Ruby became obsessed with magic.

  It began quietly, the way most obsessions do. Not with some dramatic revetion or prophetic sign, but with a simple request made one chilly morning as her father prepared to ride into town.

  The cabin was warm despite the snow falling outside. Fire crackled softly in the stone hearth, and the smell of pine smoke mixed with the savory scent of cured venison hanging from the rafters. Morning light pushed through the frosted windows, painting pale stripes across the wooden floor.

  Darius stood near the door pulling on his heavy boots. The thick leather creaked as he tugged the ces tight, his broad shoulders stretching the dark wool coat he wore when traveling.

  Ruby sat at the small wooden table watching him with the intense focus most six-year-olds reserved for desserts.

  “Dad?”

  Darius gnced up.

  His beard shifted as he smiled, the corners of his green eyes crinkling slightly.

  “That tone usually means you’re about to ask for something.”

  Ruby folded her hands politely on the table, trying very hard to look reasonable and mature.

  “When you go to town… could you look for magic books?”

  Mira paused in the middle of slicing carrots at the counter.

  The knife stopped mid-chop.

  Darius blinked once.

  “Magic books?”

  Ruby nodded immediately.

  “If they have any.”

  Darius leaned back slightly and studied her. His deep green eyes had always been sharp, the kind that noticed details most people missed. Ruby had recognized that look early in life. It was the gaze of someone who had spent years watching for danger.

  Finally he shrugged.

  “I’ll see what I can find.”

  Mira sighed but smiled faintly, shaking her head as she resumed chopping vegetables.

  “She’s going to end up a schor.”

  Darius chuckled as he stood.

  “Better than ending up like us.”

  Ruby pretended not to hear that st part.

  But she noticed.

  She always noticed.

  Darius returned te that afternoon with frost clinging to his beard and a cloth bundle tucked under his arm.

  Ruby had been sitting by the window watching the road for nearly an hour.

  When she saw the bundle she nearly unched herself out of the chair.

  He ughed as he stepped inside and stamped snow off his boots.

  “Patience, little spark.”

  He set the bundle carefully on the table and began unwrapping the cloth.

  Ruby leaned forward eagerly.

  Inside were three worn books whose leather covers had softened with age. The corners were bent and the pages had yellowed slightly, but they were intact.

  Ruby reached out slowly, almost reverently.

  The titles were written in faded ink.

  Foundations of Arcane Practice

  The Eight Schools of Elemental Affinity

  Myths and Histories of the Pantheon

  Her heart began to race.

  Mira crossed her arms from the stove.

  “You spoil her.”

  Darius shrugged casually.

  “She reads faster than half the adults in this vilge. Might as well give her something worth reading.”

  Ruby had already opened the first book.

  The pages smelled faintly of dust and old parchment.

  And knowledge.

  She devoured the books.

  Not like a child.

  Like a starving person.

  Morning sunlight often found Ruby sitting beside the cabin window, knees tucked under her chin while she turned page after page with quiet concentration.

  Sometimes Mira would look over and ugh softly.

  “You’re going to wear holes through those pages.”

  Ruby barely heard her.

  The first book expined magic in practical terms.

  Not mystical.

  Not divine.

  Simply… natural.

  One passage caught her attention immediately.

  All living creatures possess a current of mana flowing through their bodies. Like breath, like blood, it is part of life itself.

  Another section expanded on the idea.

  Mana grows stronger with use. A mage who exercises their magic daily will develop deeper reserves and greater control. Like a muscle, it strengthens through strain and recovery.

  Ruby read that paragraph again.

  Then again.

  Magic was exercise.

  Practice.

  Training.

  That meant it wasn’t limited to prodigies or chosen heroes.

  Anyone could grow stronger.

  Including her.

  The first attempts were humiliating.

  Ruby sat cross-legged in the grass behind the cabin, holding the book open beside her while she carefully followed the instructions.

  Feel the warmth in your chest.

  Guide it into your hand.

  Picture fme.

  She held her palm out.

  Nothing happened.

  Again.

  Still nothing.

  Again.

  The breeze stirred the grass while birds chirped somewhere in the trees.

  Ruby clenched her jaw.

  She tried again.

  And again.

  And again.

  Days passed like that.

  Weeks.

  Then one afternoon something flickered.

  A tiny spark danced across her fingertips.

  Ruby froze.

  The spark vanished instantly.

  But her breath caught.

  She had felt it.

  That warmth rising from somewhere deep inside her chest.

  Mana.

  The first real fme came nearly two months ter.

  Ruby sat outside the cabin practicing again when a soft orange glow suddenly bloomed above her palm.

  It was small.

  Barely rger than a candle fme.

  But it hovered there, dancing gently in the air.

  Ruby stared at it with wide eyes.

  She slowly raised her hand.

  The fme followed.

  Her heart pounded so loudly she could hear it in her ears.

  “I did it.”

  The words escaped in a whisper.

  A ugh bubbled up before she could stop it.

  Not loud.

  Just a quiet burst of disbelief.

  It worked.

  Once the spell finally faded, the tiny fme dissolving into sparks of warm light, a sudden wave of sensation rushed through Ruby’s body.

  It started in her chest and spread outward like warmth spilling through her veins. Her heart fluttered and her fingers tingled, a strange lightness filling her head that made the world feel brighter for a moment.

  Ruby blinked in surprise.

  “Oh…”

  The feeling wasn’t just satisfaction.

  It was stronger than that.

  The books had mentioned it briefly in a section describing the mental effects of casting spells.

  Successful spellcasting often produces a pleasurable neurological response. Many schors believe this reaction exists to encourage mages to practice and expand their mana capacity.

  But reading the words had not prepared her for the reality.

  The feeling was intense.

  Not overwhelming, but unmistakably euphoric.

  Ruby pressed a hand against her chest as the warmth slowly faded.

  It felt almost like the first time someone you loved told you they loved you back. That sudden rush of warmth and disbelief and happiness all tangled together in one dizzy moment.

  “Wow…” she whispered.

  The grass swayed gently in the breeze around her while the st sparks of the fme disappeared.

  She understood immediately why mages practiced so obsessively.

  Magic didn’t just reward success.

  It made you want to succeed again.

  Of course the books had also warned about the other side.

  Failure hurt.

  Sometimes only a little.

  A dull ache behind the eyes or a wave of exhaustion that left the caster dizzy and weak.

  Other times it could be worse.

  Mana backsh, the text had called it.

  If a spell colpsed while too much mana was flowing, the energy snapped back through the caster’s body like a whip. That could leave sore muscles, migraines, trembling hands, or even sharp internal pain that took hours to fade.

  Ruby had already experienced the milder version more than once.

  Earlier that week she had tried pushing too much mana into a fme that refused to stabilize.

  The spell had fizzled violently.

  The result had been a splitting headache and arms that felt like she had been lifting stones all day.

  Still…

  As the lingering warmth of success faded from her chest, Ruby found herself smiling.

  It was worth it.

  More than worth it.

  The practice became daily routine after that.

  Every morning Ruby would sit outside the cabin and summon the little fme again, chasing that fleeting moment of warmth and wonder while slowly strengthening the invisible well of mana growing inside her.

  At first it sted seconds.

  Then minutes.

  Eventually she could walk while holding it.

  The glow cast flickering light across the grass like a wandering ntern.

  One evening Darius stepped outside and stopped short when he saw her crossing the yard with a floating fme above her hand.

  He stared for a long moment.

  “Well I’ll be damned.”

  Ruby turned nervously.

  The fme wobbled.

  “Sorry,” she said quickly.

  Darius walked closer and crouched beside her, studying the fire carefully.

  “You can use magic?”

  Ruby nodded.

  “The book said anybody can.”

  His eyebrows slowly rose.

  “You’re six.”

  “Yes.”

  “Six-year-olds don’t usually awaken magic.”

  Ruby shrugged.

  “The book didn’t say I couldn’t.”

  Darius rubbed his beard thoughtfully.

  “This might actually be a problem.”

  Mira stepped outside just in time to see the fme hovering over Ruby’s palm.

  She blinked.

  “Darius.”

  “Yes.”

  “Our daughter is using magic.”

  Darius nodded.

  “And?”

  “She’s six.”

  “I know.”

  They both looked at Ruby again.

  Mira finally sighed.

  “Well… I suppose we always knew she was unusual.”

  Ruby lowered her hand and the fme disappeared.

  Inside she felt something else though.

  Something warmer than the fire.

  Pride.

  But fire magic wasn’t what she truly wanted.

  It was useful.

  Simple.

  Practical.

  Yet every time she practiced, the same thought lingered in the back of her mind.

  This isn’t the magic you’re looking for.

  At night Ruby read the other books.

  The second described elemental affinities.

  Most mages developed an easier connection with one element.

  Fire.

  Water.

  Wind.

  Earth.

  Sometimes rarer branches like nature magic or lightning.

  Ruby had clearly awakened with a fire affinity.

  But the third book interested her far more.

  Myths and Histories of the Pantheon.

  She flipped through its yellowed pages until a particur section caught her attention.

  The gods.

  According to the text, the continent recognized several ancient deities.

  Soreth, Lord of Fme.

  Aurelia, Mother of Harvest.

  Vethis, Keeper of Knowledge.

  And many others.

  But the name she paused on was—

  Morvath.

  The Silent King.

  God of death.

  Ruby’s eyes lingered on that name.

  The passage describing him was brief.

  Morvath governs the veil between life and death. Though rarely worshiped openly, all souls must pass through his domain.

  Ruby slowly closed the book.

  Then she knelt beside her bed.

  The position felt painfully familiar.

  For years Ryan Anderson had prayed exactly like this.

  Hands folded.

  Head bowed.

  But the words that came now were different.

  “Morvath,” she whispered into the quiet room.

  The name felt strange in her mouth.

  “I don’t know if you can hear me.”

  Outside the wind rustled the trees.

  No answer came.

  Ruby swallowed.

  “I’m not asking for power.”

  Her voice trembled slightly.

  “I just want to see them again.”

  Emma.

  Jacob.

  Tyler.

  Lucy.

  Her throat tightened.

  “If you guard the dead… then they must be somewhere.”

  The cabin remained silent.

  But Ruby stayed there long after the candle burned low.

  Night after night she prayed.

  Sometimes to Morvath.

  Sometimes to nameless spirits.

  Sometimes to anything that might be listening.

  Ryan Anderson had once prayed to Heavenly Father with absolute certainty.

  Now Ruby wasn’t sure what she believed anymore.

  If God was real… why had the truck not stopped?

  Why had Emma died?

  Why the children?

  Why send him here?

  Ruby stared out the window at the stars.

  Maybe God existed.

  Maybe He didn’t.

  But if magic could summon fire from thin air…

  Then maybe death wasn’t the end here either.

  Ruby clenched the bnket in her small hands.

  “I’ll find a way.”

  Her voice was barely a whisper.