Raif bounced from foot to foot. He was finally becoming a wizard!
Well, an apprentice at least. But today he could pick his magic word, the one that he’d use for the rest of his life. The one he’d use to summon dragons, and rain down fireballs, and—
“Next!” the old, wrinkled mage shouted.
Raif stepped forward, beaming. The mage glared at him impatiently, quill in hand.
Raif opened his mouth. Someone tripped over his robe. Lana, the prettiest girl in town, went sprawling. “Sorry,” Raif mumbled, blushing. He helped her up.
The old mage scribbled on his parchment. “Next!”
Greg Schwartz writes speculative fiction and poetry. Some of his stories have appeared in OG’s Speculative Fiction, Black Ink Horror, and Champagne Shivers. In a pre-fatherhood life, he was the staff cartoonist for SP Quill Magazine and a book reviewer for Whispers of Wickedness.
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