Nothing exciting ever happened in Morian. It was a peaceful land where the people didn't have major quarrels with one another. Of course, there were rumors of wars in distant lands and the occasional spat between neighboring farmers over petty things, such as whose oxen had eaten from whose land. But for the most part, Morian was a simple place with simple people leading simple lives. All that changed one day when Ashe was six years old.

The shipping vessel that her father, Gavrel, had been working on disappeared at sea. Many families in the Citadel had lost loved ones in the tragedy. The ship was nearly a fortnight late in returning from its voyage to the neighboring isles when an old man washed into the harbor north at Keiper grasping for his life to a large wooden beam. No one really knows exactly what happened, and that poor man took his own life because he couldn't stand to look at the other townsfolk who had lost loved ones; knowing he was the only one who got to keep his life. The old man rambled on the same story about a horde of unknown creatures that attacked the ship and that the crew fought back, but the ultimate fate of all those sailors was lost with them at sea.

At that young age, Ashe couldn't comprehend what had occurred or why, but she remembered hearing the news. Her best friend, Miles, was eight years old when he heard about what had happened. He rushed over to tell Ashe and her mother, Cressida, what he had heard. The most curious bit to Ashe was how well her mom seemed to take the news. She didn't fall apart like the other women in town had. Perhaps she had shut down a little, but life for her continued basically unhindered. Her attitude didn't change; she simply stopped talking about Gavrel almost as though he had never existed.

Ashe's life stopped in an instant. Her father was her best friend. At bedtime every night, He would recount to her the Legends of Roth'tai. They were stories about a time when magic existed in the world; exciting stories of heroes who wielded the ancient powers of Roth'tai, and sinister sorcerers who usurped power to corrupt and elevate themselves. Ashe had always been intrigued by the legends of magic and always tried to look for the extraordinary things in the world around her. Even though she had never seen or heard of anything out of the ordinary happening in the Morian, she kept hope that there was still a little of the old magic from the stories somewhere in the world.

Most people thought the legends were simply a set of innocent bedtime stories that taught good morals. As far back as anyone could tell, twenty-five hundred years at least, the stories had been told and passed down from generation to generation. The old storytellers, like Gavrel, had them all memorized.

Often, Gavrel and Ashe would pretend that they lived in the times of magic; that she was a countess with enormous power, and he would play along. He explained that she was the countess because he was the Jarl of a region called Dunnæ. She knew that part of their story was, at least, partially true.

Her family had indeed moved to the Citadel from a town called Barik in the region of Dunnæ, but the bit about magic was common only to the legends that all the people of Roth'tai had grown up with. Perhaps there really was magic during an earlier age, but it was nowhere to be found in the world today. And the bit about her father being Jarl, she supposed it could've been true, but if he were noble, why would he leave?

Gavrel was a good father. When Ashe would pretend to send a fireball at him during one of their magical battles, he would cower in the corner and dramatically flail on the floor when the attack struck. He would beg for her to stay her hand and spare his life. Ashe would always smile and pardon him of his transgression. She would curtsy and address him as Jarl, and he would return the favor with a deep, sweeping bow.

On the evening before he left on the fateful voyage, they were playing their magic stories when Gavrel took Ashe by the hand and led her to the dungeon; a small cellar that was probably used for housing criminals temporarily. The home they lived in was an old guard station with reinforced walls and special nooks and crannies that other homes in the Citadel did not have. This dungeon was a place where mysterious things happened.

In the dungeon, Gavrel lit a candle and looked at Ashe. "My dear," he began, "before I leave, there is something I must do."

"What, Papa?" she asked.

He cleared his throat, "We've been using magic in our games, but you've never properly been conferred." He smiled.

"Conferred?" she asked. "What does that mean?"

"Oh, it's a very important ritual," he said as he knelt to be eye level with her. "Before a person can actually use magic, they must be given the authority to use that magic."

"What's authority mean?"

"Authority is a special type of permission to use the magic. In the days of old, kids would be trained until they were fourteen years old, then they'd be conferred so that they could have the permission to use magic. Do you think we should confer the magic on you?"

Ashe looked at him and cocked her head to the side, inquisitively, "How does it work?"

"Well, you have to be conferred by someone who has great power. I have that great power." He brushed the hair out of her face, "Do you want a proper conferral?"

She nodded excitedly. However, what transpired next in the cellar of their house that night was still a mystery to her. Something happened that was strange, but she didn't know if it really happened, or if her memory made it real because she wanted it to be so. Gavrel took out a piece of chalk from his pocket and drew two circles on the cellar floor and connected them with another line. "These are the channels of Magic," he explained. "They will allow the authority I possess to flow to you." Ashe played along. This was a new game and a bit of the legend she hadn't heard of before; she was excited to learn something new. "Stand in that circle," he said, pointing to one, "and don't move. You need to stay in the circle."

"Ok," she said. She stood in the circle and turned to her father, beaming with smiles. "Do I need to do anything else?"

"No, sweetheart," he said, moving to the other circle. "No matter what you see, do not move from that circle." He was serious. Ashe had never seen seriousness like this in their games before.

Gavrel raised his hands toward the ceiling and said in a soft, yet commanding voice, "By the high command of Gavrel Graves of Barik, and by my authority as an elder, I do bestow the authority to use the resources of the Rylis upon Ashelyn Graves of Barik, who has been identified as one with aptitude to command with power. I do hereby elevate her to the greater power, to the level of high mage, and give unto her dominion over all possessors of the Lesser Power. This power shall remain with her until such time that she is released by one who is of greater authority."

A dark rumbling sound echoed from outside like thunder on a stormy day. Young Ashe assumed it might actually be thunder, or perhaps it was just the kids running down the street playing or the king's horses walking past toward the palace. Whatever it was, it made the game feel more real. Then, something else happened. She was not sure if it really happened, or if it was a dream that her mind had combined with the real memory.

In the center of the room, a tiny light no larger than the flame of the candle appeared. It was perfectly round and was brilliant gold. It slowly moved down to the chalk lines drawn on the floor of the cellar. Then it seemed to dissolve into the floor, and the chalk line lit up. Ashe looked up at her father who was smiling. He held out his hand, his palm toward her, and said, "Ashe, with this power, you shall command with the authority of the Rylis. This great honor I confer upon you."

Slowly, the markings in the floor around the circle in which her father stood faded, and the light seemed to flow across the connecting line to the circle she stood within. She watched as her circle pulsed with the golden light. Then, all at once, the light leaped off the floor and onto her skin. Tiny speckles of light covered her like stars shining in the night sky before slowly fading, leaving the room dark and boring as it had been before. Gavrel fell to his knees and hugged Ashe. He whispered into her ear. "You are now properly magical."

That was the last time she saw her father. The next morning, the shipping vessel left from the port in Keiper and never returned. Yearly, on the anniversary of his disappearance, Ashe would reminisce in her mind the strange things she remembered happening in the cellar before he left. She was fairly certain that the years had tampered with the memory, combining reality with a dream, but something felt genuinely familiar about it.

Ashe held onto the stories of magic, reciting them to herself as she fell asleep at night. When her mother had taught her how to write, she would practice every day by transcribing the stories she could remember into her journal. She enjoyed writing; it made her feel close to him.

She had never witnessed what she considered to be real magic before, nor since. But for those two minutes in that cellar, she was positively certain that something magical had happened, and she held onto that hope. She hadn't shared her experience with anyone either because it was particularly special to her or because she was afraid of what others, including her mother, would think. She simply cherished the last memory of her father the best way she knew how.