The gentle sway of Roach's walk was usually calming, but August couldn't sit still. He felt a fizz of excitement in his veins. He had a real skill. A magic skill. Even if it was only E-Rank, it was a start. He closed his eyes and focused inward, summoning the invisible screen that only he could see, the proof of his worth in the eyes of the gods.
His skill list appeared in his mind.
[Charlatan: S]
[You're an exceptional liar and scammer. Anyone with lower intelligence or willpower has a greater chance of falling for your schemes.]
He skipped past that one. He'd stared at it his whole life, a constant reminder of his cursed talent. Below it was the new addition, shimmering with fresh magic.
[Novice Illusionist: E]
[The goddess Lokiera blesses this lowly being with the understanding of basic illusion magical theory. That's all. You can figure out the rest.]
He blinked, reading it again. Understanding of magical theory? That's all? He scanned the space below the text, searching for a list of spells. 'Minor Glamour'. 'Create Light'. 'Silent Footsteps'. Anything.
There was nothing. Just empty space, followed by... a picture. An intricate drawing of a smug-looking face, a masterpiece of tiny dots and lines that seemed to mock him directly.
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣤⠤⠤⠤⠤⠤⠤⠤⠤⠤⠤⢤⣤⣀⣀⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⡼⠋⠀⣀⠄⡂⠍⣀⣒⣒⠂⠀⠬⠤⠤⠬⠍⠉⠝⠲⣄⡀⠀⠀
⠀⠀⠀⢀⡾⠁⠀⠊⢔⠕⠈⣀⣀⡀⠈⠆⠀⠀⠀⡍⠁⠀⠁⢂⠀⠈⣷⠀⠀
⠀⠀⣠⣾⠥⠀⠀⣠⢠⣞⣿⣿⣿⣉⠳⣄⠀⠀⣀⣤⣶⣶⣶⡄⠀⠀⣘⢦⡀
⢀⡞⡍⣠⠞⢋⡛⠶⠤⣤⠴⠚⠀⠈⠙⠁⠀⠀⢹⡏⠁⠀⣀⣠⠤⢤⡕⠱⣷
⠘⡇⠇⣯⠤⢾⡙⠲⢤⣀⡀⠤⠀⢲⡖⣂⣀⠀⠀⢙⣶⣄⠈⠉⣸⡄⠠⣠⡿
⠀⠹⣜⡪⠀⠈⢷⣦⣬⣏⠉⠛⠲⣮⣧⣁⣀⣀⠶⠞⢁⣀⣨⢶⢿⣧⠉⡼⠁
⠀⠀⠈⢷⡀⠀⠀⠳⣌⡟⠻⠷⣶⣧⣀⣀⣹⣉⣉⣿⣉⣉⣇⣼⣾⣿⠀⡇⠀
⠀⠀⠀⠈⢳⡄⠀⠀⠘⠳⣄⡀⡼⠈⠉⠛⡿⠿⠿⡿⠿⣿⢿⣿⣿⡇⠀⡇⠀
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠙⢦⣕⠠⣒⠌⡙⠓⠶⠤⣤⣧⣀⣸⣇⣴⣧⠾⠾⠋⠀⠀⇇⠀
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⠙⠶⣭⣒⠩⠖⢠⣤⠄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠠⠔⠁⡰⠀⣧⠀
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠉⠛⠲⢤⣀⣀⠉⠉⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠁⠀⣠⠏⠀
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⠉⠉⠛⠒⠲⠶⠤⠴⠒⠚⠁⠀⠀
August's jaw dropped. "You have got to be kidding me!" he yelled at the empty air. Roach flicked an ear back at the sudden noise but kept her steady pace.
"No spells? Just theory? And a stupid drawing?"
He had heard people born with magic skills knew spells instinctively. But his skill didn't come from birth. It came from a book. And apparently, this goddess Lokiera was a cheapskate.
"What am I supposed to do with theory?" he ranted to his horse.
"Am I supposed to think really hard and hope a rock starts looking like a piece of bread? After being cheated by a magic-using pretty boy? This is useless!"
He slumped in his saddle, his grand plan for revenge already a failure. The warm colors of the setting sun did nothing to lift his mood as Roach carried him home.
**************
As they crested the final hill, he saw their small farm. He could see his father, Angus, and his little brother, Leon, working in the twilight. Seeing them, a bit of the day's frustration melted away. He urged Roach on, and soon Leon was running towards him.
"August! You're back!"
August dismounted just in time to catch his incoming little brother. Leon, a twelve-year-old bundle of energy, crashed into him with the force of a small cannonball, and they both tumbled to the soft dirt in a laughing heap.
"Did you see him? Did you see Torvin the Brave?" Leon asked, his eyes wide with excitement. "What did you write this time?"
This was August's best lie. He was, as far as they knew, a chronicler, a writer for a famous B-Rank adventurer. His Charlatan skill made the story flow effortlessly.
"Of course I saw him, Leo. It was incredible! He faced five Stone Ogres all at once! He moved like a whirlwind of steel!"
Leon's jaw was on the floor. "Five? At once? Wow!"
"More on that later," August cut in, ruffling his brother's hair. "I have something for you." He reached into his pouch and pulled out a small paper bag of candied fruits. "This is our secret. Mom doesn't need to know."
Leon snatched the bag and hugged it to his chest. "Our secret!" he whispered, before scampering off towards the house.
August chuckled. He stabled Roach, carried the new tools to the shed, and then headed inside. The delicious smell of roasting chicken and herbs filled the air.
He found his mother, Hannah, in the kitchen. She was a tall, beautiful woman, her long black hair tied back as she stirred a pot.
"I'm home," he said.
She turned, her face breaking into a warm smile. "Welcome back, my son." She wiped her hands on her apron and wrapped him in a hug that smelled of rosemary and home, planting a big, loud smooch right on his lips. "I was starting to worry. You are later than usual." She let go, her giant breasts and round, pink nipples barely hidden by her thin dress.
"The roads were busy," he said, returning the hug as he grabbed plates to help set the table.
"I see," she said, her eyes watching him. "And how was your... work? This adventurer, Torvin. Is he good to you? He doesn't get you into any real danger, does he? I hear these stories about goblins... it all sounds so violent."
August smiled reassuringly. "Don't worry, Mom. I stay far away from the fighting. I find a safe rock to hide behind and just write down what I see. Torvin is a mountain of a man, nothing can touch him. And he appreciates good writing."
Hannah paused. A small smile touched her lips, but it didn't quite reach her eyes. "A mountain of a man," she repeated softly. "Well, as long as you are safe. That's all a mother cares about."
She knew her son was clever and could talk a bird out of the sky. She didn't believe in Torvin, not really, but she believed in her son. If this story was what he needed to tell, she would listen.
"He paid well this week," August said, proud to change the subject. He handed her a pouch of coins.
"Sixty-five silver. Should help."
Hannah's eyes widened slightly as she felt the weight in her palm. "August, this is... it's a lot," she said, her voice thick with emotion. "You work so hard." She reached out, her hand cupping his cheek.
She leaned in and gave him another kiss, this one softer, longer and slower. A kiss of thanks, of pride, and of a deep, unspoken worry.
August, lost in the success of the day, felt only her affection. He had no idea of the worries that churned beneath her loving smile.
Just then, his father and Leon walked in. "Something smells good!" Angus declared, his booming voice filling the small house.
They all sat down to eat, the conversation lively. August took a bite of roast chicken. It was perfect. As he chewed, his mind drifted back to the skill book. Lilith's Tale.
'Understanding of basic illusion magical theory'
Theory. Maybe that was the key. Maybe the book itself would tell him how to use the spells.
He suddenly had an idea.
He took one more massive bite of food. "Sorry," he said with his mouth full, "I just remembered something important I have to write down for Torvin's story before I forget!"
Without waiting for a response, he scrambled up from his chair and rushed upstairs to his small room, the half-eaten chicken leg still in his hand.
He shut the door and pulled the dark book from his bag. It was time to actually read the damn thing.