Veil of Another World

In the tiny, shed that I came to know as home, my world was often confined to the four walls of our humble living space and the small, sunlit patches that danced across the floor. My fear of being discovered by the gods—who I was convinced had made a mistake by sending me here—kept me indoors, away from prying eyes and, hopefully, off any celestial radar.

My days were spent peeking out of windows, watching life unfold in the village from a safe distance. The other children played in the dirt, their laughter a constant echo that reminded me of the life I was too afraid to join. I envied them, even as I hid away, convinced that any misstep might trigger my return to a world I no longer belonged to.

Magic was not rare in the village; it was woven into daily life, as natural as the changing seasons. Yet, for me, it held a fascination that was anything but normal. My first real brush with magic happened quietly, almost mundanely, within the very walls that I thought protected me.

It was on a particularly chilly morning, with snow painting delicate patterns on the windowpanes, that I saw it. The maid, a kindly woman who had always treated me with a gentle, unspoken understanding, was tending to the fireplace. I watched her, as I had watched so many others, from the shadows of the room.

With a simple gesture and a softly uttered word, the kindling caught fire, flames dancing to life with a warmth that seemed to spread far beyond the hearth. My eyes must have been as wide as saucers. Magic, real magic, right there in front of me, performed with the ease of breathing.

I knew, in that moment, that magic was what I wanted more than anything. But it was also a clear reminder of my vow to remain unnoticed. Magic drew attention, and attention was a risk. Yet, my longing remained, a spark that had been lit in me, impossible to ignore.

Days turned into weeks, and weeks into months, and the image of the flames springing to life at the maid's command stayed with me, a beacon of wonder in my world of self-imposed shadows. I began to watch more intently, not just the maid but anyone in the village who wielded magic for tasks both big and small.

I learned by observing, by soaking in every detail from the safety of my confinement. The way the baker would whisper to his oven, the soft glow that enveloped the blacksmith's hands as he worked the metal, even the way the farmers would sing to their crops, notes carrying on the wind, infused with something powerful and unseen.

Yet, for all the magic that surrounded me, I dared not attempt it myself. The fear of discovery, of drawing the eyes of the gods, kept my curiosity in check. I was a ghost in a world of color and light, always watching, never participating.

As months passed, I grew more adept at hiding my true self, at pretending to be just another villager, content with the simple life we led. But the desire for magic, for understanding and wielding that incredible power, never faded. It was a silent yearning that filled my dreams, a world of possibility just beyond my reach.

And so, I remained the boy behind the windows, watching the seasons change and the village thrive, a spectator in a life I was too afraid to fully embrace. But the flames of that first magical encounter continued to burn in my heart, a constant reminder of what lay just beyond the fear, waiting to be discovered.