Umber’s First Darksday of Harvestfall, 1442, Landing of Lights, city of Luminara.


    Vaelith left the Landing of Lights with low spirits, her boots barely making a sound on the cobblestone streets. The grand architecture and radiant lights, which had felt so welcoming when she first arrived, now loomed overhead like a silent reminder of her failures. She wandered the city aimlessly, the lively bustle around her feeling distant, like she was walking through a fog. The guildhall strategy, which had sounded so obvious and easy when Elyssia had suggested it, had turned out to be a bust. Walking around hoping to stumble on a priest seemed even less likely to work.


    What am I doing?


    She had not realized how much the endless search for a priest had drained her until now, when her steps felt heavy and her thoughts sluggish. The rejections still gnawed at the edges of her mind, each one replaying in an endless loop. “Nobody parties at level one.”


    Maybe they were right. Maybe she needed to focus on herself for a bit. She needed to level up, make some kind of progress, or else risk wasting the entire night in frustration.


    Maybe I need to focus on myself for once.


    The advice of the Burrovian priest lingered in her mind, sharp and practical, like a thorn she could not quite shake loose. She had hoped to gather help, but she had not really considered how she had looked. A fresh, level-one character, still in her starter gear, with nothing to offer. Hoping someone might be charitable enough to help. Who would sacrifice their evening to help someone like that?


    … Well, I would.


    The thought struck her harder than she expected. Healer in those games attracted the selfless players, did they not? Was that why it pained her so much to be rejected? That even someone playing a priest did not see it in them to help her, not beyond offering some cynical piece of advice.


    She sighed. How many times had she upended her own evening to help a relative or friend who needed the carrying capacity of her SUV for a move or a last-minute errand? Too many to count.


    Vaelith had never believed in the transactional friendships she saw others practice. “Friends don’t count favours,” she would always say, whenever someone pointed it out. Her generosity had been a source of quiet pride—a way of showing love, expecting nothing in return.


    But now, standing in the streets of Luminara, feeling the sting of rejection after rejection, she wondered if she had ever really believed that. She did not count favours. That was true, but only because she had no need to.


    Because I never ask for help.


    That was the truth of it, was it not? She never asked. So, of course, the counter was still at zero. There was nothing to count because she had never allowed herself to lean on anyone else. Not in games. Not in real life. It was always her offering the help, never the other way around. She was always the one saying “yes,” the one dropping everything for others, the one who filled the gap.


    But here, in this world, that was not enough.


    Sometimes you have to focus on yourself.


    The realisation hit her hard, a knot of anxiety twisting in her chest, her breath catching as if the weight of it was pressing down on her ribs. It was not just about the game. It was not just about going up in levels or getting a party together. This was about something bigger.


    Something deeper. And she was not sure she was ready to face it yet.


    “Oi, you there, mage! Could use a hand with something!”


    A voice snapped her back to reality. She turned around instinctively, but the narrow street that had gently spiralled downward behind her now looked unfamiliar in the half-light. The high stone walls curled like a corkscrew around her, their subtle curve hiding both where she had come from and where she had been heading. For a moment, she felt disoriented, as though the street itself was folding in on her.


    Many of the lanterns lining the path flickered weakly, some barely glowing, others completely dark. The few that still held a steady flame cast uneven patches of light, illuminating sections of the cobblestone while leaving others submerged in shadow.


    Vaelith looked to her left and right, but could not find the source of the voice until it called again.


    “Over here!” The voice came from above her.


    Looking up, she saw him. A homini man, waving at her, standing on a balcony on the third story. He was perhaps in his fifties, wearing a thick leather apron. His eyes squinted in her direction, wrinkles deeply carved into his skin from years of hard work. His hands were rough and calloused, his hair more grey than brown, and he smelled faintly of soot and mana oil.


    Vaelith hesitated. She had just been thinking about how she needed to focus on herself, to stop bending at every little request from a stranger. Yet, here she was—already offering her help again without a second thought.


    “Uh… me? Does it have to be me?”


    “No, the other mage standing behind you,” he replied with a chuckle, gesturing to the empty street. “Yes, you! Think you can help an old man?”


    She hesitated, her arms folding defensively. “What exactly do you need?”


    Well, that resolution of mine lasted about one whole minute.


    The man, now halfway down a narrow iron staircase that spiralled from the balcony, did not seem to notice her inner conflict. His descent was slow and arduous, his knees stiff, the weight of years spent tending these lanterns etched into his movements. When he reached the bottom, he gave her a grateful smile, lines deepening around his eyes. “I can’t easily climb all the way up there myself,” he said with a wry smile, nodding toward a lantern that flickered high above, floating, as if held by… well, magic.


    Vaelith eyed the floating lantern. It simply hovered there. The faint glows of the few functional lanterns were barely enough to illuminate the twisting street below. The idea of fixing them was not exactly thrilling, and she had no clue how to even reach the thing. This was just more of the same—helping someone else when she should focus on her own progress. Getting stronger. Advancing. But then again, what was the alternative? Walking away? That was not like her.


    She let out a brief sigh. Let’s get this over with.


    “All right. So, what do you need me to do? I don’t exactly see a ladder around…”If you encounter this story on Amazon, note that it''s taken without permission from the author. Report it.


    He smiled warmly at her. “Well, let’s take this lamp to start with.” He turned his attention back to the floating lantern. “You’re a mage, yes? You should have a learned a combat spell or two? Projecting some magical force?”


    The list of combat abilities in Vaelith’s mind quickly flashed through her mind. Most of the mage class’s damaging spells were some kind of arcane force or telekinetic blow. She nodded. “Yes, I know a few combat spells. I don’t see how that can help you here?”


    “Yes, well. I’m getting to that point. I want you to cast Telekinetic Blast on it.”


    She blinked, incredulous. “You want me to blast the lantern?”


    He shook his head. “Not the way you’re thinking, no.” He mimed the spell with a flourish of his hand. “Finesse. Aim for the base, just enough force to dislodge it. Think precision, not power.”


    “That’s… not how I’ve ever used that spell,” she said, skepticism lacing her voice. “It’s for combat.”


    “Only if you’ve got no imagination.” He grinned, stepping aside to give her a clear shot. “Go on, try it.”


    Vaelith stared at the lantern, her stomach twisting. “And if I break it?”


    He shrugged. “Then I’ll fix it. They break all the time. But I don’t think you will. Here, I’ll show you. It’s easy. Watch this…”


    The old man went through the incantation of the Telekinetic Blast spell, aiming it at the lantern. He had altered the chant and the hand gestures, but it was still at its core the spell she knew. A soft Plink! sound echoed in the street, and the lantern rattled, then snapped free. It fell, the magical force that had kept it mid-air no longer holding it in place.


    Vaelith blinked, trying to process what the artisan had just showed. A spell she thought she could only cast in combat—repurposed so casually to bring down a lantern off an invisible peg?


    She glanced at the old man, who caught the lantern with practiced ease. His rough hands moved with the confidence that only came from years of experience. He smiled up at her, an amused glint in his eyes, as if he knew exactly what was going through her mind.


    “Magic isn’t all fireballs and explosions, you know.” He waved a hand toward the lanterns. “It’s a tool, not just a weapon. Focus on the details, and you can do far more than just clear a battlefield.”


    “Most spells appear meant for combat. But they’re also used for mundane little things. Fixing a broken hinge, fetching a glass of water.” He set the lantern aside and wiped his hands on his apron. “Or bringing light to a dark corner of the city.” He grinned, waving around the street. “It’s all about control, not just force.”


    Vaelith frowned, feeling the weight of his words. Control. That was what she lacked, was it not? Not just in her spells, but in her life. She had been so focused on blasting through her problems—literally and figuratively—that she had not stopped to think about how she was doing things. Or why?


    “I’ve never seen it like that before,” she said. “Magic’s always felt… loud. Big.”


    The man chuckled, the sound a warm rumble in the quiet street. “That’s what most young mages think, and why most study at the academy. Blasting dragons out of the sky, earning fame and fortune!” He fixed Vaelith in the eyes, turning serious. “Raw power’s easy, sure. But the real craft in magic? It’s about finesse. Knowing when to push and when to let go. That’s the difference between a novice and a true master.”


    Vaelith’s mind whirled as she thought about the implications. She had been looking at her spells all wrong. She had been looking at herself all wrong. Her frustration all stemmed from this constant feeling that she was not doing enough, was not strong enough. But maybe, just maybe, the problem was not in her lack of power. Maybe she was trying too hard to force things to happen, instead of learning to work with the world around her.


    “Come on, apprentice,” the man said, calling to her again, his tone light and teasing. “Try it yourself. Go on. Bring down the next lantern.”


    Huh… Is he asking me to do what he did, right here, right now? He didn’t even teach me or explain how he did it. Just did a demonstration. How am I supposed to… I guess I can humor him and try?


    “Fine, I’ll try. But if I break it, you’re buying the replacement.”


    She hesitated for a moment, then raised her right hand, channelling the magic from the tome at her hips, focusing on the spell and the alteration she had noticed when he showed her how to do it. Her fingers twitched, and the familiar hum of magic vibrated through her. She focused, not on unleashing all the force behind the spell, but smaller, something more controlled. As she felt the energy course through her, she pulled back just before releasing it, the spell fizzling harmlessly.


    “Not like that,” the old man said, his tone calm but firm. “You’re holding back too much. Don’t fight it—guide it. Feel the balance.”


    Vaelith glared at him. “Easy for you to say.”


    But he quickly countered. “Easy for you to do, if you let yourself.”


    She tried again. This time, she focused on the lantern itself, not the pressure building in her hand. She envisioned the magic as a thread, pulling gently but firmly. The force rattled the lantern until it dislodged itself with a satisfying Plink! She kept some of the unspent force of the spell underneath it, as if she were cradling a fragile baby bird. She slowly lowered and guided the lantern towards her. It wobbled as she let go of the magic and caught it in both hands. The glass was cool against her palms.


    The man grinned broadly, nodding in approval. “Ha! Look at that—first try and you nailed it. Told you, it’s all about control. You’re a natural.”


    Vaelith rolled her eyes, her frustration giving way to reluctant satisfaction. “I wouldn’t call that natural.”


    “You wouldn’t,” he said with a wink. “But I would.”


    Vaelith smiled despite herself—an honest, relieved smile. Her smile was not joy about fixing the lanterns, or about helping someone else, though that was part of it. It was about realising that she could do more with her magic than she thought. That she did not always have to push so hard. Sometimes, the best way forward was to take a step back, reassess, and approach the problem from a different angle.


    As they worked their way down the street, the man continued to show her little tricks—how to use telekinesis to shift a lantern without breaking it, how to channel her energies to recharge a depleted lantern, how to aim her Blink spell upwards. He taught her how to use a small amount of force to levitate for a moment. Each lesson was small, but each one made a difference.


    And with every lantern they fixed, Vaelith felt a little lighter. The street, once dark and disorienting, slowly came to life under the soft, warm glow of the lanterns. The shadows that had made the alley feel so claustrophobic melted away, replaced by a sense of openness, of light.


    By the time they reached the last lantern, Vaelith’s chest no longer felt tight with anxiety. Instead, there was a quiet satisfaction settling over her. She had learned something tonight. Something important. And it was not just about how to use her spells more effectively—it was about why she was using them.


    The man handed her the final lantern, and she lifted it carefully into place, her telekinetic spell so precise now that the glass did not even rattle as it settled into the same position it had been minutes ago.


    “There,” she said, lowering her hand as the light flickered to life. “That’s the last one.”


    The man nodded approvingly, a slow smile spreading across his face. “You did good work tonight, apprentice. This street would’ve been in the dark for weeks if it weren’t for you.”


    Vaelith felt a warmth bloom in her chest—not just from his words, but from the realisation that she had done something meaningful. She was not outdoors grinding enemies like Elyssia, or doing the starter quests at the academy. She had grown stronger, learned control, but she had done it in a way that made sense to her. Vaelith had learned to see her magic—and herself—in a new light.


    The man clapped her gently on the shoulder. “Remember, it’s not always about brute strength. You’ve got power, no question. But the key? It’s knowing how to wield it—how to make it work for you.”


    Vaelith nodded, feeling the weight of his words. “I’ll remember,” she said, her voice quiet but resolute. She would remember. Not just in her magic, but in how she approached everything. She did not always have to be the one pushing, the one forcing things to happen. Sometimes, she just needed to step back, focus, and let things unfold as they should.


    “Good,” the man said with a smile. “Now, off you go. I’m sure you’ve got other adventures to get to. But don’t be a stranger and come say hello to this old man from time to time.”


    Vaelith nodded again, a soft smile on her lips. “Thank you,” she said, meaning it more than she expected.


    As Vaelith walked down the now-brightly lit street, her steps lighter than they had been in hours, she could not help but think about how this game worked. It catered to each player’s needs or desires, and while they all lived in the same world, she doubted any two players had the same experience.


    Some might have been grinding out quests or fighting monsters in the wilderness, trying to level up as fast as possible. But for her, tonight had been about something quieter, more deliberate. She had not just grown stronger—she had learned control. Learned to see her magic, and herself, in a new light.


    And she had remembered why she loved helping others. Not because others expected it of her, or because she wanted something in return. But because, when she did, it made the world—her world—a little brighter.