Chapter 3: The First Stirrings

Success! A triumphant grin lit up Kael's face. The instant his focus wavered, the invisible thread of magic snapped, and the leaf fluttered back to the dew-kissed grass. He wasn't discouraged. Taking a steadying breath, he narrowed his eyes and reached out with his mind once more. Again, the leaf lifted, trembling in the air. This time, he held it for longer, guiding it through a clumsy, swirling dance before his concentration finally broke. He practiced again and again, each attempt lasting longer than the last. Soon, he switched from the weightless leaf to a small, smooth pebble. The difficulty spiked immediately. It felt like starting over; the stone wobbled precariously, fighting his will at every moment before dropping heavily to the ground. But with every failure, a thrill coursed through him. Kael grew more excited with each attempt, losing himself in the intoxicating feeling of commanding the unseen. The hours melted away, forgotten. He was so engrossed that he didn't hear Bilbo approach until the Hobbit cleared his throat. "Kael? Are you... are you practicing magic?" Bilbo asked, his eyes wide with an astonishment that bordered on reverence. Kael let the pebble drop and nodded, a little sheepishly. "Something like that. It's not really a spell. Just... pushing things with my mind." In truth, it was a pathetically weak display. He could barely lift a stone, a feat far less impressive than simply throwing it. It held no power, no destructive force at all. But to Bilbo, it was the most wondrous thing he had ever seen. "That's just so... cool!" the Hobbit breathed, his eyes shining with adoration. "Kael, can you do it again? Please!" Warmed by the Hobbit's genuine admiration, Kael felt a surge of playful pride. He couldn't resist showing off a little. "As you wish." He extended a hand towards Bilbo's immaculate garden. A moment later, the garden seemed to exhale a cloud of vibrant color. Hundreds of petals—from roses, lilies, and tiny forget-me-nots—lifted from their stems. They swirled into a silent, dazzling vortex of red, yellow, and blue, dancing in the air around them. Bilbo's jaw dropped, his face a mask of pure, unadulterated shock. Over the next few days, Kael dedicated himself entirely to practicing his newfound control. He progressed rapidly, moving from small pebbles to objects weighing a dozen pounds. The duration of his control stretched from a mere two minutes to nearly half an hour. He even began to multitask, attempting to command several objects at once—a far more difficult feat than the simple, flashy petal trick. Soon, it became a common sight in Bag End to see a book drifting from a shelf, a log floating toward the fireplace, or a plate hovering patiently next to an armchair. Bilbo, for his part, went from initial shock to comfortable acceptance. He grew so accustomed to it that if he was feeling particularly lazy, he would simply call out for Kael to float a faraway item over to him. One morning, however, Kael's practice came to a halt. The larder at Bag End was nearly bare. It was time for a trip into town. They walked the winding path down the Hill, passing through the idyllic, pastoral landscapes of the Shire. A few Hobbits tilling their fields stopped their work to stare, their curiosity piqued by the sight of the tall Man. In a place like Hobbiton, secrets didn't last long. The news that a Man was staying with the reclusive Mister Baggins had already made its rounds. After crossing the stone double-arch bridge past the mill, they arrived at the heart of Hobbiton. The Hobbit-holes here were built closer together, and a few structures, like the famous Green Dragon Inn, looked more like the low-slung buildings of Men. The market was a hive of activity. Hobbits hawked their wares, bartering for goods and haggling over prices, while their children, the fauntlings, weaved joyfully through the crowd. Kael, towering over everyone, was an immediate spectacle. The adults cast subtle, sideways glances, but the children were far bolder. A small group gathered around him, and one particularly brave little Hobbit with a head of dusty-blonde curls tugged on the hem of his tunic. "Are you a Man?" he asked, his eyes wide with innocent curiosity. Kael looked down at the little fellow, who barely reached his knees, and smiled, ruffling his hair. "Yes, I am." Bilbo, bristling at the idea that his new friend might be looked down upon, puffed out his chest. "Kael is not just a Man," he declared loudly, drawing the attention of everyone nearby. "He is a Wizard!" "Wow!" the children gasped in unison, their mouths forming perfect circles of shock. The surrounding adult Hobbits murmured in surprise, their curious gazes turning to ones of respect. Wizards, after all, were figures of legend—powerful and mysterious. The children, however, felt no reverence, only excitement. They mobbed Kael, begging him to show them some magic. Kael laughed and obliged. With a gentle, focused thought, he made their little cloth hats lift from their heads, flapping their earflaps as they fluttered in a circle around them. The children shrieked with delight and gave chase, trying to catch their runaway hats. The adult Hobbits who witnessed the display were equally astonished. Bilbo watched, looking as proud as if he had performed the magic himself. "Ahem," he said with feigned solemnity. "Come, Kael. We should finish our shopping." Kael nodded, amused, and followed the Hobbit, who strutted away like a victorious general. Once Bilbo had purchased their groceries, Kael made his way to Hobbiton's only blacksmith. The smith, a burly Hobbit with soot-stained hands, was surprised to see a Man walk into his shop but greeted him politely. "What can I do for you, customer?" Kael's eyes scanned the wares hanging on the walls—mostly farming tools like hoes and scythes, alongside kitchen knives and wood-splitting axes. "Do you sell weapons? A longsword, perhaps?" The blacksmith gave him an odd look and shook his head. "Hobbits aren't a fighting folk. There's no market for swords and the like here." Kael's hopes fell. "What if I wanted to commission one? How long would that take?" "Sorry, customer," the smith said, shaking his head again. "I'd love the business, but we've never forged a proper sword. Wouldn't even know where to begin. If you want a quality blade, you'd best travel to Bree. It's a town of Men, east of the Shire. They know their way around a forge there." Kael sighed. According to Bilbo, Bree was over a hundred miles away, a journey of at least a week on foot. He wasn't ready for that. Not yet. Since a sword was out of the question, he settled for the next best thing. He picked out two heavy-duty butcher's cleavers. They were thick, sharp, and brutally pragmatic. While the smith didn't forge weapons, he made tools that were built to last, and these cleavers could easily hack through bone. Kael paid the smith with coin he had borrowed from Bilbo. He was, for all intents and purposes, penniless and living entirely on the Hobbit's charity, with no idea when he might be able to pay him back. Yet the kind-hearted Hobbit didn't seem to mind in the slightest and had never once mentioned repayment. As they walked back towards Bag End, their baskets full of food, Kael felt a deep and profound sense of gratitude. Meeting Bilbo first had been a stroke of incredible luck. Without him, he wouldn't be surviving—let alone feeling so wonderfully, impossibly at ease. *** (End of Chapter) [Check Out My Patreon For +20 Extra Chapters On All My Fanfics!!] [www. 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