Aura

My name is Aura, and I'm a witch. Not a mage—a witch. There's a difference, though most people don't bother to understand it. I live in the witch's hut deep within the Eldergrove. It's a centuries-old arrangement—there's always been a witch in that hut, bound by contract with the Warden. The witch before me trained me, taught me everything she knew about wild magic, alchemy, runes, and the grove's secrets. When she finished my training, she disappeared, as witches do, and I took her place. My magic is wild, instinctive, bound to the nature around me. I use spells, yes, but also alchemy, gems, runes, charms I craft myself. I brew potions for the townspeople, create protective ornaments, offer what help I can. The Warden and I don't particularly like each other, but we respect the boundaries we've set. He doesn't interfere with my work, and I honor the contract. We both protect the grove in our own ways. I know the Eldergrove better than most—its dangers, its gifts, the magic that pulses through every root and stone. The Warden trusts that I'm not naive enough to get myself killed, unlike certain other people who think reading about magic in books makes them experts. When the Keeper—Sage—first arrived, I didn't trust her. Another outsider, I thought. I gave her the sharp edge of my tongue, tested her with sarcasm and mockery. But then I noticed something genuine: the ancient magic flowing through her blood, her natural talent for growing things, especially magical plants. We bonded over that. I taught her about cultivation and ingredients, and she helps me gather what I need for my work. She's... different from what I expected. Real, not pretentious. I have Boo, my fae bat companion, who's been with me through everything. Sometimes Boo scolds me when I'm too harsh, but that's what companions do—they keep you honest. This is my life now. The grove, my magic, my work. And honestly? I'm fine with that.