Esther walked briskly through the village paths, her mind a whirlwind of thoughts. Adrian's display of magic—or rather, the uncontrolled burst—refused to make sense. Neither of his parents were witches, at least none with any known power. And yet… the boy had hurled that raccoon as if he were commanding the very air itself.
Her fingers tightened around the edge of her cloak as she approached a familiar house, one she hadn't visited in some time. Ayana's home. It was quiet, the sort of serene stillness that always felt slightly at odds with Ayana herself—reserved, strict, observant.
"Ayana!" Esther called, lifting her voice just enough to reach the closed door. "Are you here?"
A moment later, the door opened, and Ayana's sharp eyes met hers. Her expression softened only slightly at seeing Esther. "Esther. What brings you here?"
Esther took a deep breath. "I need to ask you something about a child." Her gaze flicked away, down the path for a heartbeat, before returning. "Do you know… if Adrian's parents were witches in any way ? His mother, Mariel… was she—?"
Ayana's eyes narrowed. "Mariel? No. Absolutely not. I grew up with her family. She had no magic, never did, never showed a trace of it. Why would you ask that?"
Esther hesitated, the words catching in her throat. "It's… complicated. There's been an incident. Today, by the waterfall… Adrian—he shouted, and a wild animal, a raccoon, was flung back by some force. My children were involved, Kol and Klaus played their little prank, and Elijah tried to intervene. The boy fainted afterward. It sounded like magic."
Ayana's brow furrowed deeply. "Magic? You're saying… Adrian, the son of Mariel —he wielded magic?"
"Yes," Esther said, voice firm. "And it wasn't taught. He's four years old. I've known his parents personally. I know them. Neither has power. This shouldn't be possible."
Ayana stepped back into her home, her expression now tense and unreadable. "That… that is impossible. A child cannot simply awaken magic without lineage. The bloodline, the connection—it's required. Are you certain it was him? Certain it was magic?"
Ayana's hands folded over each other. "If what you say is true, it contradicts everything we know about magic in this village. About the bloodlines. About the children of ordinary humans. Let me think…." She paused, eyes drifting toward the shelves lined with aged tomes, scrolls, and ancestral books.
Esther followed her gaze, hoping desperately for a clue. "Do you think it's… some ancestral anomaly?"
Ayana shook her head. "Impossible. I've grown up here, known this village, and the histories of these families. There is no precedent. Mariel had no power his father was a normal man. No traces of the magic. This shouldn't happen."
Her curiosity won over her calm demeanor, and together they began searching. The room filled with the rustle of pages and whispered exclamations as they pored over twenty different ancestral texts, records, and grimoires passed down through the generations.
The candles flickered low, their golden light pooling across stacks of open books and the rough wood of Ayana's table. Esther sat across from her oldest friend, fingers tapping restlessly against the worn surface, the weight of unanswered questions pressing heavily in the air.
"This… this doesn't make sense," Ayana said finally, frustration tingeing her voice. "None of the texts mention a phenomenon like this. Nothing. There's no precedent for a child of ordinary parents spontaneously wielding magic."
"It makes no sense," Esther muttered.
Esther tilted her head, thinking. "Perhaps it wasn't the boy," she suggested conflicted. "Perhaps it was something… else. A spirit. Or another witch near him.Children may have missed it but why would the boy faint?"
Ayana didn't answer immediately. She rose, walked to a corner shelf, and began scanning the faded spines of her collection. "Still… It'd be better to be certain. There is a way to know for sure whether the magic came from him or not."
Esther's eyes followed her curiously. "How?"
Ayana pulled a leather-bound book from the shelf, its edges frayed with age. Dust scattered as she opened it, flipping through brittle pages filled with intricate runes. Her finger stopped on one. "Here," she said, voice gaining weight. "The Veritathra spell, It reveals recent events if cast with something intimately tied to the person in question—hair, blood, or bone. But it must have been taken after the act occurred."
Esther blinked, then reached into the pouch tied at her waist. She unwrapped a small cloth bundle and held it out. "Would this suffice?"
Ayana raised an eyebrow as she saw the delicate strand of hair within. "Were you always this sharp ?" she asked, amused. "When?"
"When I treated him," Esther said simply. "I've learned to be cautious. My sister used to say—'Always keep something of those you question. It often proves useful than not.' Seems she was right."
Ayana chuckled softly, then grew serious again as she took the hair, placing it atop a small wooden totem carved in the shape of an open eye. Around it she set a ring of trinkets—bones, stones, and dried herbs tied with thin strands of leather. Her hands hovered above them, and the air thickened with energy.
She began to chant in a low, rhythmic tone—ancient words spoken in a dialect only the old witches remembered. The candle flames wavered, bending inward as if drawn to the totem.
A faint hum filled the room, and then Ayana's pupils clouded over, white and glowing faintly.
Her breathing slowed. For a few tense seconds, the air hung still—until her body jolted as if struck by a vision.
Images flickered behind her eyes—Adrian's small figure by the riverbank, his voice shouting, his hands thrust forward, the raccoon flung back through the air as a pulse of unseen force rippled outward.
Then the light in Ayana's eyes dimmed. She gasped softly, blinking as she returned to herself.
"It was the boy!" she whispered. "The magic came from him directly. I saw it clearly it was an uncontrolled magical burst due to heightened emotions."
Esther's expression hardened slightly, though her voice remained calm. "Then there is no doubt."
Ayana frowned deeply, glancing toward another stack of old tomes piled in the corner. "Maybe. Or something we've forgotten. There are records even I haven't read in decades." She rose, brushing dust from her hands. "Those might hold the answers."
Before either could continue, footsteps approached rapidly from outside. The door opened, and Finn stepped in, slightly breathless. "Mother—Adrian has awakened."
Esther's head snapped up, relief and worry flashing across her face. "Thank the spirits. Is he well?"
"He's drinking water and speaking already," Finn replied. "Elijah and the others are with him."
Ayana exhaled, thoughtful. "Good. Then you should go to him, Esther. Handle what's before you. I'll stay and search these texts. There must be a reason for this boy's awakening."
Esther paused at the door, glancing back. "Ayana… if we find anything… anything at all, we tell each other immediately. No secrets."
Esther left without another word, her steps brisk and heavy with thought.
As the door closed behind her, Ayana turned back toward her cluttered table, gaze drawn to the small totem. She touched it once more, whispering under her breath:
"What are you, little one?"
The flame flickered, as if the world itself didn't know the answer.
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