He didn't just like magic practise, he needed it. Just the day before, random objects had started to levitate in his room because he was feeling upset. The week before that he had made a fellow child fall asleep in the middle of target practise. The other children had troubles reaching their inner pool of power, but he fell inside it ankle deep without even realising it. If he couldn't master his abilities, he would never become a full path-changer.

The boy took a deep breath.

If the mist people had taken that path, it must be the right one for him.

Nightfall was approaching fast, the sunset light fading quickly through the tree brunches.

The boy moved towards the common sleeping area and avoided the other children's gaze. The place was just as dull as it sounded. It accommodated for twenty of them, the only immortal children of age for training at the time, leaving little to no space for personal property. Not that they needed much. The boy only owned a knife (for personal defence during the trips to the mortal world) and a tunic meant to cover him during the coldest days of winter. The other children had loudly complained about it, but he didn't mind covering his body too much. People had recently acquired the tendency to stare at him in an uncomfortable way.

Despite it being almost curfew time, the area was half-empty. Only a few girls of about ten and three boys of twelve and fourteen were laying on the ground in the attempt to fall asleep.

-Where is everyone?- he asked the closest girl. She always slept on the flowers next to his, and they had bonded over the years. Not enough to call her "friend" like the mortals did, but maybe a kind acquaintance.

The girl rolled her eyes. It was such a human thing to do. The boy would warn her later to not do so in front of the teachers.

-They are all at the human moonlight orgion - she replied yawning. -The teachers said the eldest should go for extra practise. -

The boy almost chocked on his own saliva. He quickly grabbed the tunic and his knife and run outside into the forest, his back still aching.

All the immortal children had to follow strict rules when it came to their path-changer training. They could eat, drink, sleep and study only when they were told so. Most of their lessons converged towards making them excellent at faking humanity and infiltrate the mortal world to change people's paths.

That, of course, was only possible if they did have an occasional look at the mortal world and interacted with the mortals.

Because it was too risky to send unfinished path-changers amongst mortals, the mist people often ordered them trained during holidays were the mortals were not going to be able to remember the following day. Alcohol intoxication and drugs were going to be their way of hiding in plain sight.

The boy must have missed the order to join as a consequence of his punishment. He didn't particularly enjoy the parties, but he did not fancy being punished again. Plus, it would give him the opportunity to look at the mortals. They were such fun subjects to study.

The boy felt the magical mist unwrapping from around his arms and feet and he was soon into the real forest. The change in the air was so sudden he almost tripped on a root. The temperature was colder, the grass wet from the recent rains. Even the color of the leaves seemed less alive.

He recognised the path that his teachers had shown him many times before and headed for the clear sky. It always troubled him how once you were out of the camp, nobody could find you unless the mist people decided otherwise. What if the mist people changed their minds about him? What if he wasn't a real immortal? Sure, he had magic, but all those emotions made him feel like something had gone wrong when he had been recluted.

The boy thought it would have taken him some time to find the orgion, but the voices and laughter of the villagers could be heard from miles.

The village was located on then coast of something that the mortals referred to as "Greece". The sky was clear, the stars and a full-moon shining brightly in the night. He could have seen well in the streets even in absence of his perfect eyesight.

The streets were ... chaotic. Compared to their minimalistic camp, the village was a combination of obnoxious and beautiful. Every street was packed with merchants selling their colourful merchandise, fabric and vases of every kind and shape. The people were always running somewhere, as if in a rush. Given how short their existence was, the boy figured they were not that wrong. Their features were all so varied it made his head spin. The villagers had white, blonde, red, brown hair and blue, green, brown, hazel, gray eyes and all sorts of skin colours.

Some of the mortals were busy rearranging their shops or closing the doors of their houses even though the boy did not see the point of living in a place where you could not see the stars.

Some others were laughing and screaming wildly around the roads, splashing everywhere the contents of the pitchers they were holding. By the smell of it, it was wine.

Which could only mean he had found who he was looking for: the priests of Dyonisus.

He climbed down from the forest to the village, trying to not draw attention on himself with scarse results.

As soon as he stepped into the lighter roads, all eyes were pointed on him. A couple of priestesses around his age giggled and smiled in his direction, another older woman actually winked at him. They boy had no idea what to do with that, so he waved politely.

That must have been the wrong social move, because the woman actually moved towards him. In the most awkward and impolite move possible, the boy turned and run towards the source of the noise.