Ella

The olive trees swayed in the evening breeze, scattering their silver-green leaves across the dirt road that wound through Isfar Terram, our quiet village in the southern reaches of Sameraya. My father Omar’s hammering echoed as he drove a stake into the ground to hold up the canvas poles. Mother Layla’s voice carried over the din, scolding him for pulling the rope too tight. Beyond them, neighbors bustled about, hanging lanterns between the branches, the golden glass catching the last of the sun. The air smelled of cumin, roasted lamb, and sweet honey desserts cooling in clay trays.

It was my birthday that night. Not just any–my twentieth.

From the window of our small sandstone house, I caught sight of myself in the warped reflection of a copper basin. For a moment, I did not recognize the young woman staring back. My gown shimmered a deep violet, its fabric alive with embroidered blossoms that curled along the sleeves and hem like vines in bloom. Nadia, our village hairdresser, had spent two hours taming my unruly locks into a braided bun, pinning it with silver clips that winked in the lamplight. My eyes–green as intense as emeralds–glittered beneath a sweep of black eyeshadow dusted with specks of gold.

“You look like a noble lady from Nefersha,” my sister Aaliyah teased, poking her head through the door. Her braid swung as she giggled.

“More like a jester with sore feet,” I muttered, shifting in the tight bodice. But despite my grumbling, heat bloomed in my cheeks. I looked … presentable.

By the time the sun sank and torches flickered to life, the tent was full. Old friends filled the space with voices loud enough to rattle the canvas. Someone struck up a tune on a reed flute, and soon a drum followed, the rhythm pounding in our chests. I danced with Aaliyah, spinning her until she nearly collapsed in a heap of laughter. One of the guests tripped during a jig and sent a tray of flatbread tumbling, which only fueled the merriment. Neighbors clapped, wine sloshes, stories flew–some old enough to have grown dust, others fresh from the fields.

The night smelled of sweat and perfume, of smoke from the cooking pit and spiced desserts passed from hand to hand. Lanterns glowed like stars caught in glass, casting warm halos across familiar faces.

When the music faded and guests began their slow trickle home, arms full of children and half-eaten platters, they left behind a mound of gifts on the long oak table. I tore open the letters first–sweet words from friends wishing me joy, blessings scribbled in clumsy ink. Nadia gifted me a lacquered case of brushes and powders; other gifts included people pressing coins into my palm, insisting I treat myself when next I reached the capital.

Then my hand found a plain envelope at the bottom of the pile. No sender’s name, no embellishment–just parchment sealed with red wax.

Something inside me stilled. The wax bore a familiar crest. My breath caught. I knew this mark. Every child who ever dreamed of mastering the Arcane knew it.

My fingers trembled as I broke the seal. The parchment was thick, the script precise and elegant.

We are thrilled to have you as one of our students next semester.

The words blurred as I read them once, twice, three times. At the bottom, a name scrawled in bold ink: Jahn Tidebreaker, Head Principal of the Arcanum Theorem University Of Arcane Arts.

I pressed the letter against my chest. This couldn’t be real. The Arcanum Theorem was no ordinary academy–it was the place, the dream etched into the hearts of every would-be mage. I remembered myself as a child, draping a blanket like a robe, pretending to conjure fire with a stick, whispering incantations I made up. And now–with this letter in my hands–was the closest thing to Arcane I have ever touched.

“Is it–?” My voice broke through. I looked over the table to both my parents, eyes wide.

Father came to my side, reading over my shoulder. Pride lit his face until it softened into something gentler, more fragile. “Enrollment was arranged long ago,” he said quietly.

I blinked at him. “Arranged? But … the money–how?”

Mother reached for my hand, her fingers warm and calloused. “We’ve saved for years. A little from harvest, a little from the market stalls. Enough to pay the tuition.”

“And,” my father added, puffing out his chest, “I have a friend at the sky docks in Nefersha who owes me a favor. He’ll take you as far as Midhaven, free of charge. But you’d best be ready by sunrise.”

My laugh came out shaky. “And from Amathyst Harbor to Javercrest? Do you know someone who owes you a favor as well?”

He chuckled, though his eyes glistened. “No, dear. That part you’ll do on your own. But–” He reached out into his coat and pulled free a pouch. The weight of it sagged his hand. When he pressed it into mine, the clink of gold rang heavy. As someone accustomed to trade, this was at least a hundred Samerayan pieces.

I nearly dropped it. “Mother, Father–I cannot accept this. It’s too much. You’ve given me more than I could ever–” Tears welled, hot and fast, ruining my makeup. I had never held so much wealth for myself. Even knowing Samerayan gold was worth only half of Vuzolar’s, fifty pieces was a fortune in our village.

Father’s hand settled on my shoulder, steady and strong. “Don’t think of the cost. Think of what it means. We believe in you.”

“You may be a few years older than most who begin their studies,” mother said softly, brushing a stray tear from my cheek. “But the Arcane does not care for age. It only waits for those bold enough to grasp it.”

My throat closed. Before I knew it, I had thrown myself into their arms, sobbing into Father’s tunic, smearing my carefully painted eyes. They held me tight, my mother’s hand stroking my hair, my father’s chest trembling with the effort of holding back his own tears.

“Thank you,” I whispered against them both. “Thank you.”

“Anything for my daughter,” Father murmured, his voice thick. He pulled back at last, his eyes were shining. “Now–hurry. Gather what you need. He comes at sunrise.”

The lanterns outside flickered, their flames guttering in the breeze. The night suddenly felt too short, the stars too sharp, as though the world itself knew how swiftly everything would change.

I clutched the letter tighter, afraid it might dissolve in my hands. Tomorrow, I would leave Isfar Terram, the dream I had carried for years would finally carry me away.

Excitement fueled my preparations. Clothes, journals, quills, inks, and parchment were packed alongside the essentials for travel. Makeup carefully stowed. Every item a promise of the journey to come. Then I laid on my bed, the weight of the letter heavy against my chest, and let my eyes close.

Sleep came in fits. The night stretched restlessly, the thrill and anticipation denying me more than a few hours of slumber. When the first light of dawn brushed the horizon, I rose, careful not to wake the household, and opened my small book of childhood drawings. Each page chronicled a dream that was on the verge of reality: me casting spells to make my parents grow muscles, zapping a mischievous baby Aaliyah with a lightning bolt, flying above the village as if the world itself had shrunk beneath my feet.

Tears blurred the ink, the weight of reality sinking in. This was finally real. The dream I had clutched in my heart for years–studying the Arcane, changing the world–was now within reach.

When the sun started to rise, I dressed quickly; a fitted, high-collared blouse of crisp white linen, sleeves billowing slightly at the wrist and fastened with silver cufflinks; a deep green vest embroidered with subtle golden threads; slim black trousers tucked into knee-high leather boots; and finally a long dark green overcoat lined with velvet, cinched at the waist with a leather belt.

With my bags secured, I headed out of my room and embraced my parents and Aaliyah one last time, breathing in the familiar scents of home. Then I ran out, blinking at the morning light, and found the skyship waiting. Its hull gleamed dark wood, the bow carved with the Samerayan goddess of love, Bast, and massive wooden wings braced along its sides. A plank descended from the ship as the crew hoisted my belongings abroad.

Stepping onto the deck, fascination gripped me. Two enormous Residuum stones pulsed with Arcane energy in the ship’s fore and aft. The captain, standing at the bow, activated the vessel, and the stones glowed with a soft light, lifting the ship smoothly into the air. Below, the desert sands shrank as we rose steadily to twenty feet, sails unfurled, wings adjusted, and the ship pointed southeast–toward Midhaven and the adventure I had long dreamed of.

The skyship lifted steadily, the village below shrinking with every passing second. I stood near the railing, mesmerized by the sight of home fading into gold and green. A gentle tap on my shoulder made me startle. The captain, a broad-shouldered man in his late fifties, bronze skin lined with deep creases, and steel gray eyes–smiled.

“Careful,” he chuckled. “Air bumps happen. Wouldn’t want you tossed overboard.”

I swallowed. “R-right … thanks. I should probably find a place for my belongings, Captain.”

“Call me Elias. Come on, I’ll show you to your quarters.”

The lower deck was a marvel of craftsmanship: sturdy wooden pillars reinforced the areas surrounding the pulsing Residuum stones, keeping the magic stable. Elias asked about my father, and I filled him in on the farm work and market sales. Nostalgia tugged at his lips as he listened.

My quarters were small but cozy, with half a dozen hammocks and space for my belongings.

“Here are your quarters. Don’t mind the extra hammocks; no one else will be staying here with you. My crew is bunking up together for this trip.” He leaned against the doorway with his arms crossed. “The journey will not be rough. But considering we’re at the end of Avet, we will be taking a route flying around the Dragon’s Tail Triangle; safer, but it’ll take more time.”

“I really appreciate this, Captain Elias,” I said, grateful.

“Our cook will bring your meals to your door,” he continued. “Your washroom is at the end of this deck, and if you ever need anything, just let me or my crew know. My men will use my washroom for the time being.”

I turned back to him, eyes wide with gratitude. “Wow … Thank you. This is much more than I expected.”

“Your father helped us a long time ago, it’s only fair to return the favor.” He said as he waved his hand dismissively. Then he said in a playful tone. “So fair’s fair. Though he did ask me to keep you off deck–sunburns are unforgiving.”

I laughed softly at that, then proceeded to take my bags and put them on one of the hammocks.

“You know, if you ever feel like talking to people, you’re welcome to join us during drinking hours!” He said with a grin.

A yawn escaped me as the exhaustion from the previous night caught up to me. “I appreciate everything you’ve arranged for me, thanks … but for now, I think I will rest for a bit.”

“Of course, get some sleep, Miss Ella.” With that, he pulled the door shut behind him, his footsteps faded into the distance.

I gazed through the small window at Sameraya’s vast deserts and mountains. My heart thrummed with anticipation. Every passing hour brought me closer to my dream. I could hardly wait.