While I Learn About Magic, My Satyr Wife Lazes Around

As they left the inn, the soft rain had already ended. Sunbeams broke through the parting clouds, and over the hill on the horizon, a faint rainbow glimmered.

Lucius followed Marcthain back onto the street toward the marketplace, where they turned into a narrow side alley that soon led them into a winding, cramped lane. Finally, the tall commander stopped in front of a wooden door, above which hung a weathered wooden sign depicting two crossed potion bottles.

He knocked twice before pushing open the heavy oak door, and together they stepped inside.

Instantly, Lucius was enveloped by the spicy scent of dried herbs, resins, and mysterious essences. Shelves of dark wood lined the walls, crammed with countless glass vials, phials, and clay jars.

In some bottles, brilliant blue liquids bubbled. Others held dense, purplish vapors swirling inside. Each one labeled with name and price tag.

On the other side of the shop lay shelves of books and scrolls. Some were locked away behind glass cases adorned with warning signs, but most stood freely accessible.

The stone walls were fitted with torch brackets. But instead of ordinary flames, glowing orbs shone brightly, illuminating the room just like the magical lights Lucius had seen earlier in the marketplace.

The floor creaked beneath their every step and was partially dusted with spilled powders in shimmering colors.

Bundles of dried herbs and other reagents hung above the counter, and behind it stood an elderly man with a long beard, wearing a dark, embroidered robe and a magnifying lens dangling from his neck.

He was speaking with a customer, a slender elven woman with an elegant posture, silvery-white hair cascading all the way to her hips, and long, pointy ears, one of which pierced with a delicate golden ring. She wore a long, ornate robe in a blue, white, and golden pattern.

After a short conversation, the shopkeeper fetched the requested items and carefully wrapped them, accepting a few  gold coins from the elf. She thanked him with a graceful bow and left the store.

Yet Lucius couldn’t shake the feeling that, as she passed, she stared at him longer than normal, as if his presence somehow unsettled her.

“Mar!” the shopkeeper called out, as he spotted the familiar face. “About time you showed up again! You’ve been avoiding my shop for ages.”

Marcthain gave an apologetic smile. “Sorry, Aelmir. I’ve been down south for a while… tied up with business.”

The older man’s expression darkened. “So… was it as you suspected? How much time do we have left?”

Marcthain nodded slightly. “Not much. And that’s precisely why I’m here.”

He nudged Lucius forward, and Aelmir immediately slid the magnifier over his eyes, studying him thoroughly.

“This is Lucius. He’s going to help me with the matter. So I’ve got you a favor to ask: Teach him the basics of magic.”

The old man squinted. “Lucius? I usually don’t do this for people i don’t know... But if Mar trusts you then so do I.” “By when?” he asked tersely, turning back to Marcthain.

“I need him ready in three days. Maybe even two.”

Aelmir sucked in a sharp breath. “That’s… cutting it rather close. But fine. Best we waste no time.”

Almost hurriedly, Aelmir strode to the shop door, flipped the wooden sign to CLOSED, and locked it securely. Then he lifted one of the glowing “torches” from its wall bracket, gestured for the two of them to follow, and led them down a steep staircase into the depths of the cellar.

When Lucius stepped off the last stair, a quite spacious cellar 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 the 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 in thought. 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!”

Aelmir blinked. “...Never heard of magic or Essences?” He repeated incredulously. “Hmm... well, in that case, we’d better start at zero.“

„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!”

Then, he quickly reached for a small flask from one of the shelves and held it up in front of Lucius. Inside, a greenish liquid shimmered softly.

“These flasks already contain the exact ingredients in the right proportions!” He turned the bottle so Lucius could see the cork, above which glowed a violet rune a few centimeters above the surface.

“When you hold a bottle like this, you can immediately tell if it’s been magically inspected and sealed. These safety runes ensure the mixture was prepared correctly during production.”

Lucius raised his hand. Aelmir paused.

“What happens if the mixture isn’t prepared correctly?” Lucius asked.

“Excellent question!”

In response, Aelmir held out his left hand and in a few deft motions, detached a mechanical prosthetic, revealing a scarred stump where his hand used to be. Lucius swallowed hard.

“This is why you should never buy untested Essences from shady back-alley dealers,” Marcthain interjected dryly. Aelmir nodded in agreement. „Nor try to mix them yourself, if you don’t know what you’re doing.”

“Alright then, 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 small gust of wind, just enough to blow out a candle. Let’s practice the incantation first, shall we? Repeat after me: Ventha!”

“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. 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 the hell was THAT?!” Marcthain barked, his usual calm utterly gone.

“That was supposed to be a Class I 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 entire 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 a magical potential like that. What happened before you and your furry companion fled your god’s realm? Where do you truly come from?”

Lucius let out a long sigh.

“… Alright. I’ll tell you.”