Ascension of Magic

Dorian's fascination with the magical world only grew with each passing day. His mother, Elena, had become both his anchor and his teacher. While she didn't directly teach him spells or incantations, she instilled in him a deep respect for magic and its unpredictable nature. Every day brought a new lesson, a new understanding that magic was far from a simple tool—it was a living, breathing part of the world, something that couldn't be forced or controlled with mere willpower.

But Dorian wasn't satisfied with simply understanding magic; he wanted to do something with it. He was young, but his mind was sharp, and his longing to interact with magic was undeniable. Every evening, as the twilight deepened and shadows grew long in their small cottage, Dorian would sit by the window, staring out into the darkened woods. There, hidden in the distance, he could sense something—some subtle tug in the air that called to him, like the whisper of a hidden melody.

One evening, he finally decided to act on it.

"Dorian, don't go too far," his mother called softly from the other room as she busied herself with dinner. She had always been cautious, and she'd often warned him about wandering into the woods alone, especially after dark. But Dorian, now seven, felt an urgency he couldn't explain. Something inside him whispered that he had to try.

The air in the woods felt different that evening, heavy with the power of something unseen. Dorian's heart beat faster as he stepped carefully between the trees, drawn toward a thick cluster of vines. As his fingers brushed the leaves, a jolt of energy shot through him, like a sudden electrical shock.

He gasped, pulling his hand back quickly, but the energy lingered, buzzing around him. It was like the vines themselves were alive, reacting to his touch, reacting to something deeper within him. Dorian stood frozen, staring at the vines as they shimmered faintly in the fading light.

He could feel it. The magic was alive, it was real. And it was responding to him. His breath quickened, his fingers twitching with the desire to do more, to make the vines move, to make something happen. But no matter how hard he concentrated, the magic refused to obey.

Frustrated, Dorian slammed his fist into the earth. "Why won't you work?" he whispered fiercely to no one.

At that moment, he heard footsteps behind him, and a warm, calm hand rested on his shoulder.

"Magic cannot be forced, Dorian," Elena's voice was soft, her presence grounding. She had arrived quietly, her usual calm radiating in the way she stood behind him. "You're trying too hard."

Dorian turned to look up at her, his face a mixture of determination and confusion. "But I felt it! The magic... I know it's real, I know it's here."

Elena knelt beside him, gazing down at the vines, which had returned to their normal stillness. "Magic is not just about what you feel, Dorian. It's about patience. Understanding. Respect." She smiled gently. "And most of all, it's about trust. Trust in yourself, trust in the world around you, and trust in the magic itself."

Dorian's brow furrowed as he looked at his mother. "But I don't understand. I feel like I'm so close, but I just can't..."

"You're not ready to control it yet. But that doesn't mean you can't be a part of it," Elena replied, her voice like a soothing melody. "Your magic will come in its own time. All you need to do is listen."

He wanted to argue, but something in her tone, in the steady certainty with which she spoke, made him pause. He didn't understand it fully, but he trusted her. She had always been right about so many things. Slowly, he nodded and let his frustration slip away, just a little.

"I'll listen," Dorian muttered, feeling the cool air around him settle back into a quiet peace.