The world outside the village was wider than any story had ever prepared him for.
The dirt path became a stone road, and that stone road eventually led to crossroads where merchants, mercenaries, and wandering bards passed by. Igaris kept his head down at first, listening rather than speaking, absorbing every word about far-off kingdoms, dangerous beasts, and great cities that glittered like gold under the sun.
It was during these travels that his talent first drew notice.
In a small town, when a runaway cart threatened to crash into a crowd, Igaris had instinctively raised his hand. Without chant, without focus, the wooden axle of the cart snapped apart in midair, as though obeying his will. The crowd gasped, the owner of the cart shouted in shock, and an old traveling mage approached him with sharp eyes.
"Boy… who taught you that?" the mage asked.
"No one," Igaris replied honestly. "It just… happened."
