The cart had already vanished down the road when silence returned to the land around Elise's house. All that remained were the chirps of hidden insects in the brush and the gentle breeze rustling the garden leaves. Elian kept his eyes fixed on the path, as if trying to memorize every curve, every footprint his father had left behind.
That was when Elise's voice, soft yet firm, cut through the quiet like a breeze that shifts direction.
"Come on, Elian. I need to explain how our new routine will work."
She led him to a room near the infirmary, on the lower floor.
Though small and with a low ceiling, the space seemed to carry more weight than many royal halls. The walls were lined with ancient shelves, crammed with leather-bound grimoires and cracked-spined books. Some titles were inscribed in languages Elian had never seen; others were so coated in dust they looked untouched for decades.
The air was thick — a blend of dust, melted wax, myrrh resin, and dried verbena leaves. A sacred scent, dense and ancient, as if time itself had left its trace there.
"She lives this every day?" Elian thought, struck by a strange reverence. "How many years did it take her to understand even half of what's in here?"
At the center of the room stood a dark wooden table, cluttered in a way that somehow made sense: vials of colored liquids, dried quills, rune stones, open scrolls, and an old compass resting atop a wax-stained star map. The flickering flame of a single candle danced nearby, casting shadows that crawled along the table's edge.
Elian approached in silence, as if afraid to break something with just his gaze.
"Impressed?" Elise asked with a faint smile tugging at the corner of her lips. Her tone was teasing, but laced with warmth. She seemed to enjoy watching his awe — perhaps the same awe she herself once felt.
"It's… a lot," Elian murmured, a bit ashamed of his own ignorance.
"She's spent a lifetime here… and I barely know how to cast a spell."
Elise walked over to the unlit fireplace and stopped before a portrait hanging above it. The painting depicted a man with a stern expression, hollow eyes, and a dark robe. His face was etched with deep wrinkles, but what stood out most was his gaze — a gaze that felt unfinished, as though he had left this world too soon.
"Who was he?" Elian asked respectfully.
Elise took a few seconds before answering. When she finally spoke, her voice was quieter, almost restrained.
"My master," she said without looking away. "He built all of this. Everything I know… came from him."
Elian said nothing. No words felt worthy.
In that moment, Elise seemed to take on a new form. She was no longer just the mage he had met — but someone who had weathered loss and silence, who bore a legacy… and scars.
On one of the nearby shelves, something caught his eye: a blue-gray book with faded gold lettering. The title read Sanare: Foundations of Magical Restoration. At its center was a lotus flower symbol, delicate yet powerful.
"Healing magic… so this is where it begins?" Elian thought, gently touching the spine, as if he might awaken something sleeping within.
Further ahead, an hourglass was spinning… backwards. Grains of sand floated upward, defying all logic.
Elian leaned closer, curious.
"Don't touch the hourglass," Elise warned, her smile cryptic. "Unless you want to freeze a decade of your life… or age two hundred years. Depends on its mood today."
Elian stepped back, eyes wide.
"She's joking… right?" he wondered, not entirely convinced. "I really hope so."
In that small sanctuary of wood, shadow, and silence, knowledge lived. Not the glorious knowledge of royal courts, nor the brutal truths of battlefields — but the kind forged through patience, discipline… and pain.
"So sometimes he acts like a child, as he should," Elise thought, watching the wonder light up Elian's face as he took in her study. Despite the sharp mind and soul marked by another life, he was still a five-year-old boy, enchanted by books and candles like hidden treasures.
"Sit down, Elian. Let's talk about how things will work from now on," she finally said, voice firm yet warm.
As she spoke, Elise retrieved a blue-gray grimoire and a clean notebook. She placed both on the table in front of him with a deliberate gesture.
"As I told you before, you'll assist me as a healer's apprentice — organizing reports, transcribing grimoires." She paused briefly, waiting for a response. "Understood, Elian?"
"Yes, I understand," he replied, still eyeing the books with a hint of uncertainty. "But… I don't know any healing spells. My mother never taught me anything… how can I help you with that?"
He seemed embarrassed, not for himself, but for Maria — as if not knowing how to heal was somehow her fault. But Elise already knew that. And she didn't judge.
"I know," she said calmly, pushing the first grimoire toward him. "That's why I set this book aside. You'll read it every day and assist me with low-risk patients. You'll learn by observing, by doing… and by making mistakes."
Elian nodded slowly, absorbing every word.
"The other book," she continued, lifting the blank notebook, "will be your personal grimoire. You'll write everything down: your doubts, your failures, your discoveries. What you feel, what you learn. That's how true learning happens."
Elian took the two books carefully, as if cradling something sacred.
"Yes, Master!" he replied with resolve, his expression serious. But Elise noticed the light in his eyes. This was more than duty — it was the beginning of something he deeply desired.
"Good," Elise said, crossing her arms as she leaned back in her chair. "This will be your new routine — at least from Monday to Friday." She paused, then met his eyes. "We'll have set times to wake, eat, study, practice magic… and rest."
Her gaze softened.
"I'm not a cruel master, Elian," she added with a small smile. "But I am demanding."
Elian didn't respond right away. He simply nodded. He knew what discipline meant. He knew the value of routine, even if he had never followed one in his past life.
"And where will I sleep, Master?" he asked softly, hesitating — as if the question was too childish to say aloud. "Will I stay in the infirmary?"
Elise couldn't hide a smile. That question betrayed him — no matter how old his soul was, he was still just a boy facing the unknown.
"You're not my patient anymore, Elian," she said with mild sarcasm. "You're my apprentice now."
A flush rose to his cheeks. He lowered his gaze, fidgeting with his fingers, trying to hide his innocence.
"I prepared a room for you upstairs," Elise continued, her tone gentler now. "It's small, but it has a bed, blankets, and a desk. You can study, write, rest… It's your space. If you need anything, just let me know."
Elian simply nodded, still avoiding her eyes — unsure how to react to such care. Part of him didn't feel he deserved it.
To hide his embarrassment, he changed the subject, lifting the books in both hands as if trying to hurry time along.
"So… am I going to start practicing healing magic now?"
Elise, who was walking toward one of the shelves, replied without hesitation:
"No."
Her answer was blunt enough to make Elian frown. He had expected that this moment — his first as an official apprentice — would begin with a spell, a spark of magic, perhaps even a failed attempt. But no.
Noticing the confusion on his face, Elise turned to him and asked:
"Elian, do you know how money works?"
The question landed like a stone in a still pond. Simple — but sinking fast.
"No…" he replied, almost shyly.
"Exactly," Elise said, approaching with a small leather pouch in hand. The clinking of coins inside carried the weight of a lesson. "How can you charge someone for treatment, or even understand what you're being paid, if you don't know the basics?"
"You're right, Master… I'm sorry," Elian murmured, lowering his head.
Elise stepped closer and placed a hand gently on his head, as if to ease the weight of the mistake.
"There's no need to apologize for that. It's natural not to know. You're a child… and the son of farmers. That's not a criticism — just the truth. But that's why I'm here: to teach you. Magic isn't just spells. It's also wisdom."
Elian nodded slowly, clutching the grimoires to his chest, as if trying to absorb it all at once. Inside, he felt small — but also willing. As if each step on this new path was bigger than he was.
Elise pulled out a chair, sat beside him, and began the lesson.
"Since you'll be helping me with treatments and potions, you need to understand how the world works out there," she said, untying the pouch.
She poured its contents onto the table. Three types of coins rolled across the wood: one gold, one silver, and one worn copper.
"There are three official coins in circulation in Elveron," Elise began, lining them up. "This one is the Solar," she said, lifting the gold coin between her fingers. "Made of pure gold. It's the most valuable. One Solar equals ten Coronas — these here," she picked up the silver coin, "made of refined silver. And finally, we have the Centime," she said, picking up the smallest, copper coin. "One hundred Centimes make one Corona."
Elian watched carefully, though confusion started to swirl inside him.
"So… one Solar is worth a thousand Centimes?" he asked, trying to piece it together.
"Exactly," Elise confirmed with a brief smile. "A thousand Centimes = ten Coronas = one Solar."
Elian bit his lip, thoughtful. The structure was simple… but he could feel the implications ran much deeper.
"And… how much is a sack of wheat worth?" he asked, trying to apply what he'd just learned.
"Good question," Elise said, pleased by his curiosity. "In normal times, a sixty-kilo sack goes for two to five Coronas. But during famine, the price can jump to eight or even ten Coronas. In farming villages like yours, the price is lower — about one and a half to two Coronas."
Elian blinked, surprised.
"So… just selling wheat, Father made good money. But it all depended on timing, location… and other people's hunger."
"And wages? How much do people earn?" he asked honestly, trying to understand where his family stood.
Elise leaned forward, arranging three rows of coins to illustrate.
"A common farmer, like your father, earns about five Centimes a day. That adds up to about one and a half Coronas a month — after taxes."
Elian swallowed hard.
"That's it…?"
"It's enough to buy bread, a bit of salt, maybe a cheap beer now and then… and survive," Elise said flatly.
Then she arranged another row.
"A skilled blacksmith or artisan might earn twenty Centimes to a Corona per day, depending on quality. A foot soldier earns around fifteen Centimes daily."
"And… a knight?" Elian asked, almost as if speaking of legends.
"Two Coronas a day," Elise replied. "A trained horse, armor… those aren't cheap. A mid-level merchant can profit up to five Coronas a day. And a minor noble…" — she made a dismissive gesture — "earns between ten to twenty Coronas daily, sometimes more, just for existing."
Elian leaned back in his chair, a tight knot forming in his stomach.
"Father worked all month to earn what a noble spends on dinner…"
"That's not fair," he murmured, not realizing he'd said it aloud.
Elise looked at him, serious.
"It isn't. But it's real," she said. "And you'll need to understand this world… if you want to survive in it."
Then she pointed to a small chart pinned to the side of the shelf — a rough list of prices:
Plain bread: 1 Centime
Mug of rustic beer: 2 Centimes
Simple tavern meal: 5 Centimes
Plain linen clothing: 1–2 Coronas
Iron sword: 10–15 Coronas
Packhorse: 50–80 Coronas
Basic lodging: 10 Centimes per night
Common magic amulet: 100–500 Coronas
Elian's eyes widened at the price of the amulet.
"Who can pay for that…?" he asked.
"Nobles. Wealthy merchants. Or contracted mages," Elise answered simply. "That's why being a mage is… a delicate position. We have access to powers others don't. And that changes everything."
Elian sat silently for a moment. The weight of what he had just learned felt heavier than any spell.
"Being a mage… isn't just casting. It's understanding the world. And surviving it."
"Are you ready to continue?" Elise asked, gathering the coins.
"Yes, Master," he replied, a new spark lighting his eyes.
As Elise placed the coins back into the pouch, she fell quiet for a few seconds — already thinking about the next lesson.
"Since we're talking about money," Elise said, pulling out a small notebook scribbled with tables and purple-inked numbers, "I think it's important you understand how much what we do is actually worth."
Elian shifted in his seat. Suddenly, learning magic didn't feel quite so magical anymore. It was… technical. Tangible. A system that, like everything else here, ran on cost and necessity.
"The price of a healing depends on the level of magic used," Elise began. "For example, if someone comes to me with a minor cut or a low-grade fever — something I can treat with a basic Sanare — I charge twenty centimes."
She paused briefly to make sure Elian was following.
"Sanare Medio," she continued, "is used for deeper wounds, hairline fractures, moderate burns… that goes for sixty centimes per spell."
"And the strongest one? Sanare Altiora?" Elian asked, curious.
Elise's expression tightened slightly before she answered.
"That one I can't use," she said, crossing her arms. "That spell belongs to one of the three major magical orders. And since I'm affiliated with the Tower of Wisdom, I don't have permission to cast it. But its price can reach one Solar per casting."
Elian's eyes widened.
"One Solar? For a single healing spell?"
"It's an extremely powerful incantation. It can close fatal wounds, regenerate organs… even bring someone back from the edge of death," Elise explained, her tone heavy. "And that has a cost — in gold and in energy. The energy required for Sanare Altiora could wipe out an unprepared mage."
Elian swallowed hard.
"So this is how the value of life is measured in this world… in gold coins."
Elise stood and walked to a nearby shelf filled with dusty glass bottles, each labeled in careful script. She selected three vials of different sizes and placed them in front of Elian.
"These are potions. Easier to store, more convenient to carry… but expensive to produce."
She pointed to the smallest one — a vial of light-blue liquid.
"Simple healing potion: thirty centimes. Good for scratches, nausea, mild infections. Common among laborers."
She then motioned to the medium vial, filled with a thicker baby-blue fluid.
"Mid-tier healing: two Coronas. Used by travelers, scouts, and soldiers. Heals serious wounds — but no miracles."
Lastly, she gestured to the largest vial — dark glass sealed with golden wax.
"Advanced healing," she said with a sigh. "Extremely rare, difficult to prepare, requires expensive ingredients and time. I sell it for three Solars. And even then, I make no more than ten a year."
"And who buys all this?" Elian asked, both awed and intrigued.
"Explorers, mostly," Elise replied. "Groups that delve into ancient ruins, cursed forests, forgotten catacombs… They don't always have healers with them, so they buy potions like people buy their last chance to live."
She glanced out the window, where the sun had begun to dip toward the horizon.
"I also sell to nobles who live too far from healers, or to those who simply want something on hand. For safety."
"But… here in Brumaria, it's just you, right?" Elian asked.
"Right," she said. "I'm the only healer in the village. And now you… you're my only apprentice."
Elian was quiet for a moment, letting it all sink in.
"Being a healer isn't just about magic. It's responsibility. It's livelihood. It's power."
"And what if I mess up a potion someday?" he asked in a whisper. "What if I hurt someone by mistake?"
Elise turned to him — serious, but with a warmth in her eyes.
"You will, Elian. Every mage makes mistakes. Every healer fails, at least once. But what defines you isn't the failure — it's what you do afterward."
She placed a firm hand on his shoulder.
"And I'll be here to guide you through it. Understood?"
Elian nodded.
"Yes, Master."
And in the silence that followed, he knew: true learning wouldn't come from books, but from mistakes, from risk… and from the courage to try again.