Merlin sat in the clearing, surrounded by trees that had already lost most of their leaves. Winter was drawing closer with every passing day. In front of him lay a small pile of dry branches, arranged neatly at the center of a circle of stones.
His index finger was raised, held steady in front of his face, his expression one of absolute concentration.
At the edge of the lake, Leith lay half-submerged, his large head resting near the shore as he watched his human friend with open confusion. The small human had been sitting there for a long time now, unmoving and silent, but Leith didn't mind. He liked Merlin's presence, even when nothing was happening.
Merlin's focus remained unbroken. His raised finger trembled slightly.
Then his concentration slipped.
He let out an exasperated sigh, lowering his hand. A thin line of sweat ran down his forehead, standing out sharply against the cold air around him. He wiped it away with his sleeve and took a slow, steady breath.
"Again"
he told himself.
He straightened his back and raised his finger once more, his eyes narrowing. This time, he didn't force it. He let the mana flow the way he had learned—like opening a channel instead of breaking a dam.
He pictured fire.
Just a flame small, contained, alive.
He fed a little more mana into the attempt.
Tiny sparks burst from the tip of his finger, followed by a thin curl of smoke.
Merlin's breath caught.
Encouraged, he pushed a bit further. The sparks grew brighter, steadier, and then, with a soft flick, a small flame bloomed at the tip of his finger, floating there as if it belonged.
Merlin froze, eyes wide, afraid that even breathing too hard might break the moment.
He had done it.
With a careful motion of his hand, he guided the flame forward. It drifted gently through the cold air and landed on the pile of dry branches.
The wood caught almost instantly.
Orange flames spread through the pile, crackling softly as warmth began to push back against the creeping cold of the clearing.
Merlin stared at the fire, a slow smile spreading across his face.
Behind him, Leith let out a low, curious whinny, watching the flames dance with bright, intelligent eyes as the first true fire Merlin had ever conjured burned steadily in the heart of winter's approach.
Merlin practiced a few more times, calling forth his flames again and again. Slowly, carefully, he learned the right amount of mana to use, how little was needed for a spark, how much more for a steady flame, how to increase the heat without letting it spiral out of control. Each attempt taught him something new, each success building on the last.
But when he finally stopped, he felt it all at once.
Exhaustion hit him like a wave.
His legs felt heavy, his arms weak, and his head throbbed dully. He realized, with a quiet sense of awe and caution, that he had used more mana today than he had over the past months combined. Magic really was like a muscle, but even muscles had limits.
He turned toward the lake.
Leith had risen from the water and was watching him closely now, sensing the change in his friend. Merlin walked over and wrapped his arms around the Kelpie's cold, broad muzzle, pressing his cheek briefly against the damp scales.
"See you later," he murmured softly.
Leith responded with a low, gentle whinny, nudging Merlin lightly before slipping back into the lake, his form disappearing beneath the darkening surface.
Merlin made his way back toward the village.
As he walked through the familiar paths, people began to greet him, some with nods, others with warm smiles. A few even called his name.
Over time, without really meaning to, Merlin had made a name for himself. He helped carry heavy loads, fixed small problems, and, when no one was looking, used just a touch of magic to make things easier.
The village had noticed.
Passing by a small fruit stall, the vendor looked up and grinned when he saw Merlin. Without a word, the man tossed him an apple.
"Take it," he said cheerfully. "Last of the season."
Merlin caught it easily, surprise flashing across his face before breaking into a wide smile.
"Thank you !" he called back.
He bit into the apple as he continued on his way home, the crisp sweetness a welcome reward after the long day. He felt tired, yes, but also content.
Unseen by him, standing a short distance away, Callum watched.
His hands were clenched into fists at his sides, his jaw tight. As he watched people smile at Merlin, watched gifts being given freely, something dark twisted in his chest.
Hatred.
And envy.
His eyes followed Merlin until the boy disappeared from sight, and the bitterness on his face only deepened as the cold air of the coming winter settled around the village.
—----
Callum walked alone along the outskirts of the village as dusk began to settle in. The sky was turning a dull gray-blue, and the cold crept deeper into the air with every passing minute. He kicked a loose stone hard enough to send it skidding across the dirt path.
"Stupid…" he muttered.
He was the guard's son. People were supposed to look at him with respect. They were supposed to smile at him, praise him, not that freak with strange eyes and a too-kind face.
His hands trembled as anger and envy boiled in his chest.
"That thing…" Callum hissed to himself. "That freak doesn't deserve any of it. No smiles. No praise. He should be thrown out of the village. Exiled. Left to rot."
His voice echoed softly between the bare trees.
He didn't notice the footsteps behind him.
Two figures emerged from the deepening shadows, moving with unnatural quiet. They wore long, dark cloaks that seemed to swallow what little light remained, the fabric heavy and layered.
The edges were worn, almost frayed, as if they had traveled far. Leather gloves covered their hands, and beneath their hoods, pale faces could be seen, gaunt, with eyes that gleamed far too brightly in the fading light.
One of them tilted his head slightly, studying Callum as if he were a curiosity.
A thin, unsettling smile spread across the man's lips.
"Well now," he said softly, his voice smooth but wrong somehow, like it didn't quite belong in the world around them. "That's quite a lot of anger for someone so young."
Callum froze.
The second figure stepped closer, boots crunching softly against the frost-touched ground. His smile was wider, almost eager, his eyes fixed on the boy.
"Tell us," the first continued, voice dripping with interest, "who is it you were talking about ?"