The Masters of Magic

along the northwestern coast of the Kingdom of Avalonia, was stirring to life as the sea whispered secrets to the waking land. Here, in a world whe

iced ease. His medium-length black hair was tied back, and his dark blue eyes, the color of the deep sea, scanned the lan

er the field. She stood at the edge of the plot, her hands on her hips, a smile

ving under their care. Since the loss of his own parents, Elara and Thorne ha

ace in her movements that mirrored his own. Their friendship was a tapestry of shared memories and silent understandings, woven through

la asked, her lilac eyes meeting with his own. "We

kling with a genuine smile. There was a comfort in her p

s vast as the ocean itself. Young Jonas, the blacksmith's apprentice, whose laughter rang as clear as the bellows of the forge. And there was Mira, the weaver, whose fingers danced ac

ic of support and communal strength. Yet, beneath the surface, there was a current of unrest, a silent acknowledgment that a

in thought. The festival was a time of joy, a celebration of the season's toil, but it also brought into

ng with goods, and readied the square for the evening's festivities. La

smile, a shared anticipation for the night to come. Yet, as he looked at her, t

oper, the festival marked not just the end of the season, but the beginning of a journey that would take him far from the field