Holy Magic

Steven stared at the shimmering ID card in his hands, its silver script—Steven Shatterkynn, Age 16, Unarmed Combat Lvl 1, Resilience Lvl 1, Holy Magic Lvl 1—gleaming like a promise of destiny. The crude upside-down cross beside his name felt like a badge of his new beginning. Before he could linger too long in awe, the woman behind the counter cut through his reverie, her voice sharp as a blade. “Your skills are pitifully low—barely a flicker in Vyrthralis’s storm. Lucky for you, we’ve got a training course to whip you into shape. First week’s free—seven days of grueling lessons. After that, you’ll pay for any higher mastery. What say you?”

Steven’s heart leapt, a giddy thrill surging through him. “I’m in,” he said, barely containing his excitement. A chance to hone his powers, to turn these faint sparks into roaring flames? He’d seize it with both hands. The woman smirked, stepping out from behind the counter—and Steven’s jaw nearly hit the floor. Her figure, hidden by the massive wooden barrier, was a revelation: curves that could topple empires, her hips swaying with every step, a colossal presence that defied the sternness of her face. She beckoned him with a curt nod. “Follow me.”

She led him through the guild hall, down a creaking staircase that spiraled into shadow, then through a maze of torch-lit hallways, their stone walls etched with faded runes. Another descent followed, the air growing cooler, until they emerged into a vast chamber. A sand pit sprawled at its center, encircled by glowing orbs of light that hovered like captive stars, casting an ethereal glow across the space. “Wait here,” she said, her voice echoing faintly. “I’ll fetch your instructor.” With that, she vanished back into the gloom.

Moments later, two figures strode in. The first was a towering human, a burly six-foot wall of muscle, his bare chest rippling with scars and sinew. He wore loose, rugged shorts—cargo shorts, Steven thought, a fleeting echo of his old world—cinched at the waist. Beside him stood a gnome, barely reaching his thigh, her silver hair cascading over a delicate frame. Thick glasses perched on her nose, magnifying eyes that sparkled with quiet power. “So, you’re the newcomer?” the man rumbled, his voice a low growl that filled the room.

He stepped forward, sizing Steven up. “Based on that card of yours, we’ll tailor this week to sharpen those pitiful skills. I’ll handle your unarmed combat and resilience—teach you to hit hard and take harder.” The gnome chimed in, her voice a sweet, luscious melody that seemed to dance in the air. “And I’ll guide you through holy magic, young one. Light’s mysteries are mine to share.” The burly man crossed his arms, grinning. “So, who’s it gonna be first today?”

Steven didn’t hesitate. “Holy magic,” he said, his mind racing. “I want to learn how to heal myself—keep my body whole so I can outlast anything in a fight.” Both instructors froze, their eyes widening in unison. The man let out a barking laugh. “Smart choice, kid! Most greenhorns chase flashy tricks first. You’ve got a head on you.” He dropped onto a nearby bench, kicking up sand as he settled in to watch. The gnome stepped forward, her silver hair glinting under the magical lights, and pulled a weathered tome from her satchel.

She flipped through its pages with practiced grace, her tiny fingers tracing lines of glowing script. “Here,” she murmured, stopping at a passage that pulsed faintly. “A self-healing spell—simple, yet profound. Holy magic flows from intent and faith. Picture the light within you, a golden tide coursing through your veins, knitting flesh and soothing weariness.” She guided him patiently, her voice a soothing balm as he fumbled through the steps. Hours slipped by—Steven’s brow furrowed in concentration, his hands trembling as he visualized the energy. At first, nothing. Then, a spark.

A faint golden glow erupted around him, bathing the sand pit in radiant light for a fleeting second before fading. His body tingled, exhaustion melting away, every ache replaced by a rush of vitality. It worked. He’d done it. The gnome beamed, clapping her hands. “Well done! Your first taste of the divine.” The burly man grunted from the bench, a grudging nod of approval. “Not bad, Shatterkynn. Let’s see if you survive the week.”

Steven flexed his hands, the sensation of renewal coursing through him. Holy magic—his unexpected gift—had taken root, a glimmer of light amidst the shadows of his darker powers.