Ascension of Magic

The house was always still in the mornings.

Dorian had learned to wake before the rest of the world stirred. It wasn't so much an intentional thing—it just happened. The first hint of light would spill through the window, casting pale shadows across the wooden floors, and Dorian would find himself awake, eyes wide open, listening. The world outside the cottage was already alive, with the distant hum of wind through the trees, the rustling of leaves, and the quiet murmur of the earth itself. But inside, the house was still, holding its breath as though waiting for the day to truly begin.

His mother was already up by the time he wandered into the kitchen, her back turned as she moved quietly around the room, setting the kettle on the stove. Elena always woke before him, but it wasn't just that she had a quiet, steady rhythm to her mornings—it was that she had a sense of knowing. As if she could feel the passage of time more keenly than most people, or perhaps, in a way that Dorian could never quite grasp, she felt the flow of magic around them.

"Good morning," Dorian murmured, voice soft, though there was always something strangely hollow about the sound in the mornings—like his voice was still adjusting to the air, to the world around him.

"Good morning, Dorian," Elena replied, her voice warm but low. She didn't need to ask him if he'd slept well, because the truth was, he never truly slept in the way most people did. It was like he existed on the edge of waking, always half-conscious, always aware of the currents around him—the magic that tugged at the edges of his mind and heart.

Dorian didn't know why he felt this way. It was like a hum deep in his bones. It wasn't a thing he could explain to his mother. Elena knew that magic existed, of course; they lived in a world where magic was part of the air they breathed. But Dorian's connection to it was different. It wasn't just something that existed in the world—it was in him. And sometimes, on mornings like this, he felt it more clearly than ever.

He didn't have words for it—at least not yet. He was only six years old. But even at that age, he had learned that he could sense things others couldn't. He could feel the pulse of the earth beneath him, the way the air thickened when there was magic in the air, the subtle way the world seemed to shift in response to his own thoughts and feelings. The rain, the wind, the rustle of leaves—they weren't just sounds or movements. To him, they were alive. And they spoke to him.

"Are you ready for today?" Elena asked, turning toward him. There was a flicker of something in her eyes, a moment of unspoken understanding, before she handed him a warm mug of tea. She always knew when something was on his mind, though she never asked him to talk about it unless he was ready. But Dorian could see the concern there, hiding behind her calm exterior.

He nodded slowly, though his heart wasn't really in it. He wasn't sure what to expect of the day anymore, or of the next day. The more he grew, the more his senses seemed to stretch beyond what was normal. It wasn't just magic—it was something deeper, something that made the world feel both more real and more distant at the same time.

As he sipped the tea, he watched the steam rising from the cup, tracing its spirals with his eyes. The warmth seeped into his body, and for a moment, he closed his eyes, allowing the magic to settle, to steady him. There was always a part of him that wanted to understand it—to name it, to tame it—but at the same time, he was afraid. Afraid that the more he felt it, the more he would be lost in it.

Magic was a strange thing, unpredictable and wild. Sometimes, it felt as though it were waiting for him to reach out, to take hold of it. But other times, it felt like something he couldn't control—a force that was too strong, too unpredictable. And that uncertainty gnawed at him. It made him question whether he truly understood anything at all.

"Do you think I'll ever understand it?" Dorian asked, his voice barely above a whisper. He hadn't meant to say it out loud, but the words slipped out before he could stop them. He felt foolish immediately afterward, like a child who didn't belong in a world that was beyond his grasp.

Elena didn't respond right away. Instead, she studied him, her expression softening.

"You will," she said finally. "But magic isn't something you understand all at once. It's like the wind—it moves in patterns you can feel, but you can't always see them. The more you try to force it, the harder it will be to grasp."

He didn't fully understand her words, but they lingered in his mind as he finished his tea, the warmth still filling him as the day stretched on.