The noise of the guild hall faded behind us as Meka followed close to my side, still clutching her hands together like they might fly away if she let go. The line of trainees continued to chatter and shift around Myrda, but Greta had already waved us off with full approval. Winnie marched proudly toward the front of the queue with her log, leaving us to slip away unnoticed.

  Inside the magical trainee hall, the air changed. The rooms felt quieter, steadier, older. The mage lights along the walls had already been lit, giving the corridors a warm evening glow. Outside, the sky was nearly dark. It would be true night soon.

  “Where are we going,” Meka whispered.

  “To the magic training area,” I said, lifting my staff like I had lived here a hundred years. “Your training starts now.”

  Her tail lifted with nervous excitement, and she followed me through a side passage that most martial trainees never needed to use. These doors were carved with magical circuits, bright and permanent. When I pushed one open, the room inside was empty, the mage lights low but warm.

  The magical training room was quiet, peaceful in a way the martial yard never was. Chalk circles covered the stone floor in fading layers. Shelves held dried plants, crystals, quills, and half-finished exercises from earlier classes. A few practice wards glimmered faintly on the far wall. It felt like the after-breath of a day full of magic.

  Meka stepped inside carefully, like she was worried the floor might break under her hooves. “This place looks important.”

  “It is,” I said. “But only for now. Soon, you will not need someplace like this to focus. A training area is a tool. Nothing more.”

  I walked toward the center where a shallow sand pit covered most of the floor. Footprints, dust, and scraps from earlier lessons dirtied the surface. I stared at it in horror. “This place is disgustingly dirty.”

  I found a broom leaning against the wall and began sweeping with determined, offended strokes. The sand shifted, dust lifted, and the circles beneath became visible again. Meka watched with wide, confused eyes as I worked my way across the entire pit.

  It took a while, but when I stepped back, the floor looked tolerable. “There it is.”

  At the center lay a plate with an inlaid magical circuit woven directly into the metal, giving off the blue light of mana. I tapped it with my staff. “This is a focusing circuit. If you sit on it, it will help you draw mana in more easily.”

  I crossed to one of the shelves and picked up a dried plant, brittle and brown but devoid of even a single drop of life. I handed it to her. “Sit. Hold this. Then speak to it. Tell it that it should be alive.”

  She stared at the plant for a moment, then smiled with sudden confidence. “Oh, you just want me to push some mana into it. I can do that.”

  “No,” I said firmly. “I want you to speak to it and get it to choose to live again.”

  She blinked. “Choose? Plants cannot choose.”

  “You are a botanomancer,” I said. “One of the rarer magic types. Not like a common pyromancer who summons flames and controls them. But there are similarities. A good pyromancer can speak to flames and flame will answer. A good botanomancer can speak to plants and plants will answer them. Not with mana. The mana is already there. Even in this dead plant, the mana remains, though the life is completely gone. You must convince it that it is alive. If you do, it will send out roots and rejuvenate itself. It will trust you because you speak with the words of magic.”

  “But Randall said that is not how magic works,” she said.

  “Randall does not know anything about magic,” I said. “He is an incompetent fool.”

  She reached for the dry twig and held it carefully between her fingers.

  Before I began, I cleared my throat and set one hand under my chin. Out of habit.

  My fingers touched smooth skin.

  Not my glorious beard.

  The cold shock hit me so sharply that for a breath I forgot the room, the twig, even the child waiting for instruction. I lowered my hand slowly and stared at my own fingers as if they had betrayed me.

  I had not realized how much I missed it. The weight. The warmth. The presence. All the centuries of stroking it while thinking. Gone. Erased. Not even a chance of regrowth for years. Maybe I would not be able to grow on in this life.

  I had grown a beard so glorious that it was worth a king's ransom. There were portraits of my beard in one of my vaults, and the thought that I might never be able to grow one again filled me with the deepest sadness I had felt in this life. Even while I was in the heavens, I had my beard. It was a comfort I had always believed would remain with me, and now there was nothing. Not even a whisker.

  A strange and unpleasant feeling twisted in my stomach.

  You could be reading stolen content. Head to the original site for the genuine story.

  Meka tilted her head. “Are you alright?”

  I blinked. The moment passed. I exhaled slowly and straightened my tiny shoulders. “Yes. I am fine. I simply… had a bad thought.”

  She did not understand, but she nodded anyway.

  I returned my focus to her twig.

  “You have botanomancy,” I said. “Plants already listen to you. You have heard them before, have you not. Leaves rustling louder around you. Flowers leaning toward you. Trees whispering when no one else notices.”

  Her breath caught. “I thought that was normal.”

  “It is normal for you,” I said. “Because you are a botanomancer. But you have never spoken back. Not once.”

  She held the twig closer, as if hearing something within it.

  “You will not pour mana into it,” I said. “You will not force anything. You will ask it to live. And if you are gentle and honest, it will.”

  Before she could try, a loud voice burst down the hallway outside.

  “Greta, I said it is fine! They are all safe!”

  Meka flinched. The twig wobbled in her hand.

  I sighed and slid off the floor. “Randall has arrived.”

  Voices rose in the corridor just outside the magic chamber.

  “Randall,” Greta said, her tone sharp enough to cut stone, “it is nearly nightfall. Your class was supposed to be here two hours ago.”

  Heavy footsteps, groans, and the sound of several children dragging their feet echoed through the hall. Meka moved closer to me instinctively.

  Randall answered cheerfully, “We had a little scare, but it built character. Only three of them got hurt badly.”

  I put my face in my hands. “Only three,” I muttered.

  Greta’s voice dropped into something deadly calm. “A trainee class is only supposed to have one incident to show them how healing works.”

  “It is fine,” Randall said. “I healed them up.”

  “You don’t have healing magic,” Greta snapped. “You are a pyromancer.”

  “I used potions,” he said proudly. “I am responsible.”

  “No,” Greta replied. “You are an idiot.”

  Greta’s voice rose, “I cannot believe the Guild let you be an instructor.”

  Randall sounded delighted. “I cannot believe it either!”

  A long, long silence followed.

  Then Greta said, “I will be filing a report.”

  Myrda said, “There is no need. I started filing one the moment his class was fifteen minutes late.”

  I nodded to myself. “Good.”

  Meka held her twig with both hands. “Should we… keep practicing.”

  “Yes,” I said. “Randall will not come in here for a while anyways. It sounds like he will be busy for a long time.”

  She seemed reassured.

  I lifted my staff again, my mood steady once more. “Alright, apprentice. Speak to it.”

  She took a breath, lowered her voice, and whispered out loud, “You can grow. I will keep you safe.”

  I shook my head immediately. “No. Not with your mouth.”

  She blinked, confused. “But… that is how you speak to something isn't it?”

  “Not with words,” I said, tapping my staff lightly against the floor. “Speak to it. Truly speak to it.”

  “I do not know what you mean,” she said, voice small.

  “Yes, you do,” I said gently. “Think about it. Look at it. Feel what you want to say. Then speak to it the way plants speak to you.”

  She looked down at the twig in her hands and focused so hard her eyes nearly crossed. Her big minotaur face scrunched up in concentration, it was strangely adorable.

  She stared at it. Really stared. Then her whole body eased. Her shoulders relaxed. Her breathing slowed. She closed her eyes, calm and steady, then opened them again with a quiet, certain look.

  The twig did not just tremble.

  It burst.

  Leaves unfurled in an instant, bright and fresh. Tiny roots exploded from the bottom as if desperate to live again.

  Meka gasped, shot to her feet, and nearly threw the twig in excitement. “I did it!”

  “I knew you could,” I said warmly. “I am so proud of you, apprentice.”

  She stood there trembling with joy, staring at the living plant in her hands.

  “But this is only the easiest step,” I continued. “We have a long way to go.”

  Her eyes widened.

  Her training had truly begun.

  I stood tall for my size, staff planted firmly beside me, settling into a posture far too ancient for a three?year?old body. “Meka, listen carefully. I have taught many apprentices. Dozens. I know how this goes. And you, my dear apprentice, are special. Very special.”

  She blinked. “Because of… my botanomancy?”

  “Yes.” I said as I circled her slowly like the wise old man that I had once been. “Even in my time, starting as a botanomancer was rare. Powerful. The potential comes from the difficulty of learning the school of magic on its own. Pyromancy and botanomancy are opposite schools of magic on the spectrum. Pyromancy is one of the easiest schools to learn. Botanomancy is one of the hardest. That is exactly why your future potential is enormous.”

  She swallowed. “Randall… never said that.”

  “Randall does not understand that,” I said. “In fact, I have a suspicion.” I narrowed my eyes thoughtfully. “Did Randall ever call you a grass muncher or hay head or something like that.”

  Her whole face crumpled like she was about to cry.

  “Oh, no, no, I am not calling you any of that,” I said quickly. “I am asking if he did.”

  She nodded a tiny, wounded nod.

  I sighed. “Botanomancers have a direct bond with plants. Not animals. Not all of nature. Plants specifically. And opposite schools of magic do not blend well. It is not hatred, but instinct. And what Randall does not understand, he finds detestable. It is because his school of magic is the opposite of yours. He literally cannot understand your magic because he is too foolish to take a harder path.”

  She hugged the former twig to her chest. “So… I am just wrong for his class.”

  “No,” I said gently. “You are too good for his class. And too rare. He has chosen the easiest path possible. He started with pyromancy and never stepped beyond it. He is a bad wizard. No real wizard would ever claim to be only a pyromancer. A pyromancer is what you start off as. A botanomancer is what you start off as. But a wizard is a master of all magic. And that is what you can become.”

  She blinked at me. “Really?”

  “Really. Randall calls himself a master pyromancer, but a true master can summon the very stars to fight on their behalf. Randall looks like someone who could burn down a house with himself inside it and think it was an accomplishment.”

  She snorted. A tiny, surprised sound. Then a giggle.

  I smiled. “You, however… will one day call the stars themselves to do your bidding. Those great balls of fire in the sky will answer you just as plants answer you now. Your words will command them. Your will shall guide them.”

  Her eyes went wide as sunrise.

  “All you need to achieve that is to follow every single instruction I give you,” I said, then paused, rolled my eyes at myself, and let out a laugh. “That is a joke I tell all my apprentices. Every single one. It is never true. I just find it funny.”

  She blinked. “So… what do I actually need?”

  “You need to learn who you are,” I said. “Learn about magic. Understand it. Find your own way of doing things. In the end, I am only a guide. It is your path to walk, your choices, your life, and your magic. I can show you where the path begins, but in the end, you decide how far it goes.”

  Her eyes brightened, hopeful again.

  “And I will be here,” I added softly, tapping my staff on the floor, “to make sure you never walk it alone.”