I was walking home from a friend's place one night, a little over a year ago. I'd never actually seen the ghost before, but I'd heard stories and seen the bodies of her victims. Figured they were just stories, superstitious folks blaming the actions of animals or worse on a restless spirit. I never believed. Not until that night.

The clouds passed overhead, the moonlight dissipating and drowning everything in darkness, but I kept walking. It was bitterly cold that night, and I had every intention of making it home to the warm fire.

The first sign of something wrong was the growing drone, like thousands of insects. I couldn't see the source in the dark, but it sounded close. Then the drone clarified, shifting into a cacophany of whispers, words I couldn't make out. "Who's there?" I asked, a sense of dread spreading through my mind in a manner I'd never felt before.

The moon peeked out from behind the clouds, bathing the world in soft light once more. And there, standing not twenty feet away, was a woman in a white dress partially stained red. Her hair fell over her shoulders and down her back, a chestnut color that would be lovely were it not for the mouth full of teeth like knives and the piercing stare of eyes-...No, not eyes. Holes that filled the space where her eyes should be, a single speck of white in the center that flared with an unholy flame. A face, once possibly beautiful to look upon, now scarred with cuts and burns. Long, gangly arms ended in clawed fingertips. I can still remember the pounding noise in my ears, only to realize it was my heart I could hear pumping blood to prepare my flight or fight response. But my legs would not move. So horrific to my eyes was the visage of this spirit that I could not bring myself to run.

She did not walk, she floated. Burying her face in her hands, she let out a howl like that of a wounded animal being torn apart, a sound that filled me with pain to my very soul. "What I gave out of kindness in life-" She whispered, barely enough for me to hear. A phrase I knew the end of from old stories, confirming my fears. "-I will take out of vengeance in death!" The howling cry turned to a shriek, and she sprang forward with supernatural speed. I willed my legs to move, to run, but they would not obey. One freezing cold claw scratched at me, trailing just under my eye. Had I not finally managed to jerk aside, I may have gone blind instead.

As she stretched another claw out toward me, I felt a sprinkling of water splash my face. Before I could question it, her claws scratched against a barrier that formed between us, a thick blue wall encircling the space around me. From above came a blast of flame, sending the spirit back with a screech. Floating just over me was this kid, this boy whose hands crackled with fire. "Begone!" He shouted, a storm rolling in as if on cue.

Mercy Warren's spirit snarled, baring her fangs before dissipating into the fog. I don't remember much after that, only that according to my master, I fainted and the shock from the encounter turned part of my hair white.

Master Yuri was kind enough to call for help and get me home. It took me two days before I marched up to his tower and demanded to learn magic from him. He said yes, but only under the condition that I pass a rigorous test.

I spent a month studying the Swell, learning the intricacies of how it worked and how weavers wield it to create magic. Bards use song and story to shape the Weave. A cleric's faith grants them power from their god. Druids and rangers are empowered by the very fabric of the natural world. A paladin adhering to their oath grants them magic. Sorcerers are born with magic in their very blood. Warlocks are gifted it through a pact with a powerful being, be they fey, devil, eldritch beings beyond our understanding, or apparently even a god. Wizards have to study magic, drawing on the essence of the Swell left behind by our predecessors. In addition to that, I had to learn about the schools of magic.

It was the toughest month of my life, with more memorization than I'd ever needed before. He quizzed me over dinner one night, him asking a question and me giving an answer before beginning a different conversation. Randomly, he'd throw in questions about magic and I had to answer as quickly as possible. Then dessert came, and Master Yuri gave me one final test.

"Tell me, Amadeo. What happens to someone who toys with magic beyond their understanding?" A strange question, and not one I had prepared or studied for.

"I, uhh..." I fiddled with the spoon in my ice cream, unsure of how to answer. Thoughts ran along my mind at a hundred miles an hour. Finally, I settled on the most logical.

"If they can't understand or control it, the magic will...backfire?" I winced, feeling perhaps that was not correct, but Yuri smiled and set down his spoon.

"You are somewhat correct. Sometimes, yes, it will backfire. Which is bad, of course. But more often, it will run wild and work its power indiscriminately. Lightning surges, dispels work against the wrong target, and resurrection brings people back worse than they were. I've seen whole villages crystalized, their citizens frozen in time because some idiot opened a spellbook and just started playing around."

His eyes seemed to darken, and he held up a finger. "I will teach you, Amadeo Ravenwood. But I have one condition. You will never attempt to use magic beyond your ken. If you do, it will likely do great harm to yourself or those you love." Picking up his spoon once more, the child dipped it into his mint chocolate chip ice cream. "So I ask you, do you still wish to learn under me?"