Magic

Professor Aldric’s chalk screeched across the board as he scrawled a series of dates in his spidery handwriting. The sound made half the class wince, but the eccentric history teacher seemed oblivious to their discomfort. He turned to face the room, his wild gray hair sticking out at odd angles and his tweed jacket covered in a fine dusting of chalk. “Now then,” he said, peering at the students over the rims of his wire-framed glasses. “Who can tell me the significance of these years?” ...

The wind howled through the jagged crevices of the Whispering Peaks, carrying with it an eerie melody that sent shivers down Lena’s spine. She pulled her jacket tighter around her body, her breath visible in the crisp mountain air. Beside her, Marcus consulted the worn map they’d been following for the past three days. “We should be nearing the summit,” he said, his brow furrowed in concentration. “Another hour, maybe two.” ...

The shimmering heat rose from the desert sands, distorting the horizon into a wavering mirage. Naia squinted against the glare, her eyes scanning the endless dunes for any sign of shelter. The caravan had been traveling for days, their water supplies dwindling dangerously low. She could feel the tension mounting among the tribe members, their usual chatter replaced by terse silence. Naia’s fingers twitched at her sides, longing to weave the air into cool oases and lush palm groves. But she clenched her hands into fists, forcing down the urge. No one could know about her gift. Her curse. ...

Elowen’s bare feet moved silently across the dewy grass as she guided her flock through the misty morning air. The sheep meandered contentedly, their soft bleats mingling with the gentle tinkling of bells. At her side trotted Finn, his keen eyes scanning for any stragglers. As they crested a hill, Elowen paused, her gaze drawn to the sprawling manor house in the distance. Its stone walls and imposing towers stood in stark contrast to the humble cottages of her village nestled in the valley below. A shiver ran down her spine that had nothing to do with the early morning chill. ...

Naia’s fins sliced through the warm currents as she raced toward the heart of the reef. Her blue scales shimmered in the dappled sunlight filtering down from the surface, but today their usual luster was dulled by worry. Something was wrong. She could feel it in the water, taste it in the subtle shifts of salinity on her tongue. As she approached the vast expanse of coral that formed the living foundation of her undersea home, Naia’s heart sank. The vibrant colors she’d known since childhood had faded to sickly browns and grays. Entire sections lay barren, the skeletal remains of once-thriving colonies now ghostly and lifeless. ...

The wind howled through the jagged peaks of the Broken Range, carrying with it the faint echo of a scream. Lira paused in her climb, her ice axe embedded in the frozen slope. She cocked her head, listening. Nothing but the whistle of the wind and the crunch of snow beneath her crampons. “Just the mountain playing tricks again,” she muttered, shaking off the chill that had nothing to do with the subzero temperatures. ...