The sun or any miracle However, it was equivalent to him stepping out of the cave. He spent his time well. The apprentice had spent the past six hours doing what could only be called mental preparation. He lists spells with names so unusual they sound like rejected fairy-tale characters: "Troll's Little Toe Nail," "Essence of Maybe," and his personal favourite, "Dragon's Slightly Burnt Nose Hair."

  After that, enchanted items were refined and didn't like being touched by anyone. A particularly attractive orb zaps him with a little magic, while an irritated mirror refuses to stop insulting his hairstyle.

  By noon the apprentice’s patience was running out. He dropped the water bucket. So he added water as soon as he emptied it—and rushed towards Merlin.

  “When will I be able to perform real magic?” he asked, his voice slightly echoing on the walls of the room.

  Merlin raised an eyebrow as he relaxed in a high armchair and drank a suspiciously scented cocoa drink. “Real magic, you say?”

  “Yes! You know, spells, incantations, zapping things! Not... not chores!”

  Merlin sipped slowly. He looked intently before answering, “Ah, the excitement of youth. Very good. We will increase the difficulty.”

  The apprentice straightened up. A spark of excitement burned in his chest.

  Merlin created a scroll of the most incredible prosperity. “Your first mission,” he announced.

  The apprentice unwrapped the scroll with trembling hands. His eyes scanned the list of things:

  “Mandrake roots, phoenix feathers, stardust, basilisk scales…”

  “Fresh milk, bread, eggs...”

  He stopped reading.

  “Wait a minute,” he said, holding the scroll close.

  “Is this just… groceries?”

  Merlin smiled, clearly proud of himself. “You caught on quickly. Then it's the be

  The apprentice stepped through the portal, bracing himself for whatever lay beyond. He emerged into the forest, the air heavy with damp earth and pine scent. Above him, sunlight casting shadows on the mossy ground.

  “Quest, he said,” he muttered, glancing at the absurd list Merlin had stuffed into his hands just before he left. The town lay to the north, but to get there, he’d have to traverse the slums—a dangerous maze of abandoned shacks and winding alleys that hugged the forest’s northern edge.

  As he made his way through the underbrush, the sound of birdsong gave way to the distant clamour of life at the forest’s border. The slums came into view, a sprawling patchwork of makeshift homes and narrow paths, all covered in the warm glow of a late afternoon sun.

  The apprentice navigated cautiously, clutching the scroll like a lifeline. He couldn’t help but notice the stark contrast between this place and the grandeur of Merlin’s lair. The magic here was raw and practical—a broomstick sweeping a porch on its own, a cauldron stirring itself over a fire.

  A hunched figure sitting on an upturned barrel called out to him. “Looking a bit lost, aren’t we?”

  “Just passing through,” the apprentice replied, trying not to make eye contact.

  The figure chuckled a raspy sound that made the apprentice quicken his pace.

  It wasn’t long before he reached the far edge of the slums, where a well-worn path led toward the town. With a deep breath, he pressed on, relieved to leave the oppressive atmosphere behind.

  The town unfolded before him, a patchwork of cobblestone streets and wooden structures, bustling with the hum of daily life. Its charm was calm, with signs of modest prosperity—simple yet tidy homes, neatly kept market stalls and townsfolk going about their business. The forgotten town of Satus was within the southern regions of the Kingdom of Caelum, a vast continent-like country that can be divided into 5 distinct regions, The Northern, Southern, Western, Eastern and Central. All are governed by the empire, the absolute authority of this world.

  The Kingdom was derived with all kinds of unique individuals, from knights to defend those who can’t defend themselves, to the boundless skies that dragons and wyverns rule over or to the fairies and goblins that hind within corners of humanity. How about mages you may ask?

  Magic, however, was surprisingly absent for a world full of it. In a world where status means everything, those of privilege have the means to learn all kinds of skills those of common folk only dreamt of.

  Unlike the enchanted trinkets and self-sweeping brooms of Merlin’s lair, the town was grounded in manual labour and hardship. Blacksmiths hammered away at forges, their apprentices hauling heavy buckets of water. Farmers haggled over sacks of grain, while a line of young men unloaded crates from a loaded cart.

  The apprentice had half-expected to see a few street performers conjuring illusions or merchants hawking enchanted goods, but it became clear that such displays were reserved for places of privilege. Here, magic was a whisper of unattainable luxury, practised only by nobles or those fortunate enough to serve them.

  The narrative has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the infringement.

  As he wandered deeper into the town, the streets widened, and the buildings grew more ornate. The apprentice’s gaze was drawn to the towering site of a manor perched on a distant hill—the unmistakable seat of the local nobility.

  He overheard snippets of conversation as he passed a well-dressed couple,

  “Did you hear? The baroness’s son has been accepted into the Academy,” the woman said, her voice laced with pride.

  “An honour, to be sure,” her companion replied. “Not many commoners could even dream of such an opportunity.”

  The apprentice frowned, his grip tightening on the scroll. The divide between the nobles and the townsfolk was evident in every detail—the way the wealthier citizens carried themselves, the fine silk of their clothes, and the deference shown to them by those of lesser means.

  The marketplace was the heart of the town, a lively square filled with merchants peddling everything from fresh produce to hand-forged tools. The apprentice scanned the stalls, mentally checking items off the list.

  “Eggs, milk, bread…” he muttered. “Really, Merlin? A magical quest for groceries?”

  The narrator chimed in, their tone as wry as ever:

  “And thus, the apprentice began his first official quest, armed with a list of mundane items and a healthy dose of scepticism. His journey through the town was, if nothing else, a testament to Merlin’s peculiar sense of humour.”

  “Hey, Percy!” a cheerful voice called out, drawing his attention.

  He turned to see the butcher waving at him from behind his stall, a hefty cleaver in hand. Percy raised a gloved hand in acknowledgement, his usual reserved smile tugging at the corners of his mouth.

  Percy, short for Percival was a striking figure for his age. At just 13, he carried himself with a quiet confidence that made him stand out among the bustling townsfolk. His slicked-back grey hair gave him an almost otherworldly appearance. His eyes, a deep and vibrant purple, held an intensity that shook his youth.

  His attire was as peculiar as his features. A black hoodie hung loosely over a plain white shirt, paired with well-worn trousers and sturdy boots. His fingerless gloves bore the marks of use, their frayed edges hinting at a life far from ordinary.

  “Shopping for your grandpa again?” the butcher asked, grinning.

  Percy shrugged, holding up the list. “Yeah, you know how it is.”

  The butcher laughed. “Always keeping you busy, that old man. Let me know if you need anything special.”

  Percy nodded politely and moved on, weaving through the crowd with practised ease. Despite his distinct appearance, the townsfolk seemed used to his presence, greeting him with casual familiarity.

  After gathering everything on Merlin's list, Percy decided to head back to the forest before the sunset. As he was making his way through the slums, he heard a loud cry for help. It was normal to hear those sounds within the boundaries of the slums, so Percy continued on his day.

  At the end of the alley, a small crowd of rough-looking men surrounded a woman and her young daughter. The woman clutched the girl tightly, her face pale and streaked with tears.

  “Give us everything you have on you,” one of the thugs barked, his voice sharp.

  “Please, I don’t have anything of value on me,” the woman cried, her voice trembling.

  “Leave us alone!” the little girl, no more than six years old, shouted. Her small fists clenched, and her stern gaze towards the towering men.

  The apparent leader sneered and raised his hand, striking the girl to the ground with a resounding slap. The mother fell to her knees, hugging the child and whispering desperately,

  “Someone, please help us…”

  The gang closed in, their intent clear, until a shadowy figure emerged from the darkness behind them.

  With fluid precision, the figure delivered a powerful kick to one thug’s face, sending him straight to the ground. The sickening crunch of bone echoed through the alley as the man fell unconscious. The group froze, turning to face the intruder—a black-hooded figure whose face was hidden except for the gleaming amethyst eyes peering from the shadow of the hood.

  It was Percy.

  “You’ve had your fun,” he said, his voice low but firm. “Now leave.”

  The leader sneered, drawing a knife. “Looks like we’ve got ourselves a hero.”

  What followed was swift and decisive. Percy darted forward, dodging the knife with ease and delivering a series of precise blows. One thug swung a makeshift club, but Percy ducked, his counterattack sending the weapon clattering to the ground. His movements were fluid yet unrelenting, a dance of calculated strikes and dodges.

  In moments, the thugs lay scattered, groaning or unconscious. Percy stood over the leader, his eyes cold.

  “Get out of here before I change my mind,” he said.

  The man scrambled to his feet, dragging his comrades away without another word.

  The woman and her child looked up at Percy, their eyes filled with gratitude. “Thank you,” the woman said, her voice shaky but sincere.

  Percy simply nodded, his hood still casting his face in shadow. “Be careful,” he said before turning and walking away.

  By the time Percy returned to the lair, the sky had shifted to hues of orange and pink. He pushed open the heavy wooden door and carried the groceries to Merlin, who was perched on a creaky chair near the fireplace.

  Merlin’s eyes lit up like a child spotting their favourite treat. “Ah, you’ve returned! Excellent work, my boy. I trust the quest wasn’t too difficult?”

  Percy raised an eyebrow, dropping the bags on the table. “Your idea of difficult is questionable.”

  Merlin chuckled, rifling through the groceries with exaggerated delight.

  “Bananas! Ah, the true treasure of any quest.”

  Percy shook his head, exhaustion catching up with him. “I’m heading to bed,” he said, turning toward the staircase.

  “Rest well, my young apprentice,” Merlin called after him, already peeling a banana.

  Percy climbed the stairs, his body heavy but his mind buzzing. Another day of mundane tasks, strange encounters, and subtle lessons. Yet, as he collapsed onto his bed, he couldn’t help but wonder what tomorrow would bring.