Hawthorne Manor

In the heart of a vast countryside, nestled amidst rolling hills and verdant meadows, stood Hawthorne Manor, an imposing residence that exuded an air of elegance and aristocracy. Its sprawling grounds were adorned with meticulously manicured gardens, blooming with a kaleidoscope of vibrant flowers. Tall oak trees stood sentinel, their branches reaching towards the heavens, whispering secrets from ages past. It was within these ancient walls that a young boy named Oliver Hawthorne, the third and youngest son of Lord Bartholomew Hawthorne, resided.

Oliver, a lad of fifteen years, possessed a scholarly nature that set him apart from his rambunctious siblings. While his brothers reveled in boisterous games and mischievous exploits, Oliver found solace in the vast library of Hawthorne Manor, where dusty tomes and aged scrolls beckoned him like precious treasures waiting to be discovered. With each turn of a page, his imagination soared to distant lands, brimming with mythical creatures and enchanted realms.

Oliver's father, Lord Bartholomew, a man of considerable girth and burly demeanor, ruled over Hawthorne Manor with an iron fist. Known for his booming voice and strict adherence to tradition, he prioritized martial prowess and physical strength above all else. As the youngest son, Oliver was often overlooked in his father's eyes, his scholarly pursuits dismissed as frivolous and inconsequential.

Yet, within Oliver's heart burned a fervent passion that surpassed the boundaries of his noble birth. He yearned to master the ancient arts of magic, to unlock the mysteries of the arcane and weave spells that would defy the limitations of the mortal realm. Such dreams were often met with disdain from his father, who believed that might and brawn were the only true measures of a man's worth.

Undeterred by his father's disapproval, Oliver spent countless hours delving into dusty tomes, poring over ancient spellbooks with a sense of awe and determination. His nights were filled with dreams of commanding the elements, harnessing the powers of fire and lightning with a flick of his wrist. To him, becoming an accomplished mage was not merely a whimsical fantasy but a destiny waiting to be fulfilled.

As the dawn painted the sky with hues of gold and rose, Oliver stood at his bedroom window, gazing out at the world beyond the manor's walls. With a heart brimming with ambition and an unwavering determination, he knew that his path would not be an easy one. However, within the depths of his soul, he carried the unwavering belief that he could transcend the expectations of his birth, rising above the shadows cast by his noble lineage.

And so, as the sun began its ascent, Oliver Hawthorne, the scholarly dreamer of Hawthorne Manor, would embark on a journey to claim his place among the realms of magic, armed with nothing but his insatiable thirst for knowledge and the flicker of arcane potential that burned within him. Little did he know that his path would be fraught with challenges and trials, testing his resolve and pushing the boundaries of his untapped abilities.

"Ugh!" Oliver stretched his arms high to the sky, preparing his body for another day of hard work.

For the past three months Oliver had been relentlessly at work, preparing for his travel to the capital to learn magic at the great academy. The Kingdom of Veridian's Royal Academy of Sorcery and Enchantment.

The academy is of great prestige. Nearly every great mage that has come from the Veridian Kingdom attended there at one point or another. Oliver wishes to follow in their footsteps.

One man in particular Oliver looked up to.

Once upon a time, in the land of Eldor, there lived a legendary wizard named Seraphius the Flameweaver. Seraphius was a figure of fascination and wonder, known for his incredible powers over fire and his noble mission to rid the world of darkness and evil.

According to an ancient tale, Seraphius discovered a hidden sanctuary deep within the enchanted forests of Eldor. There, he stumbled upon a sacred tome that revealed the existence of mysterious white flames capable of purging the world of wickedness. Filled with a sense of duty and righteousness, Seraphius embarked on a journey to harness this extraordinary power.

With great determination and unwavering resolve, Seraphius delved into the secrets of the white flames. He spent countless nights studying ancient texts, mastering intricate spells, and meditating upon the essence of fire. His efforts paid off as he gradually unlocked the ability to summon and control the enigmatic white flames.

News of Seraphius and his righteous mission spread throughout the kingdom, capturing the hearts and imaginations of the people. They hailed him as a hero, a beacon of hope, and began referring to him as the Flameweaver.

For years, Seraphius roamed the realm, seeking out malevolent forces and using the white flames to drive back the darkness that threatened to consume the land. His battles against wicked sorcerers, vile creatures, and treacherous spirits became the stuff of legends.

However, as Seraphius continued his tireless crusade, a startling revelation emerged. It was discovered that the white flames he wielded with such conviction were not the pure force of righteousness he believed them to be. Instead, they were Ghost Flames, an unholy manifestation of otherworldly power that froze and consumed, rather than burned and cleansed.

Devastated by this revelation, Seraphius was faced with a dilemma. Should he abandon his noble mission, knowing that the flames he had used to fight evil were themselves tainted by darkness? Or should he continue anyways, fighting darkness with darkness?

Summoning his inner strength and wisdom, Seraphius chose the latter. He embarked on a solitary pilgrimage, seeking ancient knowledge and seeking guidance from the very spirits he once believed he banished. Through his journey, he learned to wield the Ghost Flames to even greater mastery.

Seraphius, now known as Seraphius the Devourer, returned to Eldor with a newfound purpose. With his ghastly Ghost Flames, he continued to combat evil, using his unique powers to both freeze and banish wickedness from the world. Seraphius became a symbol of fear, scaring both his allies and enemies.

And so, the legend of Seraphius the Flameweaver, the wizard who wielded the unholy Ghost Flames as an instrument of power, echoed through the ages, inspiring generations of mages to face their own darkness and use it as a force of good.

How hard must it have been for Seraphius to turn away from the power and warmth his friends brought him and sacrifice everything. the Ghost Flame brought him power and the ability to defeat darkness, but at what cost. With each soul the flame consumed it was said to grow stronger and stronger than before! Eventually, Seraphius too was consumed.

Truly, Seraphius was admirable.

Still, his father had no care for the arcane. No desire to learn. But, he still was Oliver's father, and although upset by Oliver's wishes, still he would send him to the capital to learn magic. He had two older brothers after all, he would be rid of any responsibility when it comes to running the Hawthorne dukedom.

Over and over Oliver went over magic theory, historical figures and basic spellweaving.

Words of power echoed softly in his thoughts, their syllables dancing with hidden energy. Each utterance possessed a unique resonance, an intonation that held the key to unlocking the desired magical effects. "Ignis," he whispered, picturing the flickering flames conjured by the word, and then moved on to "Aqua," envisioning cascading waves at his command.

He meticulously traced his fingers over the runic inscriptions in his spellbook, marveling at the elegance of their forms. The runes, he understood, were more than mere symbols; they were conduits, bridges between the tangible and the mystical. Each curve and line carried arcane power, amplifying the effects of the words of power when combined in precise harmony.

As Oliver studied the runes, he imagined their vibrant hues shimmering in his mind's eye. With a focused gaze, he visualized the intricate gestures, the swift movements of his fingers as he drew the runes in the air. The air hummed with anticipation as his mind formed a connection, the link between the symbols and the magical forces he sought to command.

In his journey to become a mage, Oliver yearned for more than the reliance on physical runes. He aspired to join the ranks of advanced mages who could imprint these symbols directly into their minds, weaving magic seamlessly from within. His sea of consciousness, he knew, held untapped potential—a boundless expanse where forgotten runes and latent power awaited his discovery.

With determination, Oliver submerged himself in meditative practice, diving into the depths of his mind. He sought to navigate his sea of consciousness, searching for the hidden treasures that lay within its depths. Within this ethereal realm, he envisioned the runes etched deep into his being, a wellspring of power that he could access at will.

Through repetition and unwavering focus, Oliver sought to master the art of spell weaving and theory. His mind became a sanctuary, a place where the words of power harmonized with the runes, weaving an intricate tapestry of magic. Each moment of introspection brought him closer to his goal, opening the gateways to higher realms of knowledge and ancient wisdom.

Oliver knew that his path to becoming a true mage was challenging, but he embraced the journey with fervor. As he repeated the teachings in his mind, he could feel the intricate web of magic enveloping him, guiding his steps toward the entrance exams that would shape his destiny.

Still Oliver had a long way to go. Still, Oliver didn't know how to cast a spell. He couldn't feel Mana greatly, only tingles and rough, primal feelings.

His sea of consciousness was even less than that. He spent most of his time meditating these days, doing everything he could to get a glimpse into his sea of consciousness.

The place is said to be like another world. The sea of consciousness can serve as a gateway to higher realms of knowledge, where ancient spirits, magical entities, or even forgotten deities dwell. Mages who can traverse these depths might uncover forgotten spells, lost runes, and gain profound insights into the nature of magic itself!

Still, Oliver found no luck while trying to fish through his sea of consciousness. It was already amazing enough that he meditates and could understand the concept of the sea. Hell, even feeling mana in the primal and unrefined way Oliver has thus far is testament to the skill and talent he holds. But even someone like him, someone who isn't even a basic mage yet, can do anything about accessing the sea of consciousness.

Oliver sighed, once again finding no luck with the sea and turned towards his note book.

The book itself was a large and thick book held together by a leather strap. The book had no title and was filled with small note pages.

Oliver flipped through the pages, past his own notes on theory and such things until he went to a spell. It's one of the most basic spells a mage can cast and is something Oliver has been using to train for about two months. It's the reason his development has been so great, being able to feel mana to the extent he can.

The spell is in fact so basic that it doesn't even require a rune and instead only requires a tone while repeating the word of power.

Oliver once again looked over the clean handwriting with pride, giddy with his own handiwork.

Spell Name: Lumis Sweepus

School: Arcane Essence

Tune: The tune for Lumis Sweepus is light and rhythmic, with a hint of a playful melody. It incorporates soft, high-pitched notes that evoke a sense of cleanliness and purity. The tune starts with a gentle hum, gradually building up to a lively melody, and ends with a soothing fade.

Word of Power: Eanclay

To activate the spell, you would chant the word of power "Eanclay" while envisioning the object you want to clean. The word "Enclay" invokes a sense of gentle breeze and freshness, aligning with the idea of removing dust and dirt from the targeted object.

That's right, the spell Oliver has been training with is a cleaning spell. It's only purpose is to remove dust and dirt from an object.

The purpose of having these notes is simple; examination.

Words of power aren't mere words. They are a gateway to the arcane. For a beginner mage, words of power are the pathway between mana and magic. Why are words of power the way they are? Is it the tone of the word? The meaning? The sound it makes? What is the relationship between them? Oliver was a true wonderer.

"Eanclay!" Just perfect. The soft beggining of spell quickly transformed into a high pitched melody, just like in Oliver's notes.

The object in question, Oliver's dresser, shone with a dull grey light. The dust that has gathered on the top overnight slowly withered away into nothingness.

Oliver stared at the dresser in wonder. But he was not looking at the dust, no, he was feeling the magic!

The sensation of mana leaving his body! The sudden small yet powerful outburst of energy!

Oliver could never get used to the feeling. How wonderful must it have felt for the first mages to discover each new spell. Oliver one day wishes to join them as a great mage and create his own spell. To leave his own mark on the world, and perhaps then, a boy like him might read a passage on him just like him reading about Seraphius.

"Welp time to get back to studying." And so, Oliver went back to reading his notes, making sure to memorize everything he feels he may need on the exam.

"Only two more weeks…"