Potential

I walked briskly, winding my way through the caravan, towards the head of the procession. The familiar buzz of activity was notably absent. Instead, people were wrapping up their chores and readying their wagons. The sun had climbed over the distant hillock and bathed the encampment in its soft morning light. By now, we should've been on our way. But something was different today. Perhaps master Harlan wanted the merchants to get their wares in order, they were only half a day away from Thornwick after all.

As I reached the front of the caravan, I saw Harlan's car. It was a monstrous beast compared to the rest, almost like a small house on wheels. A trio of domesticated dire oxen stood tethered at the front, their large horns and muscled bodies an intimidating sight. These weren't your ordinary beasts of burden; they were bred for power and endurance.

Two guards flanked the entrance to Harlan's car.

"I'm here to see Master Harlan, he should be expecting me," I announced, hoping my voice didn't betray my uncertainty.

One of them grunted in acknowledgment and moved aside to let me pass.

Stepping inside was like entering a different world. The interior was dimly lit with a few lanterns hanging from the ceiling. To my left was a small kitchen area, with pots and pans hanging neatly on hooks against one wall and an iron stove in one corner. To my right, a small library filled with books and scrolls on various subjects.

A polished bronze mirror hung on the wall next to the library. It was large and ornate, reflecting a distorted version of myself. I hesitated, then walked towards it, curiosity getting the better of me. I hadn't seen my own reflection since leaving Hearthglen. What would I see?

The face that stared back at me was vaguely familiar but different. My medium-length black hair, usually neatly combed, was wild and unkempt. My eyes reflected a weariness that wasn't there before. My face, lean and angular, seemed to have lost some of its youthful roundness. The days spent in the woods had not been kind to me.

"Pull yourself together, Noah," I muttered under my breath.

I wet my fingers with spit and ran them through my hair in an attempt to tame the unruly mess. The result was less than satisfactory, but it would have to do.

"Good enough," I mumbled, giving myself a final once-over in the mirror.

As I walked further into the car, I found myself in what appeared to be Harlan's personal quarters - a desk littered with papers and maps took up one corner of the room, while a comfortable-looking bed filled another.

Harlan himself sat at a table at the far end of the room, his hulking figure dwarfing the chair he sat in. His bald head shone under the dim light, with his face, weathered and etched with lines of age and experience, was set in a scowl as he seemed to be shouting.

Across from him sat a woman I didn't recognize. She was draped in flowing blue robes that shimmered under the lantern light. Her hair was a cascade of dark curls, and she wore a serene expression on her face.

The conversation between Harlan and the woman was nothing more than a silent pantomime to me. Their lips moved, their expressions shifted, but no sound reached my ears. I stood at the entrance, frozen and utterly confused.

Harlan's eyes found mine, a brief flicker of surprise crossing his weathered face. He opened his mouth as if to speak, but I heard nothing. Then he gestured for me to come in.

With every step I took into the room, the muffled noise seemed to gain some clarity until suddenly, sound returned as if a veil had been lifted.

"...trade with your kind but coming to my doorstep is a step too far." Harlan's voice thundered through the room, filled with frustration and authority.

The woman in blue didn't seem bothered by his harsh words. She merely nodded her head in acknowledgment, her face still serene and composed.

"I understand your concern, Harlan, but I have orders from my Master," she said softly. "And besides, I have no ill intentions."

Her words seemed to fuel Harlan's anger further. He rose from his chair, towering over the woman like an angry storm cloud.

"I don't care about your intentions!" he barked. "This is my caravan! My rules! I won't let your kind endanger us! Do you know what would happen to me if word of this got out? What would happen to the people working under me if the Church was told I was harboring mages!?"

With that, he turned on his heel and stormed out of the room, his furious gaze meeting mine for a brief moment before he left. The room fell silent again, the tension hanging heavy in the air.

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Harlan's abrupt departure left me with more questions than answers. Mages? They were akin to warlocks, or so the Church proclaimed—flesh carving lunatics, deviants who meddled with forbidden arts. And now, here I stood, a few feet away from one who was just accused of being one. Yet, just as I shifted my weight toward the door, the woman spoke.

"Your thoughts are loud, Noah," she said, her voice breaking through my inner turmoil. "I can assure you; I am not here to cause harm. It would go against my mission to do so after all the effort I expended to find you."

"Who are you?" My guard was up, instincts honed from recent horrors making me wary.

"My name is Rowena Marrowsky," she replied, her voice as smooth as velvet. "I am an acolyte of the Arcane Order and a student of Olvandir Nel'Konnadoth."

At the mention of Olvandir's name, relief washed over me like a cool wave on a hot summer day. He was alive! But why hadn't he come himself?

"Olvandir...he's alive then?" I asked to make sure, unable to hide the relief in my voice.

Rowena nodded, her eyes holding mine. "Yes, he is. Unfortunately, he had something come up and was most displeased to be unable to come see you himself. So, he sent me to find you."

A torrent of questions surged through my mind, crashing against one another in their haste to be voiced.

Rowena, perhaps noticing the creased furrow between my brows or the way my fingers twitched, gestured to the chair opposite her. "Please, sit," she said. "I know you have many questions."

I hesitated for a moment before complying, sliding into the plush seat across from her. As I looked up at her, I realized she was the most beautiful woman I had ever seen. She seemed to be in her late twenties. A cascade of dark hair fell in waves down her back, framing a face of high cheekbones and soft, full lips. Her eyes reminded me of my mothers', a warm brown. She wore a set of azure robes that shimmered under the lantern light, accentuating her slender figure. But more so than her beauty, it was the promise of answers that made me nervous.

"Ask away, Noah," she said softly.

Drawing in a deep breath, I started with the question that had been haunting me since I woke up in the desolate ruins of my home. "What happened at Hearthglen?"

Her face turned somber at that. "We call it the Ruin. It's a curse that befalls seemingly random places across the Isles once every few decades or so. Our oldest records indicate that it's been happening for thousands of years, with no particular cause, at least not one yet identified. Although scholars have found evidence that it's been happening more frequently this last century."

"But why? Why my home?"

"I'm sorry, Noah," she added gently. "Nations across the realm have tried studying the cause of the phenomena, but there has never once been any man-made intervention identified. It's...a freak accident of nature. And it just so happened to fall upon your village."

My heart pounded in my chest. Ruin? A curse? That seemed...too easy an explanation for such a monstrous tragedy. So many lives lost. Friends, family, men and women, young and old; and all the powers that be could do was say it was a freak accident of nature?

I recalled the death, the suffocating fog, the ghouls… there was nothing natural about it.

I blinked back tears, forcing myself to swallow down the lump in my throat. This was not the time for sorrow; I needed answers.

"Why are you here?" I asked, my voice a mere whisper. "And why did Olvandir want to see me?"

She hesitated for a moment; her gaze locked onto mine. "We...Well Olvandir really, was surprised to find you," she said, her voice wavering slightly. "You were wandering around the Ruin like it was nothing."

I blinked in surprise. Was that so unusual?

Sure, it felt like breathing in smoke, even made me a bit nauseous, but the fog in itself didn't hurt me.

"You shouldn't be alive, Noah," she continued, "No mundane survives after getting in contact with the Ruin. And yet, here you are."

"But how?" I asked, my mind reeling with the implications. "How am I…"

She must have seen the growing guilt and panic etched on my face because she reached across the table, her hand gently resting on mine. Her touch warm.

"When Master Olvandir first told me of you, I was skeptical. But after seeing you for myself, I can see why he seemed so distraught," she admitted. "Tell me, what do you know of the arcane arts?"

"Magic?" I asked, surprised. "All I know are stories. That priests and paladins channeled holy magic, blessed by the gods themselves. And then there were whispers of those who followed darker paths—warlocks and mages."

I paused, the weight of my own words hanging in the air between us. "The Church condemned them saying they consort with demons or practice flesh carving to gain their powers."

Her gaze remained steady, but I noticed a flicker of something akin to annoyance or perhaps sadness. "The Church would have you believe that," she said quietly. "That mages are akin to warlocks, meddling with demons and such."

I acutely noticed how she didn't refute the self-mutilation claim.

"But the arcane arts are not inherently evil or good. It's a tool, much like the knife on your waistband. You have authority over that knife, and it can create or destroy depending on the intent you have when wielding it. And those are the key words, Noah. Intent and Authority."

Rowena rose from her seat then, her robes rustling. She moved with a fluid grace; each step careful. Approaching the window, she rested her palm against the cool glass, her gaze locked onto the passing scenery.

The forest outside was a slow movement of verdant greens and earthy browns, sunlight filtering through the canopy and casting dappled shadows on the ground below. I had been so absorbed in our conversation that I hadn't even noticed the lurch of the caravan resuming the last leg of its journey, the gentle rocking rhythm barely perceptible within Harlan's luxurious car.

She turned back to me, her voice sharp, cutting through the distant hum of conversation and clatter from outside. "You see," she began, "Entering a Ruin would demand a vast reservoir of Intent from either myself or Master Olvandir. We would need to consciously wield our Intent to exert Authority to counter the destructive forces within, bending reality itself to ensure our survival."

Rowena's voice was soft when she spoke again, but there was a steeliness in her gaze. "The Arcane Order has existed for centuries," she said. "We've seen mages with remarkable abilities, mages who could command the elements or bend the fabric of space to their will. But in all our history, we've never seen anyone be able to employ Intent and Authority subconsciously. Least of all one who wasn't even trained in our ways."

A sudden realization hit me then like a bucket of ice-cold water.

"You think I can use magic," I breathed out.

"No," she corrected gently and smirked, "Not yet at least. We believe you possess an ungodly amount potential for it though."