This is a set up prologue, but so will next chapter, but after that... it is fun time.

Magic, as it turned out, required pure faith and a ton of emotion in addition to actual book learning.

"To focus your powers, one must focus on an emotion of great power. Dark or Light, it matters not. Allow that emotion to fill you, to be come you. Then, as it rises, allow your intent to mold the power and knowing symbols ( words or gestures) to direct it."

With those lines, Mason found himself in the alley he called home. Holding out his hands, he allowed himself to focus on the splinter, disassociated memories of his father's abuse. The beatings, the starvations, the humiliation of being mocked for his obesity, his paleness, and so much else.

The rage came fast, and with it he thought of moving the rocks at his feet. The words came next. "Motus." Like two same sides of a magnet, he felt the rock blast away more than he saw it. It smashed into the wall, splintering the bricks.

"Cool..."

What was not cool was the headaches, nausuea and nosebloods that came from the spells after he sapped his lifeforce too far. To compensate, he learned to make spell bags. Baggies filled with herbs, salt, blood and other bits. These magnified, anchored and focused his magic so he could not only cast bigger and more constant magic, but also preserve his power long term.

Within the first week, he learned to cast spell bags to repel danger, freeze others in their tracks, and one that was basically a taser.

All of which came in handy when, during his practices, something attacked him in his alley. He was mediating, to work on feeling the magic in the world better ( The grimoire said it helped with Mist control) when something growled.

He turned in time for a giant hound, black and gristle'd, to charge at him. He could not move, shocked to Hades, before the repulsion spell bag he had around his neck rippled a purple wave of pure power slamming into the hound, knocking it just enough to the side that his shoulder was only grazed.

Limping, he stood and threw another spell bag at the ground. Purple energy rippled through the ground, sealing the Hound paws in place.

Then he ran, away and off toward the nearest Shelter, knowing he would need care for his shoulder.

From them on he would carry a dozen spell bags on him, many more when possible. He also learned First aide made, simple spells to soothe pain, clot wounds and heal basic wounds. He learned to make potions and pastes, to do a lot more but that took effort and cooking time which was hard to get homeless...The pastes were effective, but did not stop his shoulder from scarring terribly.

To rectify that, he worked on one final massive spell. Well, massive for him...a mind control spell, Movere Cor. Move the Heart, in English, it would put a command into a heart for as long as the spell was strong and recast. He spent weeks crafting it, practicing it in weaker forms to get free food, clothes, a jacket, and a satchel. When he felt confident, after a month, he stepped into action...

And he found a slum lord that had denied him a place to stay, just before he cast his ritual.

"Hey, what are you doing here?" The man only got out before Mason tossed the spell bag at him.

"Movere Cor." Mason intoned, startling the man before the spell burned purple in his eyes. Mason swayed, the spell searing his life force, draining him to almost nothing as it took effect.

"How may I serve you?"

Within three hours, he had a special studio apartment all to himself with a couch left by a past tenant, a TV, a variety of pots and pans and some food.

"Time... time... to nap."

And so he fell asleep... when he woke, he would eat, shower and then place a spell bag in each corner of his apartment. The spell bags, already charged, rippled lavender light across the walls, creating a weak but effective ward that would keep him safe. As he had read, monsters were drawn to Witches almost as much as Demigods. Magic left a stink they found attractive. This would at least block that scent...

Or so he hoped.

And so, from that point on, he was safe... and would study the craft while he repaired himself, his life, and the world he lived in.