The fire crackled softly as Veyne sat cross‑legged, eyes closed, breathing slow. Days had passed since he'd reconnected his arm. Without the ability to sense or channel magic, the limb still hung useless at his side.
Clear my mind. Focus inward. Feel the life force flow…
The mantra had become his nightly ritual — a way to accelerate his body's magical awareness. Realmforgers and mages alike honed this same sense to control the power within. If he could pass magic through the arm, he could use it.
By day, he labored at the hidden tunnel. Piece by piece he had dug toward the sealed entrance of his old lab, only to strike a barrier of dense rock. Too heavy to lift, too hard to break. Progress had slowed to a crawl.
Exhausted, he crawled out of the tunnel and sat back to catch his breath.
"Hey! What are you digging for — buried treasure?"
His heartbeat thundered in his ears. Slowly, Veyne turned. A teenage girl perched in a tree behind him, legs swinging casually.
He shot to his feet, retreating toward the campfire, skeletal arm tucked out of sight.
Who is she? Why didn't I sense her? What did she see? Could I silence her from here?
The girl hopped down, unconcerned.
"You alright, mister? You don't look too good."
She peered into the tunnel, head tilted.
"Treasure hunter? You're pretty lousy at it if so. Nobody finds anything good this far south."
Veyne stayed silent, muscles coiled. His hand hovered near the hidden spear in his camp.
"You don't talk much, do you?" she said brightly. "Anyway, I brought you something."
She approached, hands hidden behind her back. Do I strike now? Yes. No. Too late — she stood before him, short brown hair brushing her shoulders, smiling politely.
Never had anyone smiled at him like that. In this body, there was no reason to fear him.
"W‑what have you got? Poison? A blade?"
She laughed. "Don't be silly. Just this."
From behind her back she produced a bandage.
"For your arm. I saw you in pain by that big tree. Thought this might help."
She had been watching him for days without him noticing. She pressed the bandage into his stunned palm.
"Well, alright mister. Hope it helps. Later!"
"W‑wait! Who are you? What do you want?"
"Oh, I'm Nifily Golbog. I just wanted to help. Jeez, you're not very bright, huh? That's probably why your arm's all mangled."
And with that she darted off toward the marsh village, leaving Veyne staring after her.
That night, meditation eluded him. Why had she helped him? He bandaged his arm with her gift anyway, the gesture unsettling and unfamiliar.
At dawn he strapped his spear across his back and slipped toward the marsh. He found her on the edge of the bog, practicing something that looked vaguely magical with a stick.
From a distance, Veyne watched, suspicion sharp. She was doing everything wrong. The stick wasn't even a proper wand.
Maybe I should nudge her in the right direction. Balance the scales for the bandage.
A strange warmth flickered in his chest, like using a long‑forgotten muscle. Consideration? For another person? He shook it off and continued to observe.
As night fell, the village remained still — no patrols, no search parties. The girl was a free agent. Not a spy. She curled up to sleep on the marsh bank.
Veyne approached silently, spear raised. This is it. No one would miss her. End it now, and the loose end is tied.
The spear hovered inches above her neck. His jaw clenched. Then he lowered it, turning away in frustration.
Something on the ground caught his eye: her makeshift wand. He crouched to examine it. The runes were crude but startlingly close to the ones carved into his arm — a feat that had taken him months. She had learned them just by watching from afar.
He looked at the sleeping girl again, impressed despite himself. He picked up the stick and walked off into the woods.
Morning. Nifily stretched and yawned.
"Morning already. Time to get back to my super‑secret project."
She searched for her wand. Panic rose.
"No, no, no! It took me ages to carve that!"
"It wouldn't have worked anyway," a voice called from the trees.
"Mister? Is that you? What do you mean — I copied exactly what you did!"
"Not exactly. The runes on this arm are for enhancing and absorbing. Wrong effect for a wand."
She pushed through the bushes to find Veyne leaning against a tree. He tossed her a new stick.
"That should be more useful to you."
She caught it, eyes widening. Two intertwined branches spiraled together to a point, each carved with a rune at the base.
"Is this… a real wand?"
"Don't get too excited. It's as basic as they come."
"That doesn't matter! If it helps me learn magic, I'll treasure it forever."
A faint smile tugged at Veyne's lips. It had taken him all night to make.
"Say, mister… how can I thank you?"
"No need. We're even now."
"Well, at least tell me your name?"
"Veyne. Veyne Mo—" He hesitated. "Just Veyne."
"Mister Veyne, thank you! I'll be the best mud mage in the world!"
"Mud mage? Don't tell me you already know your affinity. How?"
"Oh, easy. The monk in the village told me."
A spark of calculation lit Veyne's eyes. If there was a monk in the village, perhaps he could identify his body's magic aptitude as well. And this girl… she did have potential.
"Nifily, was it? How would you feel about being my magic apprentice?"
"A‑a magic apprentice?! You! Me! Magic! Hell yeah! When do we start?"
"Tomorrow. But won't your parents worry about you learning magic from a stranger?"
"You don't have to worry. They're dead, and I'm kind of the village outcast. Nobody will notice."
Veyne grinned, seeing a glimpse of his younger self in her.
"Very well, your training starts tomorrow."