther. Control Winds helps with the olfactory smelly-smell signal to carry the scent of our freshly made beef stew on a gentle gust, so the others would know dinner is ready. It was a fun and brilliant idea in my head, so I decided to share it with him.¡±


    Squiggly, glowing, faint lavender lines appear in the air after my father¡¯s narration, slowly coalescing into an image resembling the swirling, flowing motion of a gusty wind. Four small lanterns float and hang in the atmosphere, each glowing with a different color: red, yellow-orange, green, and blue. It was very pretty to watch, a sight of pure grace.


    ¡°It took Quincy and I a moment to figure out how to cast both spells in a row without messing up. The plan was definitely going to work¡ª and even Quincy seemed surprised, his cute, innocent eyes lighting up with excitement. Vourtsanis was already nearby, so it was easy for him to see our message; there was no problem with that at all.


    Snatching a glowworm from one of the pockets of his backpack, he stood at the edge of the snowy cliff, the blizzard howling around him. Whispering the incantation under his breath, I recognized the familiar action of his Dancing Lights spell. His fingers moved with practiced precision, tips touching briefly before sweeping outward in opposite arcs, as if he was sketching a circle in the air.


    I could barely hear what he was saying but it was something along the lines of ¡°Light of the day, guide us through the darkest hours of night. Grant us the path to broaden our sight.¡±


    It had a nice ring to it¡ªsimple, clear, and poetic¡ªwith a smooth flow that made it perfect as a verbal chant for a spell.


    Or maybe I was fawning over him like a simp.


    I held my breath for a fraction of a second, watching the spell conjure four lanterns, each glowing a different color, with a shimmering orb floating inside each one.


    Wow¡­ I could watch this all day.


    That¡¯s what my mind blurted out before Quincy cast another¡ªthis time, one to control the winds. It was a bit boring and anticlimactic, though; all he had to do was extend his hand toward the fierce blizzard, as if challenging or taunting it to a fight, palm facing the sky, then flip his hand down and chant his spell.


    ¡°Gust of wind, who rends the bones and flesh of man,


    Who destroys those who dare block your path,


    You are tamed, bound by the will of Saa¡¯kha,


    The Grandfather of Winds.¡±


    I advised him that day to keep his spell chants shorter next time and come up with cooler gestures. It felt a little extravagant or over-the-top for my taste, but hey, I¡¯m not one to offer harsh criticism. A one- or two-liner works better for spells, but since he isn¡¯t a master at casting them with his mind, I decided to cut him some slack.


    I watched as the chilly roars from the sky slowly subsided, their intensity fading away. The lanterns finally floated gently in the air, serving as a signal to the party that it was time for supper before our fight with the serpent tomorrow.


    I couldn¡¯t say for sure if this would be our last dinner together, who knew if we¡¯d still be alive tomorrow? What mattered to me was being in the present, with everyone I cared about. By the end of it, the plan had been a big success. Everyone saw the lantern signals before Quincy¡¯s spell faded after an hour, and the blizzards roared back to life once more.


    Beef stew with chopped-up square tofu and bread with melted cheese and ham inside? That definitely deserves to be recorded in your expedition log, Quincy.


    I don¡¯t think cool fights, raiding dungeons, scary monsters, or new abilities should be the only things keeping you from writing this book. I¡¯m gonna be real here, a lot of shared warm experiences and stories from people are pretty amazing, if I do say so myself..


    I¡¯m not sure why you don¡¯t just use your phone, but hey, your verbal-to-text spell on your book works just fine. Honestly, it feels more genuine this way. Just don¡¯t get ahead of yourself¡ªI know you¡¯re still getting the hang of this author thing.


    And if you ever share this story with anyone, I¡¯m pretty sure we won¡­ or, well, Quincy survived whatever happened. Haha.


    Expedition Log 1.¡±


    The story had ended, and Dad had finished the narration, but I was already lying on my bed, half-asleep, nearly passing out.


    The world slipped into slumber. The rain had finally stopped, but outside my window, I could hear the crickets chirping beneath the crescent moon, which seemed to smile down upon the Earth. I couldn¡¯t see anything, but I could tell my dad had already gotten up.


    He gently kissed my fuzzy forehead, then wrapped me snugly in my favorite thick navy blue blanket with patchwork drawings of peaches, balls of yarn the same color as the peaches, rocket ships, and axolotls in a variety of colors.


    I¡¯d heard most of the story, and... it was nice.


    Very nice.


    Very interesting...


    I wanna make one too.


    I want to start a podcast.


    A Magicast!


    This was my small, terrified beginning, but tomorrow was going to be something new.