Fall Month: 3 
Night 
Clear Moon: 
He stared across the lake of his forefathers.
The water was so peaceful, so calm. Every once in a while, the water rippled from the gentle wind, but other than that, it was completely still. Almost as if it were frozen.
Slowly Olnarus kneeled on the rocky shore and placed his hands in the water, gently closing his eyes.
The water was cold as ice and numbed his fingers almost immediately, but he didn’t pull away. He couldn’t pull away.
He breathed in and spread his fingers.
Beneath the surface he felt the fish moving through the water, he felt the ducks swimming along the coast, he felt the algae sway; he felt everything and nothing at once.
“Blechk” he cursed, slapping the water away and pulling his hands back into the warmth of his coat.
“Olnarus. You need to be more patient. Water is not an element of anger” a familiar old wispy voice said behind him.
“I know, Ospa.”
“You do not act like it. You’re a Kletchar’Crah. We are the protectors of the north, not the liars” he listened as his grandfather walked over to him, staff rhythmically hitting the cold hard ground.
“I know, Ospa.”
“You’re the eldest son of your father, Olnarus. By the gods, your nineteen, boy! Three years you’ve had to learn and nothing.”
“I know, Ospa.”
“Kletchar’Crah’s are not liars, Olnarus.” His grandfather stopped beside him “you will put your hands in the water and you will hold them there till I say you can remove them.”
Sighing, he did as his grandfather said and placed his hands in the freezing waters once more.
Again he felt the animals swimming in and above the water, but beyond that, nothing. He was told that one would feel warm, that one would feel a spark of energy when using magic, but all he felt was cold freezing water.
Seconds went by, then minutes and still his grandfather said nothing. He was shivering all over now, his warm winter coat barely helping.
“Os-”
“Do not speak. Concentrate.”
Grinding his teeth together, Olnarus balled his hands and opened them again. The water didn’t even ripple from the movement.
His grandfather stared at his hands for a few more minutes before giving up. “Take them out and dry them. Tonight, will be cold” and with that the old man walked away from the coast and towards the horses.
Olnarus envied the Kletchar’Tsens. They’d grown to be the largest Kletchar family, with nearly three hundred men who’d been accepted by the spirits to hold magic. They were so large they had three different villages. The three closest villages to Kletchar’s lake by far.
He even envied the Kletchar’Reks. Though they weren’t nearly as large as the Kletchar’Tsens, they were still big enough so that it didn’t matter if you were an eldest son or not.
Olnarus was the oldest Kletchar’Crah aside from his grandfather and his father’s cousin. He was supposed to be the family’s leader and teach his brothers and cousins magic, but that task was left to his grandfather when he’d proven to fail day after day to even make the water ripple.
His father had died when he was ten, along with most of his uncles. A sickness had spread through his village that winter. His father had been hunting with his three brothers when he caught it, and by the time they came back no healer could save them; so, it’d been up to Olnarus and his grandfather to teach his two little brothers, Jarrick and Olavor the ways of a Kletchar’Crah.
“We have a long way ahead of us, Olnarus. We’ll come back in the spring when the water thaws” his grandfather called from the horses.
Another reason to envy the other Kletchar families. They lived much closer to Kletchar’s Lake, whereas he had to ride nearly the entire day to get back home, and with winter right around the corner, who knew how long the sun would stay up. He and his grandfather had ridden up to Kletchar’s Lake three days ago, in hopes to wake up his magic, as the lake supposedly had magical water that helped melkrix learn to control their magic faster and better. Olnarus had no idea if this was true or not, seeing as nothing seemed to work for him. Now it was time to return so they, or rather Olnarus, could help prepare for winter.
Sighing, he got up.
Since he was born, he’d had the signs of being a powerful Melkrix. He’d been gifted dreams by the spirits almost every night since he could remember. He still got them. They weren’t always the same, but they all had one thing in common: he was always lost.
When he was sixteen, during the Melkrix ceremony, where he drank from the lakes waters, he’d formed a wave at least two meters tall when the spirits gifted him his magic, but since then, nothing has ever happened.
No magic, no warm spark. Just the same old dreams.
“Olnarus” his grandfather said as they mounted their horses.
“Yes Ospa?”
“I can’t say I know what you’re going through, and I won’t lie to make you feel better, but I know you’re a powerful Melkrix. I saw it with my own eyes during the ceremony. We’ll find what’s blocking your magic, I swear it upon my life” his grandfather had a good heart, though he was stern and sharp tongued; but Olnarus needed more than a good heart to figure this out.
