Chapter One: The Mage's Hand

On a winter morning, the howling wind swept across the snowy wilderness. A white-furred hunting dog raced forward, pulling a sled at breakneck speed. Seated on the sled was a small, thin boy; the wind whipped back his hood, revealing a delicate face weighed down with worry.

For a country boy who had just turned thirteen and passed the entrance examination to Layton Academy—officially becoming a "mage’s apprentice"—Joan Vida ought to have felt proud. Yet the examiner's parting words lingered in his mind, casting a shadow over his mood.

Joan Vida was born in a small southern settlement called Derlin in Alfheim. Orphaned from his earliest memories, he was raised by his grandfather, who taught him to read and write, opening a window onto the vibrant world beyond their little town through the pages of books. In this world called Vales, supernatural forces such as "magic" were anything but rare. Humans had learned from the elves the art of tapping into the "Weave" and wielding magic. Yet beyond the borders of civilization, wild beasts and lurking monsters roamed the wilderness and the underworld; these creatures, unlike humans, needed neither arcane study nor incantations or gestures to unleash powerful spells—their innate magical blood sufficed.

Because the world outside the city walls was so perilous, only mercenaries and professional adventurers dared enter the wilds alone; ordinary folk would never dream of such a thing. Joan’s solitary journey across the snowy landscape, a hundred miles from home, was not, however, driven by a thirst for adventure. Before he encountered the arcane, he was no different from the other boys in Derlin—never imagining he might one day leave his town and set out into the wider world.

Three years ago, Joan’s life began to change. By then, he was already fluent in reading and writing, and from his grandfather he had learned a peculiar script known as "Quenya"—the language of ancient elven sages, still used by elves dwelling deep within the great forests of Alfheim. Compared to human languages, elvish was distinguished by its unique "rhythm," its remarkable affinity with the Weave, making it easier to channel, shape, and control magical energy. Thus, the majority of magical tomes in circulation today were written in elvish. Of course, elvish was not the only magical tongue; ancient races such as giants, dwarves, and dragons, whose histories rivaled that of the elves, also possessed their own scripts, which could be used for casting spells. Yet these races had less contact with humans and left a lighter imprint on early human civilization, so few humans could read their languages, and scrolls or books penned in these ancient scripts were far rarer than those written in elvish.

Joan’s grandfather’s library was meager. When a boy's hunger for knowledge exceeds the last scrap of printed paper in his home, his eyes naturally wander beyond the threshold, yearning for new books to explore. Joan’s first destination was the village chapel, where the priest—who also served as the schoolmaster—was regarded as the most learned man in Derlin. For a time, Joan swept the chapel every evening in exchange for the privilege of borrowing books from its library.

He devoured these books, especially those on history, geography, and mathematics, while displaying little interest in the theological works the priest often recommended. Perhaps it was a matter of temperament—Joan could not bring himself to devote his soul to any deity. Rather than hope for divine intervention to solve his problems, rather than trade faith for blessings, he would sooner rely on his own knowledge to change his fate—even if he failed, at least the initiative would remain in his own hands.

By the age of twelve, Joan had read everything the chapel had to offer. Lacking any interest in a clerical career, he gradually distanced himself from the church, seeking other avenues for acquiring new knowledge.

Outside the chapel, the only other place in Derlin that occasionally sold books was a general store that also did pawn business. Joan was a regular there, usually leaving disappointed. But a year ago, he stumbled upon a consignment scroll, its surface densely covered in elvish script—it might very well be a spell scroll.

Ecstatic, Joan went straight to the shopkeeper, Aunt Barbara, to inquire about the scroll’s provenance.

“Some adventurers spent the night in town a couple days ago,” Aunt Barbara told him with a kindly smile. “Rough types, barely literate. Who knows where they got the scroll—they couldn’t understand a word of it, so they sold it to me for drinking money. They wanted twenty gold ducats for it, but of course it wasn’t worth that. I offered ten, and that's what we settled on. If you want it, little one, I’ll let you have it for what I paid.”

Ten gold ducats—a small fortune for the impoverished Joan. He didn’t have that much money; pleading with Aunt Barbara to hold the scroll for him, he made a bold promise for the first time in his life that he would gather the sum within a month.

Even Joan himself scarcely believed this promise. His entire savings from odd jobs over the past two years amounted to just six gold ducats. Where would he find the remaining four? Desperate to obtain the scroll, Joan steeled himself and went to his grandfather to borrow the money.

The eccentric old Guillaume Thayer listened to Joan’s explanation, lit his pipe, and said coldly, “Even if it is a magic scroll, it’s useless to you. A boy with no magical training and no teacher can’t learn even the simplest spell.”

“I want to try!” Joan insisted.

“Absolutely not!” Thayer was even more stubborn than his grandson. “If you want money for anything else, I’ll give it to you—but not for this! Joan, you mustn’t dabble in the arcane. That’s not your path.”

His grandfather’s intransigence left Joan both disappointed and puzzled, but it could not quench the fire of youthful passion. Whether or not he had his grandfather’s support, Joan was determined to buy the scroll he so coveted. For a whole month, he hunted tirelessly in the woods, aided by his dog Jamie, and thanks to the abundance of game in the spring and summer, the young hunter fared well—selling rabbits and ducks at the tavern for a few coppers apiece. By chance, he learned from the tavern boy that the house specialty—golden trout—was in short supply, and a pound of fresh golden trout fetched two silver ducats—far more than rabbits!

Joan had often fished with his grandfather by the Derlin River since childhood, and his angling skills were top-notch. Realizing the value of golden trout, he set his sights on fishing as a source of income. While technique mattered, patience was key. Though young, Joan was never short on patience; indeed, his solitary nature suited the quiet, repetitive work of fishing, which allowed him to read while tending his line.

At dawn he set out with his rod, returning at dusk with a basket woven from rushes, nearly always containing one or two fat, fresh golden trout. Through such hard work and thrift, Joan managed to scrape together the ten gold ducats by month’s end and bought the scroll from Aunt Barbara.

A month’s toil was not in vain. With trembling fingers, Joan unrolled the yellowed parchment and, after much study, determined that the elvish script recorded a “Mage Hand”—a spell of the zeroth level.

“Mage Hand” could scarcely be called real magic; it was more of a cantrip. But for a boy with no magical background and almost no foundational knowledge, this was a stroke of tremendous fortune: had the spell been of a higher level, Joan would not have been able to decipher it, much less use it as a stepping-stone to cross the threshold into arcane spellcasting.

It took Joan more than half a year to learn the spell, but at last, he managed to master “Mage Hand.” This was an unexpected achievement—even the proud and obstinate Thayer had to admit he had misjudged his grandson, underestimating his capacity for self-study. Joan himself was emboldened, convinced that he was not like other boys in the village, that he truly had the gift to become a mage. This small triumph deepened his yearning for magical knowledge and his eagerness to plunge into the vast ocean of learning, to master more advanced spells.

There were no resident mages in the countryside, and Joan could not always hope to stumble upon treasures in the general store. Now, having mastered a zeroth-level spell, he could barely count himself a mage’s apprentice. If he wished to advance further, his only option was to travel to Layton Port to study.

Layton Port was the capital and most prosperous trading city of the Alfheim colony. Joan had heard of Layton Academy, which admitted students from all over Alfheim at the beginning of each year. Subjects like literature, art, law, mathematics, engineering, and medicine accepted primary school graduates. The seminary and arcane college, however, had higher requirements: applicants needed not only a basic education and proficiency in reading, writing, and arithmetic, but also an innate talent for divine or arcane spellcasting.

How did one test whether a young person had the gift for spellcasting?

It was simple.

So long as you could demonstrate at least one “zeroth-level” spell fluently in front of the examiner, you passed.

Among all spells from levels zero to nine, zeroth-level spells were a special and arguably the most vital subset. Their significance lay in two aspects. Spells of levels one through nine had fixed “spell slots,” limiting the number of times they could be cast each day. Zeroth-level spells, however, had no such restriction—as long as the caster had the energy, they could be cast infinitely. Thus, even high-level mages relied most on zeroth-level spells in daily life and adventure, attesting to their importance.

Furthermore, zeroth-level spells formed the foundation of all advanced magic. If high-level spells were likened to grand architecture, cantrips were the “foundation”—one could only erect a magnificent and sturdy edifice by first laying a solid base. As Joan deepened his understanding of magic, he developed a clear theoretical framework: a mage’s future path—what school to specialize in, which spells to master—depended largely on his early education, on which zeroth-level spells he first learned. Most advanced spells could be reverse-engineered into one or more cantrips. The “Mage Hand” Joan now commanded was the prototype for many advanced “force” and “telekinesis” spells. For example, the ninth-level spell “Mage’s Crushing Grasp” was essentially a more destructive version of “Mage Hand.”

[Author’s note: The setting of this book draws mainly from Pathfinder (PF) and Dungeons & Dragons 5E, but also includes many homebrew rules. One key rule increases the difficulty of resurrection—only ninth-level divine spells can restore the dead to life. As there are very few characters capable of casting such spells in the entire book, this means that, for all practical purposes, the dead cannot be brought back to life.]