The whispering hut

The morning forest was alive with whispers. Sunlight filtered through the tall, ancient trees in thin golden threads, illuminating patches of green moss and wet leaves. A breeze stirred the high canopy above, making the leaves flutter like murmuring mouths. Somewhere in the distance, a bird called out—a high-pitched trill that echoed through the woods.

George Blackwood was running.

His boots thudded on the forest floor as he weaved between twisted roots and ferns, his breath short and quick. The old satchel bouncing on his back was loosely buckled, flapping with every step. His shirt was untucked, his dark hair a tangled mess of curls that stuck to his forehead with sweat.

"Late. Again," he muttered under his breath, dodging a low branch. "He's gonna turn me into a frog this time. Or worse... make me clean out the goat pen for a week."

He glanced up at the trees, their limbs clawing at the sky like giants frozen mid-reach. This forest had always felt enchanted—even before George knew what magic truly was. Strange mushrooms glowed faintly beneath logs. Vines moved when you weren't looking. There were flowers here that bloomed only when you whispered to them.

But George didn't have time for any of that. He burst through a thicket, skidded down a slope, and nearly faceplanted into a patch of luminous blue moss.

"Stupid alarm spell," he huffed. "Why does it never work properly?"

He'd cast it before going to sleep last night—"Awaken at dawn"—but either he'd botched the incantation or his mattress had swallowed the sound. Either way, he had overslept. Again.

As he rounded a crooked tree shaped like a question mark, the forest opened before him into a wide clearing. The ground here was soft and springy, as if the earth itself welcomed those who stepped upon it. And at the heart of the clearing, bathed in early morning light, stood the hut.

It was a round, squat little building with a thatched roof of woven bark and a crooked chimney puffing lilac-colored smoke. Vines with pale pink flowers curled up its walls, and dozens of wind chimes made of crystal and bone hung from the eaves, singing softly in the breeze.

Ten students stood outside in a wide circle on the grass. Their robes—simple gray garments with green belts—rippled gently in the wind. Each held their hands out before them, palms cupped as if cradling something invisible. Their eyes were closed, faces focused.

In the center of the circle stood Master Elric.

George froze at the edge of the clearing.

Master Elric's gaze met his instantly. The old wizard didn't need to turn—he simply knew. He wore a long robe of emerald velvet, with silver threading shaped like leaves and runes that shimmered faintly in the sunlight. His white beard flowed to his chest, and his sharp gray eyes narrowed slightly.

"George Blackwood," he said, voice calm but clear. "Late."

George stepped forward, red-faced. "I—I overslept, Master. I'm sorry."

Elric arched an eyebrow. "Overslept? Again?"

"Yes, sir."

A beat of silence passed, and George braced for a punishment.

But instead, Elric simply nodded toward the circle. "Take your position."

Relieved but still embarrassed, George slipped into the circle between a girl named Kira and a boy named Rowl. Kira gave him a brief glance and a small nod of sympathy. Rowl just grinned and mouthed, Nice entrance.

Master Elric raised his hands.

"Today's lesson is simple," he began. "We are learning control. Energy manipulation. The foundation of almost every magical practice."

He walked slowly around the circle, his staff tapping softly on the earth.

"Many of you believe magic is about power. Strength. Destruction. But true magic—real magic—is about harmony. It is not something you hurl at your enemies. It is something you shape with will, with calm, with focus."

He paused, lifting his staff. "Now. Let us begin."

The students closed their eyes.

George exhaled, trying to push the embarrassment from his mind. He breathed in the forest air—sweet with the scent of flowers and fresh earth. Slowly, he brought his hands together, palms facing each other. He imagined a small sphere of energy forming between them—a soft ball of blue light.

"Feel the warmth," Elric instructed. "Draw the magic from within. Let it gather in your hands."

George focused. He imagined sunlight between his fingers. He felt a soft tingling, like a vibration just under the skin.

For a moment—just a moment—he felt like it was working.

Then he thought about being late. About everyone watching. About messing up. Again.

BOOM!

A shockwave burst from George's hands. He was flung backward like a rag doll, crashing into the grass. Sparks flew into the air. The blast knocked two students off balance.

When the smoke cleared, George was lying flat on his back, his robe singed at the sleeves. His hair stood up like he'd been electrocuted. The forest birds had gone silent.

Then came the laughter.

Even Master Elric chuckled softly under his breath.

"And that, my students," he said, "is what happens when you lose focus. Magic without control is fire without a hearth."

George groaned. "Ow."

---

The lesson ended, and the students filed back toward the hut for breakfast and study practice. George, still smoking slightly, stayed behind, brushing ash off his robe.

Master Elric approached him. "You're lucky your explosion was small," he said, but there was no anger in his voice.

"I'm trying," George muttered. "Really, I am."

"I know." Elric reached into his robe and pulled out a thick envelope with red wax. "Perhaps this will help you find your focus."

George took the letter and blinked.

The seal bore a symbol he didn't recognize: a book with wings, surrounded by a ring of stars. The wax shimmered with faint gold.

"W-What is this?" he asked.

Elric's eyes twinkled. "Open it."

George broke the seal.

Instantly, the parchment unfolded itself, floated into the air, and began to glow softly. The seal shimmered and faded.

Then, a calm, magical voice began to speak:

> "Mr. George Blackwood,

The Headmasters and Staff of Venrier Academy for Magical Instruction are pleased to inform you that you have been officially accepted as a First-Year student for the upcoming term."

George's mouth fell open.

> "Classes will commence in one week. Transportation will arrive the day after tomorrow at dawn. Please be ready.

First-Year Students are required to bring:

— A wooden spellboard

— Standard First-Year Textbooks

— A Venrier Academy cloak (available in authorized shops)

— Optional: One magical pet

You will also receive your wandless spell license upon arrival.

We look forward to welcoming you to Venrier Academy."

The letter folded itself again and gently floated into George's hands.

He stood there, stunned.

"I—I got in?" he breathed.

"You did," Elric said.

Venrier Academy. The greatest magical school in the world. Hidden far beneath the Earth. A place of ancient spells, secret libraries, magical tournaments, and legends. George had dreamed of it since he was old enough to know what magic was.

"But… how? I thought you had to be invited. And I thought my magic was—"

"Unrefined," Elric said. "But powerful. Venrier doesn't look for perfection. It looks for potential. And you, George Blackwood, have more of that than you realize."

George clutched the letter to his chest. His heart felt like it would burst.

"Thank you," he whispered.

Elric smiled, then added, "Tomorrow, we'll be traveling to Oresan Town."

George tilted his head. "What's Oresan Town?"

"A market," Elric said, eyes twinkling. "A hidden place only magicians can enter. That's where we'll find your books, your uniform, your spellboard... and perhaps even a pet."

George blinked. "Like… a cat?"

"Or a moon-raven. Or a thunderfox. Oresan has shops for everything—enchanted candy, spellcrafting tools, cursed mirrors, even joke items."

George felt his whole body buzzing with excitement.

He was going to Venrier.

He was leaving this little forest clearing and stepping into a world of magic far greater than anything he had imagined.

For the rest of that day, he barely remembered what he ate or where he walked. He just kept turning the letter over in his hands, reading it again and again.

Tomorrow, he would see Oresan Town.

And the day after...

His real journey would begin.