Two Wands and a Traveler
The cave was quiet except for the soft dripping of water somewhere deep in the stone. Hazel stood in the center, her wand—no, her wands—resting easily in her hands. Montague had chosen this place deliberately. The walls shimmered faintly with the residual hum of dimensional magic, the kind of place where the veil between realms was thin enough to practice without tearing.
Hazel traced the familiar patterns of travel in the air. She had walked paths like this before, felt the stretch of her magic anchoring itself to a point far beyond. Still, under her father's steady gaze, the act felt heavier, more deliberate.
"Good," Montague murmured as her pathways took shape, glowing threads arching and intersecting like veins of silver light. "You've done this countless times, but you still refine it with each attempt. You're not just making paths—you're weaving intention into them. That's the difference between a traveler who survives and a traveler who rules the road."
Hazel exhaled, sweat glistening faintly on her brow. She closed one path with a flick, then reopened it with a softer, more fluid line.
"Perfect," Montague said, stepping closer. His voice was low, weighted with pride and urgency. "Hazel, you're already a great traveler. I've seen you do things I thought impossible. But listen to me—skill without depth is fragile. I want you to carry a knowledge so deep it keeps you safe, even when you surpass me."
She glanced at him, her chest tightening. "You really think I'll surpass you?"
A rare smile tugged at his mouth. "It's not a question of if, child. It's when."
She didn't know how to answer that. Instead, she lifted her ebon wand, ready to continue. But Montague held up a hand.
"Wait. You've trained too long with just one. Remember—two wands chose you. That's not chance. That's fate." He reached toward her beach wand, resting in its sheath. "You dwell in two dimensions as I do, but only one wand ever chose me. You are different. You must learn to travel with both."
Hazel hesitated before drawing the second wand. Its surface was pale, almost pearly, and when she held it, she felt the hum of the sea, the rhythm of waves rolling across her skin. The contrast to the heavy pull of the ebon wand was startling.
Montague's eyes softened. "I dwell in shadows, Hazel. You…you stand in both shadow and light. That balance will define you."
He gestured to the cavern floor. "Now. Open a portal with the beach wand."
Hazel nodded, her fingers tightening around the pale wood. She focused, drawing upon the rhythm she felt within it. The cave trembled faintly as the air before her shimmered. A doorway took shape, tall and arched like something carved into a cathedral wall. Its surface rippled with an opalescent shimmer, colors shifting like seashells catching sunlight. The edges glowed softly, as though inviting rather than demanding passage.
Montague inhaled slowly, his eyes glinting with awe. "Smooth. Natural. That wand pulls at the fabric as if it were silk. The portal bends willingly to you, without strain." He looked at Hazel, his voice tightening. "Do you see it? This is why travel and magic came to you so naturally. The power is raw and effortless within you."
Hazel's chest warmed at his words. For a moment, she almost forgot the weight of her role, the danger always circling her. Here, with this wand, the world felt simple.
"Now," Montague said, gesturing. "The ebon wand. Let us see the other side of you."
She exchanged wands, the darker wood heavier, humming with something deeper—older. She pointed it at the air where the last portal had faded. This time the energy cut sharp and harsh, like a blade against glass. Sparks cracked along the air as she pulled. Slowly, a circular portal tore itself open. Its rim smoked black, curling like ash. The center gleamed with crystal clarity, turquoise light rippling like the surface of a vast, unending pool. It was beautiful and terrible all at once.
Hazel's arm trembled slightly, though she held steady.
Montague's breath caught. "Force. Precision. That wand does not ask—it demands. The realm opens because it must. Where the beach wand caresses, the ebon wand carves." He stepped closer, his expression unreadable. "Hazel, together…these two make you unstoppable."
She lowered the wand, her chest rising and falling with deep breaths. "It felt…different. Like two sides of me I've never put together."
Montague nodded. "That is exactly what they are. Two sides of you. And you must master them both." He placed a hand on her shoulder, his grip firm. "Next time, we will begin with portals. We'll work until they bend not only to your will but to your nature."
Hazel's gaze drifted to the still surface of the turquoise portal. For an instant, the reflection rippled oddly. She froze.
An older woman stared back at her—herself, but changed. The woman's eyes held a gravity she did not yet possess, her bearing one of calm authority. And in her hands—Hazel's breath caught—was the ebon wand, with the beach wand coiling itself around it like a living ribbon of pale wood.
Hazel blinked, and the vision fractured, the image swallowed by the fading light of the portal.
She stepped back, unsettled, glancing at Montague. But he hadn't noticed. He was already pulling the last of the magic back into himself, satisfied with her progress.
Hazel said nothing. She wasn't sure what she had seen—or if she wanted to know.
But deep inside, she felt the truth of her father's words. Two wands had chosen her. And one day, she would have to be worthy of both.