Draeven sat by the well, sunlight warming the cool stone of the bench, the open pages of his notebook fluttering slightly in the breeze. He bit his lip in concentration, scrawling another word on the page, then chewed on the end of his pencil. He lifted his gaze, searching for inspiration, surveying the empty gardens of the citadel, a square of green vegetation in walls of carved marble. Towers of ivory-colored stone rose around it like the points of a crown. A paved marble path led to the towering heart of the citadel through doors of wood carved and gilded to represent symbols of elemental magic.
Draeven wrote another word, frowning, unhappy with his rhyme. He flicked a lock of dark red hair from his mismatched eyes, one blue and one green. Both stared at the page as if willing the spell to work and the words to align in the right way. But, this time, eloquence wasn’t enough.
A swirl of dark smoke condensed into existence, coalescing into a human shape. A relatively young man, with dark hair, his eyes glinted a deep shade of purple. His irises were just slightly iridescent and shimmering. The sorcerer smiled, bemused.
“Writing in the sun now, are we? Did you get tired of being so pale?” Nathaniel mocked. Draeven rolled his eyes.
“I was writing a growth spell. It seemed fitting to be in the gardens,” the spellwriter said calmly. Nathaniel sat down on the bench with a flourish and scoffed.
“Who asked for a growth spell?”
“Melinda. She’s been given garden duty for the month,” Draeven answered, returning to his work. Nate lifted an eyebrow, gazing at the notebook.
“Honestly, not your best work.”
“It’s not as easy as it looks, you know,” Draeven said irritably.
“Nonsense. You’ve written pyrotechnic spells that put Archmages to shame, weather spells that rocked castle walls and a shield spell even I couldn’t break. Then there was that alphabetical ordering spell that still stops anyone from misplacing books in the library. ” He paused. “Don’t you ever get tired?”
“Of what?” Draeven asked, lifting his gaze from the page again.
“Of writing spells you can’t ever use.” Nate answered bluntly. Draeven hesitated, unsure of what to say.
“I’m used to it. I just wasn’t born with magic,” he said, shrugging.
“Well, you’ve got more influence than any of the actual apprentices. To be honest, it’s probably best you can’t use your own spells. You’d be terrifyingly good at it.” Nathaniel said with a friendly smile. He was often mocking, always ready to tease, but sometimes he could be kind. Draeven smiled.
"Thanks,” the spellwriter answered, blushing slightly. Nathaniel grinned.
“Of course, you’re running out of inspiration again. It seems to happen at the same time every year, doesn’t it?” Draeven lifted an eyebrow, cocking his head to the side.
“Actually, it does. And if I remember correctly... it’s also round about the time you ask me for a ‘Spell to continue another’. Right?”
“Right. It doesn’t have to be very powerful. This spell is pretty amazing, and it only has to last for another year anyway.”
“You’ve told me that every year since I’ve been here. Can you still not tell me what the spell actually is?”
“Can, but won’t,” Nate answered cheerfully.
There was no point arguing, so Draeven scrawled a few lines on the next page, tore it out, and handed it to Nathaniel. His apparent lack of inspiration didn’t seem to apply to the spell he wrote every year.
