Chapter Text
The gurgle of the cauldrons, fire crackling, and mana moved in wisps through the air, and Martyn was pretty sure he’d been holding his breath for the last five minutes straight.
The witch he’d apprenticed under was an old woman with crow lines beneath her eyes and piercing dark eyes, silver hair tied neatly back into a bun. Her apothecary was usually slammed at this time, and Martyn would be covering the counter, cranking his social skills dial up to 11 as he managed the ridiculous number of people coming in and out, yelling for orders, trying to keep them from messing with any merchandise, it was a battle every day.
This morning, however, she’d kept the shop closed.
Because this morning was Martyn’s fourth try at graduating.
Or, well, graduating was a strong word. The whole system of becoming a full-fledged witch was managed by a branch of the adventurers guild, perhaps calling them the witches association wouldn’t be far off, but honestly, it was all pretty complicated.
Martyn would know, he’d been trying his best to keep trudging through for the past ten years. He’d been born with an aptitude for magic. He had strong appraisal skills, which were a must for anyone who wanted to become a high-level witch, especially to the level that they’d receive clearance through the guild to open their own apothecary.
A street rat and an orphan, Martyn had been taken in by a coven of witches in the royal capital. Respected folks, they were the healers and educators of the magic-wielding members of high society, which was certainly one route.
Martyn sure as hell wasn’t taking that.
Clearance to open his own apothecary was what he wanted.
So he could leave this city he’d lived his entire life in, ditch this place, find somewhere beautiful and wild, some small village that didn’t have a witch yet. He could set up shop there, something small. With his magic and skills, he could take care of himself even if his shop did little more than support the sparse locals.
And he could finally have some peace and quiet.
Alone. Martyn wanted more than anything after living his entire life somewhere too loud, too crowded, too much, where he’d constantly have to be switched on, playing charisma and excess for whoever he saw, too just…be alone for a while.
Yeah.
That sounded perfect.
Martyn had made a yearly attempt for the past three years, and this was his fourth. Producing a series of complicated potions from saplings and roots, obscure material to the final product. If it wasn’t perfect, well, he’d just have to start the process all over again. Considering the length of time it took to carefully grow, find, manufacture, and cure many of the items required for the potions, it wouldn’t be till the next harvest season that he’d be able to try again. That meant another year in the city, another year running the front of the shop for his teacher, sleeping in the cramped loft above the shop, where it was so loud even at the latest hours of the night that sometimes he’d open the window and fire a flare spell out just to scare the drunk adventurers wandering home from their favorite bar on the corner into shutting up for ten minutes. Martyn was so tired of the city, he was so tired of putting up a face, and while he wasn’t going to claim he had no fond memories of this place, that was far from the truth, he was ready to move on.
It was a place he would miss once he’d left it, he was sure.
But that could happen once he’d finally left.
His teacher poured several drops of the seventh potion and final potion he’d produced out into the palm of her hand. A high healing potion, one of such quality it took pricey, time-consuming, finicky ingredients and almost a year's worth of prep time just to brew. Her eyes sparked as her appraisal skills activated, and layered into the simple skill was a series of spells Martyn had a fundamental grasp of. He knew he had decades to go before he’d be able to match her, and perform the tasks she was doing in checking his work so easily without an enormous strain.
He fidgeted, trying not to shift on his feet too much. The entire time she hadn’t said a word, nor had her expression shifted in any way that would’ve given him his answer.
The droplets of the last potion she’d poured out absorbed into the whorls of her wrinkled palm. She raised her dark eyes to fix on his face. If it were even possible, he tried to stand up straighter.
“You’ve done a lot of work this year.”
Martyn blinked.
That was different from his previous three failures. She wasn’t the type to mince words, so she’d usually flatly tell him he’d fallen short.
“I-I…yes, I suppose I did.” The blonde wasn’t sure what to say, and his teacher leaned back in her chair, it creaked, and she set the final potion back onto her desk. The golden liquid in the glass bottle gleamed.
“It’s a shame.”
A stab of panic struck his heart. Then her impassive expression eased as her lips pulled toward a smile.
“I’ll have a hard time finding someone even half as good as you.”
Blink. Blink.
Martyn threw his hands out from where he’d had them clasped behind his back, almost like he was bracing himself.
“I passed!?”
She nodded. “You passed.”
A dizzying rush of emotions erupted, Martyn felt tears of joy stinging in his eyes as he stomped a boot against the wooden floor.
“Yeah-haha! Finally! Yes, yes, yes!” He spun around once, fingers flying out, then fisted, giddiness bouncing him up and down a few times, and his teacher let out a croaking chuckle. She stood up, coming around the desk, and Martyn promptly snatched her off the ground into a hug.
“Thank you! Thank you thank you!” He exclaimed, spinning around a few more times. She was far shorter than him. Short and stocky, whereas he was tall and willowy. She laughed a bit louder and clapped him on the back a few times.
“Alright, alright! You’ve got yourself to thank, you did all the hard work.”
Martyn set her down, backing up a few steps as he continued bouncing, unable to contain his joy.
Years of hard work.
All the work he’d put in over his entire life.
It was finally culminating. Today was the last day he’d have to introduce himself as only an apprentice.
“Well, yeah, but still you…you taught me how to do it! And I did it! I did it!”
He crowed a few more times, and his teacher shook her head at him, but the motion was fond. She was one of the members of the largest coven in the old continent.
That is, she was one of the witches who’d taken him in as a child. The tiny loft above her apothecary had been a safe haven since he’d come to this shop so long ago, mana sparking uncontrollably from his fingertips, information scuttling half-understood in his brain, struggling to comprehend all the gifts he’d been born with, make them useful instead of allowing them to be the death of him, flood his lungs and try to drown him upon powers he couldn't manipulate without someone to show him the way.
She wasn’t the only one. Martyn certainly intended to make a lap of the various apothecaries and clinics scattered around the city that had juggled him back and forth, each of them teaching him so much. He’d need to thank all of them for their help, for getting him this far.
And then, finally, he’d be leaving this city.
“You did. And so, it is my duty and privilege to bestow upon you as your teacher…” She waggled an eyebrow as she said the words with a dramatic tilt, and Martyn straightened back, watching as she moved back behind her desk, opening the drawer.
She produced a silver necklace with a smokey red pendant, clasped in silver as well. In the center of it was a stylized symbol of a wolfs head. Martyn recognized it as the symbol of his teachers particular branch of witchcraft, passed from mentor to apprentice. When Martyn eventually took in his own apprentice, as was his responsibility decades from how once he was well-established and a master of his craft himself, he’d pass the symbol on to them. An unbroken chain, and furthermore, a sign that Martyn could show across the continent in order to prove he was a full-fledged witch with the backing of the royal capital coven.
“…my emblem. Wear it well, may it protect you, and when the time comes may you pass a newly forged one down to a witch who has proven themself just as worthy.” She opened the clasp, and Martyn bowed his head so she could reach to fasten it around his neck.
When he straightened back up, the pendant landed against his collarbone, exposed from the V of his shirt over which he wore a black laced corset belt with green laces. The collar of the shirt was turned up against the back of his neck, and he reached back to free his long blonde hair from being caught beneath the silver chain.
He caught the pendant in one hand and raised it to look at the symbol, one he’d seen so proudly displayed on the sign for his teachers apothecary, and on the large ring she wore on fingers gnarled and callused from a lifetime of work.
“Thank you.” He found himself murmuring again.
She smiled. “You’re welcome.”
Later.
After a dinner with quite the celebratory mood, his teacher had him sat in the chair across from her desk. His pendant, which marked him as a full-fledged witch, still felt heavy around his neck and cold against his skin beneath his shirt. He knew he’d soon grow used to it, considering he never planned on taking it off, after all the work he’d done to earn it.
“So I know we’ve discussed where you’d like to end up, you’ve said over and over you don’t want to stay here in the capital.” She looked up a him, quirking an eyebrow to ensure he was set in his decision.
“Please no.” Martyn insisted.
He knew he’d be able to get a cushy job almost immediately in the capital. He’d known pretty much every prominent witch of the community for years by this point, most of them had served a part in teaching him when the coven had taken him in as a child. If he stayed here, he could probably make himself a wealthy man within only a few years.
Martyn didn’t want that, though.
Wealth wasn’t a huge deal to him, considering his prowess with magic allowed him to maintain himself pretty much on his own, and more than anything he wanted to escape the noise of the city.
He certainly did want to see more of the world, too. That was, of course, a big part of it. Yet it wasn’t like he wanted to turn himself into some sort of traveller. He wanted to set down roots, establish his own apothecary and support a community, but he just wanted to do it somewhere without the crowds, the crush, the intensity of the city…it wasn’t for him. He’d lived all his life here, he didn’t want to have that continue to be fact.
“Fair enough…I’ve got a few other options…”
She unfurled a map of the old continent and pointed. “There’s a coven in Lord Heath’s domain, I’m acquainted with the head witch and could send you with a letter of introduction. They’d certainly be able to find a place for you out there, it’s mostly farming villages and the countryside, occasional city, but nothing that could even compare to the capital.”
Martyn made a hesitant noise in the back of his throat. “That sounds…fine…”
“Fine?” She prodded, and he sighed.
“I don’t…not that I don’t love our coven and what you’ve all done for me but…I really feel like being a coven witch as a career isn’t my calling.”
His teacher pressed her lips together a moment, considering.
“Well…there is Silversvale.”
“Silversvale?” Martyn parroted, and she pointed once more to the map, drawing his attention away from the domain of Lord Heath. Along the narrow mountain pass, the only one safely passable, was a singular dot with the name in swooping letters.
“A former mining town that ran dry almost a century ago…from what I’ve heard they make their living primarily off trading and resupplying with travelers moving along the mountain pass. It’s also got another nickname.”
“And what’s that?”
“Runners Roost.” She replied.
“It’s a safe haven for folks who don’t want to bother with the rest of the old continent, but also have no desire to get involved with the elves further north or the free hybrid cities beyond there. Rugged mountains, forests, but a good bit of arable farmland in the valley and along the ridge line…they’ve been looking for a witch to set up shop in their town for a long time. They’ve never been able to find one who’d stay longer than a few months.”
Martyn furrowed his brow. “And why’s that?”
She chuckled. “Because most young upstarts want to set out for the big city and prove themselves…you’re running the opposite direction…an old soul, through and through. Honestly, if I weren’t already so set in my ways, I’d have half a mind to join you…a retirement to the mountains sounds awfully nice.”
Martyn looked down at the map again, at the tiny speck on the map, a town in the mountains that saw all manner of travelers, and yet kept to itself and preferred things that way.
“…well, you’ll have to come and visit me, then. I’ll put you up in my loft.”
This got a laugh, his teacher chuckling at him, before she reached for her stationery.
“I’ll write you a letter of introduction for the Baron, but I doubt you’ll find much trouble. They’ll be thrilled to have a witch who wants to set up full-time in their town, I’m sure.”
Martyn nodded. “In that case, I’d best start getting my things in order. I plan to go around the next day or two and see everyone before I go.”
She smiled. “That would be good of you. We’ll miss you.”
The blonde hesitated, for a moment his throat tried to grow tight. For as badly as he’d always wanted to leave, that didn’t mean he hated this place. There would always be parts of this city that held pieces of his heart.
All the same, this was a moment to celebrate.
“I’ll come back from time to time. And I’ll be sure to write.”
“I’d be furious if you didn’t.” She replied, looking down at the map again.
“And…hm.”
The way her expression clouded from the cheer of earlier gave him pause. Martyn leaned forward in his chair. “Something wrong?”
“The route is quite long. Silversvale is nearly on the opposite side of the old continent…I’d guess it’ll probably take you well over a month, and that’s if you travel fast and don’t run into any issues.”
“Which is optimistic, isn’t it?”
“More like delusional.” She shot him down, and Martyn sighed.
“Also…” She chewed her lip a moment. “…yes…you can’t travel alone.”
The blonde quirked an eyebrow. “Well, why not?”
“The roads aren’t safe. A young witch on his own, you’ll be a target without even trying.”
Martyn groaned. “But I don’t want to deal with mercenaries…I’ve been saving my coin, but even still, they’ll bleed me dry.”
“You went straight for mercenaries?” His teacher asked, looking amused again, and Martyn huffed. “Well, maybe they aren’t exactly legal, but they’re a hell of a lot easier to deal with than the adventurers! Those people wouldn’t know quiet if it launched a fireball into their face!”
“I think you just hold a grudge because one of their favorite watering holes is on our corner.” She mused, and Martyn shook his head.
“No adventurers. No way, no how.”
For a few seconds it was quiet, then his teacher shrugged. “There is one other option.”
“Oh?”
“Buy a hybrid to take along with you.”
Martyn stiffened in his seat.
He was no stranger to the practice of enslaving hybrids.
It was a common sight around the city, those who weren’t considered people, and the prejudice of it all was concerning at the absolute least.
Now, Martyn couldn’t sit here and claim he was somehow incredibly against the system. Obviously he wasn’t a fan of it either. It wasn’t something he ever thought about very hard, it was a fact of life, and he moved on with it. He’d been an orphan starving and begging for scraps till his mana had started literally leaking out of him, and he’d dragged himself to his teachers apothecary seeking help for the pain, unsure of if he’d even receive it. He knew he’d been lucky to choose her doorstep to fling himself upon at twelve years old, for while the witches of the coven were all quite generous, especially to those who shared their gifts, the royal capital was a massive place, and Martyn knew of others who’d have kicked him back to the streets without a second thought. Writhing and struggling to breathe as his mana seemed like it filled his lungs, trying to drown him upon the air.
He was no stranger to suffering.
Even still, he had no desire to be the one holding a leash.
“I’ll pass.”
“Then it’s adventurers or mercenaries.” His teacher replied flatly, and Martyn grumbled. “I can’t just go alone?”
“I won’t allow it.” She said, and Martyn groaned.
“I’m a grown man, I can…”
“It’s not about that. You’re well aware of how easy it is to be swallowed up by the dark if you take one wrong step…it’s kill or be killed, steal or get stolen from, and maybe every once in a while you might just get lucky.”
She drummed her fingers atop the map a few times, fixing him with a narrow stare. This drew Martyn’s eyes down onto the map again.
He saw Silversvale, and his bright green eyes followed the mountain pass, through the northern elven territory and arrived at the northern coast. Speckled along there, both along the coastline as well as several upon the various islands that hugged the shore.
Free hybrid cities…
Maybe he could make this work.
“Fine. I’ll buy a hybrid. Where would I go for one that’d suit what I need, though?”
“There are a few places I know of…” She trailed off as she leaned back in her chair, worrying her lip as she considered.
“…but, I’d say the best place that wouldn’t try to rip you off would be the arena.”
Martyn scrunched up his face. “The arena?”
The gladiatorial games put on by the wealthy moguls who owned the arena were popular. Betting on the fights was a common pastime, and Martyn knew the drinks flowed at those events to get the prices even higher.
The slaves who’d fight in those matches didn’t see any of that coin.
His stomach twisted with discomfort. His teacher didn’t look particularly thrilled either, but her investment in ensuring Martyn would be safe on his travels outweighed the discontentment in her gaze.
“If you go in the morning before any matches are put on, and speak to one of the receptionists, you should be able to see the hybrids who are being sold by the arena owner. Maybe due to an injury they can’t fight anymore, maybe they just weren’t pulling crowds…but at the very least all of them will be trained fighters. Someone like that would be more than able to protect you.”
Martyn tightened his fingers against his knees. The whole idea still rubbed him wrong, and yet, with the inklings of a plan in mind for how to proceed, he thought maybe it could turn out to be a good thing.
“Got it. I’ll go before I leave.”