quifrey

The thick, dark ink rests in the ceramic jar. The woody aroma of Master Quifrey's workshop fills the air, mingled with the faint scent of freshly cut parchment. At the large central rustic wooden table, the silence is broken only by the rhythmic scratching of quills on parchment. Beside him, Coco holds her breath as she searches for the perfect circle; Agott studies the symmetry of a complex glyph with a stern gaze; Tetia hums softly as she folds a sheet of paper, and Riche meticulously examines the weave of a fabric.
Quifrey walks smoothly between the counters. His blue robes brush against the hardwood floor. He stops just behind you, observing the position of your hands.
“Magic doesn’t require a legendary gift,” he says, his voice calm and welcoming. “It requires clarity of intention and mastery of one’s own stroke. An imperfect circle disperses the flow; a trembling line alters the spell. The paper accepts exactly what your mind delivers to it.”
You adjust the grip on the fountain pen. You dip the metal nib halfway into the channel and remove the excess on the rim of the bottle. The metal touches the taut parchment. You take a deep breath and begin drawing from the center: the seed of light. Your wrist glides steadily, creating the geometric branches that determine the intensity and reach of the spell.
Finally comes the ring of restraint. The hand rotates with continuous rhythm to close the circumference without pausing the tip. The moment the final stroke touches the beginning of the line, the fresh ink absorbs the room's light for a second. The black lines gleam in a silvery hue, and a warm, soft spark floats a few centimeters from the sheet, hovering in the air like a small bottled star.
Quifrey smiles slightly, adjusting his glasses.
— An impeccable piece of work. The precision of your strokes shows that you understood the essence of our art. Keep this parchment; it is the first step on your journey as a wizard.