Chapter 2

The following days were a blur of confusion and adjustment. The memories of my past life remained fragmented, refusing to coalesce into anything coherent. Yet, the knowledge of Aethel, its magic and its inhabitants, felt strangely familiar, like a forgotten language slowly returning to mind.

My parents, Elara and Theon, were patient despite their obvious worry. Elara, with her gentle touch and unwavering love, helped me navigate the physical limitations of a ten-year-old body. Theon, weathered and strong, introduced me to the harsh realities of life on their small farm.

The farm itself was a meager affair. A single, weathered barn housed two scrawny goats and a pair of even scrawnier chickens. A small field, barely an acre in size, yielded barely enough crops to sustain us through the winter. Every day was a struggle for survival.

My magic remained a flickering mystery. While the incident the night I woke up hadn't repeated itself, I could still sense a dormant power simmering beneath the surface. Frustration gnawed at me. I yearned to understand it, to control it.

One afternoon, while gathering hay in the field, I spotted a hawk circling high above. It was a magnificent creature, its wings a tapestry of brown and white against the clear blue sky. A reckless impulse flared within me. Could I use my magic to make it fly lower?

Focusing on the image of the hawk, I visualized it swooping closer. The blue light flickered faintly at my fingertips, but nothing happened. The hawk continued its lazy circles, seemingly oblivious to my silent pleas.

Deflated, I slumped down on a hay bale, a wave of self-doubt washing over me. Was the magic just a one-time event? Was I destined to remain a powerless farmhand for the rest of my life?

A twig snapping behind me made me jump. My cousin, Anya, a girl a year older than me with fiery red hair and a mischievous glint in her hazel eyes, stood there, a sly grin on her face. Anya, my closest companion since childhood, was the daughter of my Uncle Gareth, who lived on the next farm over.

"Lost in daydreams again, Elian?" she said, her voice dripping with mock seriousness.

I scowled, trying to hide my disappointment. "Just wishing I could see that hawk closer."

Anya chuckled, her eyes twinkling. "Don't worry, cousin. You'll have your hands full soon enough. The harvest festival is coming up in two weeks."

The harvest festival was a yearly event, a time for celebration and feasting. It was also a time for the young men of the village to participate in a series of tests – feats of strength, agility, and marksmanship. The winner would be declared the village champion, earning bragging rights and a small prize.

"I don't want to be champion," I mumbled, kicking at a clump of dirt. "I just want to understand what happened to me."

Anya's smile faltered. She knew about the strange night of my awakening, the night the blue light had danced around my hands. "Maybe the old stories hold some answers," she said softly. "They talk about mages, about their connection to the elements."

Stories. The bards who sometimes visited the village spun tales of brave knights, cunning magic users, and fearsome beasts. Were they just stories, or could they hold a key to unlocking the mystery of my magic?

A spark of determination ignited within me. Maybe the answers wouldn't come easily, but I wouldn't give up searching. The harvest festival might offer a chance to test my physical limits. But more importantly, I had to find the old stories, the stories of mages. Perhaps within those tales, I would discover the path to unlocking my own magic potential.

As the sun dipped below the horizon, casting long shadows across the field, I knew my journey had just begun. The life of a peasant might be filled with hardship, but it was also a life of learning, of resilience. And somewhere, amidst the struggle for survival, lay the path to becoming more than just Elian, the farm boy. It was the path to becoming a mage.