It's been two years since I first stood in front of Varric with shaking arms and a log I could barely lift.
Now, I walk to the clearing without trembling. The grass crunches under my boots. The morning air smells like dew and pine sap. The sword at my side feels light—natural. My body doesn't ache the way it used to after each step. I'm stronger now.
But today feels different. Varric waits, as always, arms crossed beneath the tall shadow of the trees. The sun cuts through the leaves behind him like gold threads. He doesn't greet me like usual. No nod. No "Ready?"
Instead, he jerks his head toward the center of the clearing. "Sit."
I blink. "No warm-up?"
"No need. You've walked the road of muscle and steel," he says. "Now you start the one that burns deeper."
My chest tightens with quiet anticipation. He lowers himself onto a moss-covered rock, gesturing for me to do the same. I sit cross-legged in the grass, facing him. "Today," he says, "we begin the final phase."
A pause. "I'm going to teach you magic."
My breath catches a little. Not from surprise. I've been waiting for this. Hoping for this. Since the day I felt my soul flicker in my chest. Since the day Elaria's hands glowed pale and warm against my wound.
"But," Varric adds, holding up a hand, "you need to understand something first." His tone shifts—serious, quieter.
"I'm not a mage. Not like the ones in books or tales. I've seen magic. Fought beside it. Used some myself. But I don't know every rune or spell out there. I only know what I've learned through battle. Through necessity. That's what I'll teach you."
I nod, not disappointed. I wouldn't have trusted some clean-robed wizard anyway.
Varric shifts slightly, drawing a stick and sketching into the dirt. "Magic comes in forms. Most people align with only one elemental force. Four core ones: Earth, Water, Fire, and Wind."
He draws four circles and marks each with a rune I don't recognize. "These affinities are tied to the phase of the moon you were born under. It's an old tradition—some say myth, but in my experience, it holds."
He begins pointing. "New Moon—Water. First Quarter—Earth. Full Moon—Fire. Last Quarter—Wind."
Then he looks at me. "If you were born during the day, it's the moon from the night before that guides your element."
I nod slowly. "What about crescent moons?"
"Good question," Varric grunts.
"If the moon was in between phases, the element leans toward the closest full phase. A waxing crescent near the Full Moon? Fire. Closer to First Quarter? Earth. Waning crescent near Last Quarter? Wind. You get the idea. However, in some very rare cases, there are those who end up possessing two elements at once."
So you can have more than one.
He taps his chest. "I was born under a full moon." Then—he holds out his hand. A small, contained flame bursts into life above his palm. It dances softly in the still air, no bigger than a flickering candle—but its heat is real. Focused. Controlled. He closes his hand and the flame vanishes.
I stare, mesmerized. Then he leans forward, fixing me with a sharp gaze. "So, Albus. What moon were you born under?"
I stiffen. My breath catches in my throat. I've heard that question before. In another life. In chains. Surrounded by whispers. The cursed child. The red moon boy. I glance away.
"I… I don't know exactly," I admit. "But I was told it was a full moon. The sky was red that night."
Varric freezes. Only for a moment—but I see it. A flicker of something behind his eyes. Recognition. Memory. Or maybe just surprise.
Then he exhales slowly. "A red moon…" he murmurs. "That's rare."
"Is that bad?" I ask.
He shakes his head. "Depends on who you ask."
"They said it was a curse," I say quietly. "Said it meant I'd bring misfortune. Death."
Varric's brow furrows, but not with worry. "Old stories. Legends passed through frightened mouths. Don't give them more weight than they deserve." He leans back slightly, arms resting on his knees.
"I've seen two blood moons in my lifetime. Both times, monsters went quiet. Not a single attack, not a single howl. Just… silence. They retreated. Like something stronger had stepped into the world, and they didn't want to be around when it opened its eyes."
He meets my gaze again. "Does that sound cursed to you?"
I shake my head slowly. "It feels more like a warning," Varric says. "But not for you. For them."
The clearing goes quiet after that. Varric lets the silence hang for a bit—just enough to let the weight of his words settle on my shoulders. Then he stands up, brushing dust from his coat. "I don't believe in curses," he says flatly. "I believe in people not understanding what they fear."
He taps the center of my chest with a finger. Not hard. Just enough for me to feel it. "What you do with this—your soul, your fire—that's what matters. Everything else is smoke."
I nod slowly. Something deep inside me starts to unknot, little by little. He steps back, folding his arms again. "Now, before we light anything again, tell me. Have you ever looked into your soul?"
I nod. "I try to every morning. Just… quietly. Like you said. I feel something warm. Like a flame inside."
He raises a brow. "Someone taught you that already?" My jaw tenses. "Yes."
"Who?"
I hesitate. Then I say it. "My mother."
"Lina?"
"No," I whisper, my voice small. "My other mother. Elaria."
Varric doesn't say anything at first. The wind rustles through the trees. "…I see," he finally says.
I nod, not looking at him. "She taught me how to heal… just a little. And how to feel the flame."
Varric's voice softens, just slightly. "Then she was a rare one."
I don't say anything more. He doesn't ask. I'm glad.
After a moment, Varric squats down again in front of me. "Show me what she taught you."
I nod and place both hands on my lap, breathing slowly. I focus—feel the warmth inside me rise like a tide. I picture the ember glowing behind my ribs, pulsing softly with every breath.
Then I reach. But even reaching… tires me. I hold it as long as I can. Then fall back into the grass, panting, forehead damp.
Varric watches silently, then kneels beside me. "Mind if I take a peek?"
I blink. "What do you mean?"
"I want to see your soul myself. Just a glimpse."
I hesitate. I don't know what that even means. But something about the way he asks—low, calm, careful—makes me nod. "…Okay."
He places a hand on my upper back. I flinch, but I don't pull away. "Breathe normally," he says. "And try not to resist. I won't dig, just… feel."
I close my eyes. His palm is heavy. Warm, but steady like stone. A silence falls over us. A different kind of quiet. Like even the trees are listening. Then—
He pulls his hand away. I open my eyes. Varric's face is unreadable at first. I sit up slowly, brushing dirt from my arms. "Well?"
His eyes meet mine. "Bigger than I expected."
I blink. "What?"
"Your soul," he says. "It's big. Full. Especially for a boy your age. You've done good work, whether you realize it or not."
Something in my chest lifts. But then he frowns a little. "…But something's strange."
My heart sinks. "Strange how?"
He hesitates for a moment. Choosing his words. "It's like there are… missing pieces," he finally says. "Not empty. Not broken. Just… not there. Like something's keeping me from seeing the full shape."
I go still. "Is that… bad?"
He shrugs. "Hard to say. You're still breathing. Still learning. You can feel your flame. You can use healing. That means your soul works. That's the important part."
"But what if it's not whole?"
"Then we work with what we've got." He claps me gently on the shoulder. "Magic's like a river, Albus. You don't need the whole ocean to fill a cup. Just enough to drink."
I breathe out slowly. It helps. A little. But part of me still itches with worry. What is missing? And why?
"We'll start from the beginning," Varric says, standing again. "No fire. No flash. Just focus. Before you can wield magic, you have to see your soul clearly."
"Soul Vision?" I ask.
He nods. "The foundation of all spellwork. You master that, you'll start seeing the world in a different way. Not just light and shadow—but intention. Aura. Force."
As he speaks, something sparks in my memory. A flickering blue window. Back in the cage. After the healing.
Acquire Soul Vision.
So it begins, I think.
We move to the shadowed side of the clearing, where the grass grows thicker and the sunlight filters through the leaves like scattered coins.
Varric tosses a small stone onto the dirt in front of me and draws a wide circle around it with a stick. "Sit. Focus. Make the world smaller."
I obey, folding my legs and letting the wooden blade rest beside me.
"First rule of soul training," he begins. "You don't chase your flame. You wait for it. Magic doesn't answer to force. It answers to presence."
I furrow my brow. "Presence?"
"Meaning stop thinking like a soldier. You don't grip a sword and scream at your soul to obey. You have to listen. And I mean really listen. Sit still. Breathe. Let the world fade, and let only you remain."
I close my eyes. Breathe in. Breathe out. My heartbeat echoes softly in my ears. But already, my thoughts are spiraling.
Is my soul really broken? What did he mean by "missing pieces"? Did I lose something during the rebirth? Or was it never whole to begin with?
I try to push the thoughts away, but they multiply. Old voices—whispers from cages and tunnels. Freak. Curse-child. Red-eyed demon.
The quiet turns heavy. Thick. Like trying to breathe underwater.
My hands tremble slightly in my lap. I clench them into fists. "I can't," I mutter under my breath. "It's not working."
"Of course it isn't," Varric says, not unkindly. "You're trying too hard."
I open one eye. He's crouched beside me again, watching without judgment. "You carry a storm in your chest, boy. You've spent your life bracing against pain. Of course peace feels foreign."
"…What do I do?" He points to the stone in the center of the circle. "Start with that. Forget your flame. Forget your past. Look at that rock. Feel its weight in the world. Listen to the breeze. Let the noise in your head burn itself out."
I stare at the stone. It's dull. Gray. Unremarkable. But I stare anyway.
Until I notice how the shadow curves around its shape. How the sunlight glints just barely along one edge. How the wind moves the nearby grass but not the stone itself.
Time slips by. And slowly, finally, the thoughts fade. What remains is… quiet. Not silence, but stillness. A breath held between worlds. Then—
Warmth. A flicker. Like a match struck behind my ribs.
My eyes snap open. I see it. Faint—but there.
A pale orange glow in the back of my vision, even with my eyes wide. Hovering. Alive.
Varric nods slightly when he sees my expression change. "There. Now keep it."
I focus on the glow, letting it brighten. Not rushing. Not begging. Just breathing.
It pulses once—twice—then settles, like a heartbeat in rhythm with my own. But then—
A ripple. The flame shudders. Something cold brushes the edge of my mind. Absence. Like I've stumbled near a gap in the floor of my soul. A crack where something should be.
My hands twitch. The glow dims. I gasp—and it vanishes. Varric lets out a small breath. "Better than I expected. You got close."
"I saw it," I whisper. "But then it—"
"Slipped?"
I nod. "That's normal," he says. "Especially for someone carrying what you are."
I look up at him. He stares down, his voice lower now. "You're trying to make sense of a soul that doesn't follow the usual rules. That's going to take time. More time than most. Maybe… more time than even I know how to measure."
"Do you think I can really learn this?" I ask.
"I wouldn't be wasting my time if I didn't." He stands. "And neither should you."
We don't practice spells. Not yet. The rest of the day is just like that—stillness, breath, listening. Varric never pushes, never praises. But he doesn't stop showing up. And neither do I.
By the time the sun begins to dip behind the treetops, my mind feels like it's both full and empty at once.
There's no spell burned into my fingers. No sudden spark leaping from my hands. No explosion. No firestorm.
But something inside me shifted. Not enough to notice at first. But as I sit at the edge of the training field, legs dangling over the stream and the sky turning gold, I feel it. A thread. Thin and faint—but real.
Like the first line on a map drawn from memory. Like the shape of something I've always known but never named.
I look into the water, seeing my reflection ripple back at me. My white hair glows in the low sun. My red eyes catch the dying light. I used to hate seeing that face.
Now? I'm still not sure I love it. But it's mine. And I'm starting to understand what it's made of.
Varric joins me at the stream sometime after. He doesn't sit. Just stands with arms folded, watching the water too. "You did well today," he says. "Better than I expected."
"That makes two of us," I mutter, half-laughing.
"You saw it though, didn't you? The beginning of something."
I nod.
He tilts his head slightly. "Do you know what comes next?"
"…No."
He smirks. "Good. Because anyone who thinks they do is already wrong."
He crouches, picks up a smooth river stone, and tosses it into the water. The splash is small. Clean. "You've already taken the first step. You've touched the flame. Now you have to learn to see."
I glance up. "You mean… Soul Vision?"
He nods. "It's more than just looking inside. It's seeing the world with the same sight your soul uses. Feeling the threads between things. Noticing intention, force, emotion. It's the foundation for all advanced magic."
He stands again, brushing his hands off.
"It's also not something that just clicks overnight. But if you keep walking this path, eventually… the world will open to you."
A breeze moves between us. Gentle. Cool.
But under that quiet, something stirs inside me again. A memory. A moment. A window.
I remember it clearly now.
[Objective: Unlock Soul Vision.]
I never knew what it meant before.
But now… Now I do.
It was never about power. It was about understanding. Not the kind that comes from reading or hearing—but from being. From seeing something more than what's in front of you. Something beneath.
Later that night, after dinner, I sit in my room, the lights low, the house quiet. My dagger lies beside my bed. The wooden sword rests against the wall. The bracelet from the village elder still wraps my wrist.
I close my eyes. I breathe deep. And I listen.
Not just to the outside world—but to the flicker inside.
It's small still. Flickering. But it burns steadier now. I reach toward it, not with force—but with trust.
And in that space between breaths… I feel the edges of something new. A shape forming behind my eyes.
A light. A pattern. Something waiting. And I know… This is only the beginning.