Magic and Essences

When Lucius stepped off the last stair, a quite spacious room spread out before him, with vaulted stone ceilings arching overhead.

Just like the shop above, shelves lined the walls, filled with flasks whose contents gurgled softly or glowed faintly. 

The light from glowing orbs reflected off the glass surfaces, casting shimmering colors everywhere.

Aelmir spread his arms wide. 

“Welcome to my sanctum! Now… where shall we begin…?”

The old man fell silent, but Marcthain cut straight to the point.

“Let’s start from the very beginning. Pretend he’s never heard of Essences or magic in his entire life!”

“...Never heard of magic or Essences?” He repeated incredulously. “Hmm... well, in that case, we’d better start at zero.“ Aelmir blinked thoughtful before turning to Lucius. “Listen well, my boy. There are three components crucial for using magic.”

He drew a deep breath.

“First: Every living being carries a certain amount of magical potential within them. This magical potential varies greatly from person to person. Some races, like elves, are born with high magical potential. Others, like dwarves, possess so little that most of them can’t even cast the simplest of spells. Your magical potential determines which spells you can perform, and how strong or weak those spells will be.”

Aelmir cleared his throat.

“Second: The Essence. This is the reagent that reacts with your magical potential and, through its nature, produces the desired effect. Depending on the spell, the Essence might be drunk, applied, or even thrown.”

Lucius nodded, listening intently.

“And third: The incantation. The formula. It lists not only the ingredients and their exact quantities, but also the precise words needed to trigger the magical reaction. The incantation is the bridge between your potential and the Essence.”

The old man tilted his head, as though searching for a good metaphor.

“...Think of it like baking bread! You mix flour and water, but nothing happens unless you light the fire in the oven, right? It’s the same with a spell. Even if you’ve got the perfect Essence, without the proper incantation, it’s useless. No words, no magic! All clear so far?” Aelmir asked briskly, ignoring Lucius’s faint “Uhhm…”.

“Let’s first check how much magical potential you’ve actually got!”

He rummaged around the shelves and pulled out another bottle filled with a clear liquid, its label marked by a small, stained scrap of paper.

“Ah, perfect! Just what we need for a beginner.”

He ripped off the paper label and handed it to Lucius. 

On it was written a single word:

Ventha.

“What kind of spell is that?” Lucius asked eagerly.

“Oh, it’s a very simple spell. All it does is summon a gust of wind. Let’s practice the incantation first, shall we? Repeat after me.”

“Ventha?” Lucius echoed cautiously. 

But Aelmir immediately waved his hands in exasperation.

“No, no, no, not like that!”

And so, minutes slipped by as they repeated the word over and over until Lucius finally had the pronounciation just right.

“And now?” Lucius asked hesitantly.

“Now, open the bottle and drink! Then aim your hands at that wall over there and recite the spell exactly as we practiced. But hurry, because you’ve only got a few moments!”

Lucius nodded. With a soft pop, he pulled the cork, raised the flask to his lips, and drank. 

The liquid was cool and crisp, spreading through his sinuses like a blast of medicinal menthol.

He took a deep breath, aimed his hands at the wall, and shouted:

“Ventha!”

The floor trembled and the walls shuddered. 

Glass clinked and rattled and in the very instant the word left his mouth, a surge of tingling energy rushed through his fingertips and a roaring whirlwind exploded outward from his palms.

It tore across the entire workshop cellar, sweeping nearly everything along with it. 

Aelmir and Marcthain had to hurl themselves flat on the ground to avoid being blown away.

Just seconds later, the wind died as abruptly as it had begun. Only the shelves and whatever flasks had survived were still rattling faintly.

At the end of the cellar wall now was a gaping hole, bricks still crumbling slowly from its edges.

Aelmir and Marcthain staggered to their feet, coughing. Lucius stared at his hands in wide-eyed surprise.

“By Cairodh’s beard, what was THAT?!” Marcthain barked, his usual calm utterly gone.

“That was supposed to be a Tier 1 spell! How in all the gods’ names is this possible? Even an archmage couldn’t conjure up a wind like that. It’s as if this kid carries the magical potential of three men!”

Then the old shopkeeper turned around and promptly fell over again when he saw the devastation.

“My beautiful reagents…” he whimpered.

But Marcthain regained his composure and eyed Lucius intently.

“The magical potential of three men? Or… of three worlds? Earlier, in the inn, you mentioned that you already had some experience with magic. What exactly did you mean by that?”

“Uh… nothing?” Lucius stammered, still dazed by his own display of power.

But Marcthain grabbed him firmly by the shoulder.

“You’re going to tell me right now why you've got a magical potential like that. What happened before you and your furry companion fled your god’s realm?”

Lucius let out a long sigh.

“… Alright. I’ll tell you the whole story.”