The room smelled of leather and wax. A desk took up most of one wall, a bed another, a small window would have invited in the sunshine if the thick drapes had not been shut against it. Two candles on the desk provided the only, flickering, light. A small bookcase, only two shelves and those only half full, was on the third wall within reach of the desk. There was no door to the room. It required magic to get in and magic to leave, as per its design and intent. The creator favored privacy so he could study uninterrupted at his leisure.
He had come to his room that morning to tidy the place up a bit. He would soon have an apprentice he would be bringing along to study and practice the craft. However, he had soon gotten distracted in the particulars of a spell he had been toying with. The few books he did keep were more a set of observations and ideas rather than written spells. He was of the belief that magic was organic, natural, and couldn’t not be controlled simply with words. It had to be felt, breathed, tasted, touched, lived. Some of his peers laughed at him and called him a fool and yet sometimes their magic failed them. His magic never failed.
Still, they flourished in their schools and their traditional methods, advancing through hierarchal ranks, accumulating spell books and scrolls, accolades and apprentices. He became the recluse, happy to practice the craft in his own way, confident in his abilities and his assumptions of the art. He was fine with that arrangement until a recent trip to the nearby town and had resulted in a deviant attempting to rob him of his meagre possessions. He had called upon his magic to foil the heist. A passerby had witnessed the exchange and had begged him to teach them. After a prolonged conversation, it was learned that the passerby, still a child in many ways, had failed in the traditional schools but still wanted to learn. He saw this as an opportunity to prove his theories were correct. If he could teach another his methods successfully….
Light sprang from his hand as he finished the spell. He had called upon the flame from one of the candles on his desk to share its illumination with his flesh, then he called upon the light itself to intensify until it was as though his hand had become a torch. He pointed his palm at the dark corners of the room to reveal the cobwebs gathering dust in the shadows and that reminded him of the task he had meant to set upon. Closing his hand the magic dispersed and the light went out. The candles continued to flicker in the stirrings of his movement. The room still smelled of leather and wax. Nothing had changed. Everything had changed.