Chapter 1: Too Much, Too Soon

"Vaelira, you are reckless, impatient, and arrogant!" Elder Firaen's voice echoed through the chambers. The elder woman, with fiery short hair like a ruby, was ducking behind an ice barrier she conjured in front of her. Large ice spikes splintered the walls of the training chamber.

In the middle of it all stood Vaelira, a young ice elf, her face burning with embarrassment.

"It's not my fault this backfired! I must have lost concentration." Vaelira blurted, cheeks burning as she turned her face away. Her arms crossed tight.

"Child, you need to understand, patience and time have always been important for our people. We Ylvaari cannot allow recklessness to guide us. Why can't you be like your sister?"

Her brow twitched. The name Lyraena hit like a slap she’d pretended not to feel for years.

"Her? Oh yes, the amazing Lyraena who can do everything with such ease!" Vaelira snapped, fists clenched. She hated how easy the words came—how part of her actually meant them.

"No," Elder Firaen continued. "It's not about that. I believe there is potential in you too. You need to stop taking shortcuts. Know the runes you need then manifest.”

Firaen sighed. “But the destruction your impatience brings... could one day cost someone their life..."

Vaelira finally looked at Firaen, the words weighing on her soul. Perhaps the elder was right. But she would never admit it—she wasn't that kind of girl.

The elder just sighed and shook her head. "The lesson is over for today. Go and reflect on today's training."

Vaelira gave a slight nod and left the training room without a word. On the way to her chambers she muttered under her breath.

"Tch… These lessons are useless…" she grumbled, storming down the corridor. "Wizards, magi, witches — half of them learned by trial and error. Not endless lectures." She clenched her fist while looking out the window. "Just one last step, one final push and then… I am gone."

She paused. Her legs refused to move for a moment as she took another look outside, thinking.

But maybe… this isn’t what I should do. What would my parents think? The people of the village?

She stared out over the frozen trees, fingers tightening on the windowsill. What would her parents say? Would the village even want her back if she failed? If she succeeded? But she had convinced herself that she had learned enough. She had read stories and studied magic. No matter what, she was close—so close—to making this happen.

A few days later, during training, Vaelira was given a different wand than usual.

"I swear, these wands are making me weaker on purpose…" she muttered. "No," Elder Firaen replied. "They are here to control your magic." "Yeah? Watch this, Elder—I can cast just fine without them."

Before Firaen could stop her, Vaelira threw the wand aside and raised her hand. Frost shimmered at her fingertips, forming a small, perfect snowball.

For a moment, she grinned. Then—

Boom!

She hadn’t even finished decoding the Lexicon sequence. Maybe she’d skipped a rune again. The Codex didn’t care about instinct. It wanted order — and she hated that.

The magic surged out of control, blowing up in her face. A burst of cold covered her, leaving her hair and clothes dusted with snow.

Firaen sighed. "Enough. Since you refuse to listen, we are pausing your training indefinitely." "B-But…" Vaelira’s voice cracked, before she swallowed her frustration and scowled. "This is because of those useless wands!" she snapped. "You’re holding me back on purpose! If I could use Vaessir’Syl, you’d see what I’m really capable of!"

Firaen’s expression turned cold. "No. My staff will pass to the most exceptional student. And right now, that is not you, Vaelira. Your sister is."

Vaelira froze. Her hands clenched into fists.

Firaen turned toward the door. "Now, excuse me—I have another student to attend to."

And just like that, she was gone.

Vaelira stood alone, her heart pounding in her chest. Her sister. Always her sister.

Enough was enough.

The night was quiet. Vaelira moved slowly, trying not to make a sound. Her cloak hugged her tightly as she crept through the hallway.

Every shadow made her nervous. Every step felt heavier than the last, carrying her toward her teacher’s chambers.

She stopped in front of the door. One deep breath.

Then she slipped inside.

And there it was—glowing softly in the dim candlelight, as if waiting for her.

Elder Firaen’s Staff.

The crystalline runes glinted faintly in the dim light, the power calling to her like a whispered promise. She hesitated. Just touching it… She could still turn back.

Then her fingers brushed against the staff. A strange chill coursed through her veins. Something deep inside her stirred awake. Her grip tightened. Maybe… this was meant to be.

Her heart pounded, breath coming quick and shallow. Her mind clouded with doubts, making everything harder. Yet the staff was hers now.

Vaelira quickly left her village behind. Under cover of the night, the excitement drove her further, as guilt washed over her.

But she knew that returning would cause more trouble than it was worth. And perhaps as punishment for what she had done, the elders would refuse to continue teaching her the magic she loved so dearly.

She leaned over the frozen pond, her reflection fractured across the ice. Pale blue skin. Sapphire hair blown sideways by the wind. Orange eyes stared back—bright and sharp.

Ninety six years, by Ylvaari standards, was barely past adulthood. By human years, she wasn’t much older than a girl stepping out of her teens. And yet, she was here, alone. A rogue spellcaster with a stolen staff and a dream she couldn’t afford to abandon.

The cold wind bit at her exposed face, but she barely felt it. She had been born in the frost after all. A child of the north. A child of ice. And yet, she thought, even ice can break.

Vaelira’s first days outside of the village were rough. She had imagined freedom would feel… different.

The first night, she was cold but exhilarated. The second, she shivered under thin blankets, hunger gnawing at her stomach. By the third, she stared into the fire, as exhaustion and doubt creeped into her mind.

She held the staff tightly. Its surface pulsed faintly with cold light, and the runes shimmered in the dark. This time, it would work. It had to.

She took a breath and focused. Frost gathered at her fingertips, swirling along the length of the staff.

She pointed it at a dead branch on the ground—and cast.

The spell flared too strong. Ice shot past the target and slammed into a tree, cracking the bark with a sharp snap.

"Ugh… too much." She adjusted her grip. "Okay. Again."

She aimed lower.

Frost surged down instead, spreading under her feet and locking her boots to the dirt.

"What? No—no no—" She tugged, slipping slightly. "I have the staff now. You’re supposed to help me!"

Traveling through the snowy terrain was difficult. The roads were often buried, making it easy for her to lose her way.

Her heart pounded, and at times, her thoughts drifted back to Aelyn’s Rest. She clutched her staff tighter as the cold gnawed at her face. The breeze stung her skin, bringing tears to her eyes.

Yet no matter what, she remained determined and refused to slow down, even as each breath came in painful gasps.

The decision was made and there was no turning back. Every time she stumbled, she reminded herself: this was better than another lecture. She was learning—for real this time.

Days turned into weeks as she wandered further from the familiar glaciers of her home. She struggled to hunt or forage enough food, as she realized that the theoretical knowledge of survival didn’t translate that easily into practical skills.

She spent nights huddled by small fires, her stomach rumbling, learning humility in ways no mentor ever could.

She struggled to stay patient. With everything around her, she had to make do. And it never crossed her mind to set traps, nor to bring any weapon, or knife.

All she had were provisions that were running low at this point, her staff and her armor. No traps. No knife. No real plan. She glanced at her empty pack and grimaced. "Brilliant, Vaelira," she whispered. "Truly brilliant."

The spark in her eyes never faded. She still wanted to do her best, she still was looking forward to coming back to the village as "the hero" she envisioned herself as.

At times, during evenings she would even talk to herself by the campfire.

"Oh, you are so great Vaelira…" – the words would echo through the forest "Please, teach me your magic!" She imagined her parents clapping, the elders nodding with pride, and her sister—finally—smiling at her. Accepting her.That dream kept her going. But sometimes, when the forest grew too quiet, a different thought would creep in.

After all, did she have the right to return? She stole the staff and left her village without saying a single word. Maybe to them, she wasn’t a hero. Maybe she was just a thief. And that fear—soft and cold—would keep her up long into the night.

As the day passed by, she continued to use her magic for survival.

"Hah! You are no match for me, simple rabbit; you will be my dinner for today!" The spell started manifesting from the staff.

Powerful light came out of it, but her enthusiasm quickly turned to frustration. The spell that she cast was an ice spike. Sharp, but instead of hitting the rabbit, it went right into a nearby bush, freezing it. The critter got scared by such a spell.

The Codex didn’t care about improvisation. And Vaelira was all improvisation.

Many in her stead would simply give up. They would return home and apologize, begging for forgiveness and hoping to be accepted once more into society.

But Vaelira was different, every failure was deepening her frustration. She curled tighter under her cloak, shivering. The idea of going back hovered like a phantom.

"I’m not a failure," she whispered to the woods. "I’m not."

After an unsuccessful hunting attempt, she managed to find just some berries, enough to feed her for the day.

While the climate in the far north was unforgiving, some bushes still provided life and substance for the people that were traveling its forest. And during the night, she was finding shelter within the caverns to get by.

Eventually, Vaelira reached a small village called Fenrir's Crossing. It was nestled on the edge of a vast, snowy forest. Eager to finally do something useful and earn some coin. When Vaelira asked around, she learned that bandits had been attacking the village, leaving people terrified.

"We just cannot do anything with these bandits, we have to give up what we have," a cry came from one of the villagers, an elderly man whose years were showing by the strains of gray hair.

"Eh, just give me a sword!" A young girl barely into adulthood, pronounced, "And you will see I can handle them!"

"If you handle them like you handle your tavernkeep job…" A young man bickered with her. There were arguments about the whole ordeal, as most villagers were just terrified of the bandits that had plagued them.

Then, among so many people, words have echoed.

"I can help!" Vaelira declared confidently. Many of the villagers have looked skeptically at the young stranger. Not a child, nor teenager but clearly not a veteran of adventures. She did her best to ignore these looks, as the village elder spoke.

"Young lady" The man's eyes studied her, gaze flickering over her frost-bitten cloak, the dark leather pants tucked into worn boots and the plated shoulder guards dusted with snow. A fine, well-crafted blue tunic, its surface etched with faded runes. The only thing truly remarkable about her was the staff gripped tightly in her hands – too elegant for someone so young, too grand for her.

"I appreciate the enthusiasm but I don’t think y-"

"Oh!" A shout interrupted the elder’s words. One of confidence. "You don’t have to worry. I know that I might not look amazing, but you are looking at an experienced traveler here. Bandits? I handle them with ease!"

Some villagers, hearing her words, exchanged glances—of hope. Others were still skeptical. Her smile froze the moment their eyes turned away. She wiped sweat from her palms. What have I just done…? She thought to herself, as some sweat formed on her neck.

Seeing the villagers’ reaction, the elder had no choice. Even if there were still skeptics, she raised the crowd too much not to accept her help.

"Sure. If you can get rid of them, I will pay you six gold coins for helping us out." At these words, Vaelira smiled even more. She was overjoyed at the thought of getting paid and being able to get a proper meal and warm bed.

Without waiting for further objections, she started to go around the village and prepare herself a little. Some symbols on the buildings made in the snow, another on the road. Some villagers watched her on the streets, others from the warmth of their homes through the window.

She began casting what she believed were minor protective spells around the perimeter. Everything was looking promising. Small patches of ice were forming exactly where she intended. They were ready to trip up unsuspecting bandits.

But, her excitement quickly turned to panic as her magic started surging out of control. It began freezing everything in the vicinity. Villagers were trapped inside their homes, roads turning to slick ice beneath their feet, sending them on a ride.

Vaelira’s eyes darted around in panic. This wasn’t supposed to happen, not now when she had her first occasion to prove her magic to people all over the place. Yet, fate is a cruel mistress and it decided to play with her.

The villagers wanted to shout, cry for help, shout at her, but they noticed incoming bandits who were ready to pillage them. Yet, some of them felt something was different than usual.

"Boss… I don’t think this will be like last time. Perhaps we shouldn’t? The air is different today." One of the bandits said. There were a couple more who shared the sentiment, but the rest of ten of thirteen laughed it off. The boss shook his head.

"Now, now. These are just villagers, what if they suddenly mustered some weapons? What if their militia will beat us? We have the numbers, they have no experien-" His foot slid out from under him.

With a yelp, he hit the ground.

A second later, two of his men followed suit.

"W.. What is going on!?" One of the ones at the ground said. As one of the other defensive mechanisms activated, an ice spike dropped from one of the buildings. All of them looked at it, fear in their eyes.

"Did they… Hire a wizard!?" The same bandit from before shouted, fear in his voice.

"Don’t be silly! How could they af-" Before the bandit leader could say anything, another ice spike struck, piercing through his arm. A groan of pain followed. Vaelira looked at it with her eyes widened. It’s not how she wanted it to go, but it gave her some confidence. After all, her magic worked! Partially.

"R-Retreat!" The bandit leader scrambled to his feet, clutching his wounded arm.

"Find another village—we’re not dealing with a damn wizard!"

His men barely needed convincing. They tripped over themselves, shoving each other aside in their rush to escape.

Vaelira exhaled with relief, having that smug look once more on her face. She did it. She—

"Look at what you've done!" the village elder yelled, glaring at her. She backed away, her cheeks flushed hot with embarrassment. Looking around, she saw some of the villagers on the ground, others almost pierced with her spikes.

"I-I'm sorry! I didn't mean" she tried to explain, but the villagers wouldn't hear it. The village elder gave her two gold coins with his words continuing.

"And never return here!" Defeated and humiliated, she fled from the village, with their angry voices echoing behind her.

She didn’t look back. Not at the angry voices, not at the village. Her hand clutched the staff like a lifeline. She wouldn’t quit. Not now.

As the weeks passed, doubts filled her mind. If she came back to her home, would they welcome her back? Would she be able to ever return to face her sister Lyraena and the Elders?

What would the others think? Her friends? Her parents? She clenched her jaw and kept walking, even as the cold bit deeper.

She couldn’t stop. Not yet. She hoped that one day, she’d grow strong and respected enough to prove everyone—especially herself—wrong.

Even with doubt gnawing at her, she pressed onward.

In the months that followed, she drifted from town to town—a nameless traveler, a wandering spellcaster of no renown.

Sometimes, she earned a meal. Other times, she left empty—handed. Her magic improved. Slowly. Painfully. By trial, by error, by the humiliation she endured.

But she refused to give up.

One day, she will be great.

She had to be.