The rain had left a damp chill clinging to the air, the scent of wet earth thick around them. Einar sat with his knees drawn up, staring at the mound of fresh dirt where his mother now lay beneath. He had buried more than just her body today—he had buried the last piece of warmth left in his life. The pendant around his neck felt heavier, a constant reminder of the weight now resting on his shoulders. Grief settled into him like the rain, cold and soaking deep into his bones.

Rina’s footsteps broke the silence. Soft, hesitant. She stopped close enough for him to feel her presence but said nothing at first. After a long moment, she spoke, her voice cutting through the haze in his mind. “We’re ready to leave.”

Einar didn’t respond. His eyes remained fixed on the earth covering his mother’s body, as if memorizing every detail. The world had shrunk, leaving him in a numb cocoon where nothing else mattered. When he finally moved, it was slow, deliberate. He rose to his feet and brushed the damp dirt from his clothes, a pointless gesture. His gaze flicked toward Bron, who stood a few steps away, arms crossed over his chest, his expression grim.

“Will you stay?” Einar’s voice was rough, low, like it had been dragged through broken glass.

Bron nodded firmly. “Yeah. This is my home. I’ve got to help rebuild it.” His words were solid, grounded in practicality, but the weight of grief hung just beneath them.

Einar swallowed hard, his eyes shifting toward the ruins of the village square. “And Eliza? Will you… will you bury her next to my family?”

For a moment, Bron’s mask cracked, and his expression softened. “Of course.”

Einar’s throat tightened, the words catching. “She died protecting me... It’s the least I can do.”

Bron stepped forward, placing a heavy hand on Einar’s shoulder. “You’ve done enough, kid. Now it’s time for you to go. Get out of here. Reach Duskview by nightfall.”

The finality of Bron’s words struck hard, but Einar nodded. “Thanks,” he muttered, feeling the hollow ache of all that was left unsaid. There was no point in drawing this out. There was nothing left to say. Einar turned, walking away without looking back, feeling each step pull him farther from everything he once knew.

At the edge of the village, the cart waited, along with Loran, the old merchant who sat on a crate, lazily puffing on his pipe. Daevan and Taron were nearby, methodically cleaning their weapons. When they saw Einar and Rina approach, their expressions shifted, eyes filled with a quiet concern that made Einar’s skin prickle. They knew. Everyone could see it—he wasn’t the same boy anymore.

“You ready?” Daevan asked, his voice cautious, careful. He spoke like someone afraid of breaking something fragile.

Einar grunted, unable to find words. They all knew what had changed inside him. He was no longer Einar Lambert, the boy trying to survive. He was something else now—something forged in fire and loss. He didn’t know what yet, but it was darker, colder.

The cart creaked and groaned as it rolled over the uneven dirt road, each turn of the wheel dragging Einar further away from the life he once knew. The sky above was a dull gray, heavy with unspoken grief. Three hours to Duskview. Three hours of tension coiled tight in his chest. Low-level monsters prowled the edges of the forest, their presence a faint shadow in the back of his mind, but he barely noticed. His thoughts were somewhere else, lost in the aftermath of his mother’s death and the gnawing guilt that twisted deep inside him.

Rina sat across from him, her eyes flicking over his face, trying to gauge his mood. Her voice broke the silence, soft but probing. “Einar… can I ask you something?”

He blinked, snapped from his dark reverie. “Yeah,” he muttered, his voice raw.

She hesitated for a moment, then asked, “I’ve known you for months now, and you told me you couldn’t use magic. But back there, in the square… I saw it. Magic. You used magic.”

Einar’s jaw tightened. The image replayed in his mind—the surge of raw power, uncontrolled, slipping from his grip like water. “I didn’t know I could,” he replied, the words clipped. “It just... happened.”

Rina studied him, her expression caught between curiosity and concern. “That wasn’t normal magic, Einar. You know that, right? It wasn’t even rune-based, and you didn’t have a wand.”

He didn’t answer immediately, his thoughts swirling. It wasn’t normal, he thought, the red lightning crackling in his mind. It felt different. Dangerous. Something deeper than the magic he’d seen others use. He shifted in his seat, uncomfortable with where this was going.

Taron, who had been sitting quietly, finally spoke up, his eyebrow raised in cautious interest. “Lightning, was it?” He glanced at Einar. “Is that right?”

Einar nodded, though the weight of the conversation was beginning to press on him.

Taron’s curiosity sharpened. “Lightning’s rare, especially in commoners,” he said, more to himself than anyone. “And the way you did it… no runes, no incantation. Just pure mana.”

Across from him, Daevan frowned, his brow furrowed in thought. “But it wasn’t just any lightning,” he added. “It was red.”

At the mention of it, Einar’s stomach twisted. He had been trying to push that part away—the fact that the lightning wasn’t the usual golden streak that mages wielded. His was different, ancient.

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Taron’s voice dropped, unease creeping in. “Red lightning... it feels wrong,” he said, glancing at Daevan. “Like… dark magic.”

The words hit Einar like a punch to the gut. The accusation hung heavy in the air, the tension crackling between them. His fingers clenched into fists at his sides. He could feel something stirring inside him, something ancient and uncontrollable.

Rina shot them both a sharp look, her voice cutting through the unease. “Enough,” she snapped. “You’re scaring him.” Her tone softened slightly as she turned to Einar. “It doesn’t matter what color it is. Lightning is one of the strongest elemental attributes—rare and powerful. Regardless of how it looks.”

Her words were meant to comfort, but Einar couldn’t shake the knot tightening in his chest. He had felt it. The difference. The way the lightning hummed with something dark, something buried deep inside him that he barely understood. He swallowed hard, his throat dry. The others didn’t need to know the truth—not yet. Not until he understood it himself.

Rina, sensing his discomfort, changed the subject, her voice softer now. “Einar… now that you’ve awakened your magic… have you thought about joining the mage’s college? Zenith, specifically?”

Einar’s brow furrowed at the unexpected question. “Zenith?”

Rina nodded, her expression thoughtful. “It’s one of the best places to train, to learn more about your element. With your potential… you could thrive there.”

He hesitated. Mage’s College? It sounded tempting in a distant, unreachable way. But Einar knew the truth—it wasn’t just about training magic. The magic inside him was something that couldn’t be taught at a college. That’s ancient magic.

“I don’t know,” Einar muttered, his voice heavy with doubt. “I’m not sure that’s the right path for me.”

Daevan, ever blunt, chimed in. “What, you’re just going to wander around with all that power and not do anything with it? Seems like a waste.”

Taron elbowed him sharply. “That’s not what he means, Daevan.” He looked back at Einar, his eyes more serious now. “You’ve got something different, man. That kind of raw power doesn’t just appear out of nowhere. You’re connected to something big. You can’t ignore that.”

Einar felt the weight of their words settling over him like a cloak. He wasn’t just anyone. He wasn’t just a boy from a village anymore. The past he’d been running from, the power he’d tapped into—it was all part of something larger. Something that had already started to shape his future.

“I know,” Einar said quietly, his voice barely above a whisper. “But this isn’t something I can just fix by training. There are… things I need to figure out first.”

Rina nodded, her eyes sympathetic. “We’re not pushing you, Einar. Just… don’t shut yourself off from the world. Not now. Especially not after what you’ve been through.”

He glanced at her, the reminder of his mother’s death still raw. What he’d been through. The guilt, the anger, the overwhelming sense of loss—it all churned in his gut, but there was no release.

“I’m not shutting myself off,” Einar replied, though even he wasn’t convinced. His eyes drifted to the horizon, where the storm clouds continued to gather. “I just need time.”

The silence stretched between them, each of them lost in their own thoughts as the cart rumbled along the road. The sky above darkened, the storm brewing in the distance seeming to mirror the turmoil within him.

The road ahead was long, and Einar knew that finding answers wasn’t going to be easy. He had to keep moving, keep fighting, if not for himself, then for his family—for Alice. For his mother. For the future that still seemed just out of reach.

But one thing was clear now: this wasn’t just about survival anymore. It was about finding out the truth. About who he really was. What he was becoming.

And that truth, whatever it was, would come at a price.

…

The walls of Duskmoore loomed in the distance, their towering stone sentinels casting long shadows in the fading light. The town stood stark against the dreary sky, guards patrolling its walls, their eyes sharp and wary.

"We’ve arrived," Rina said softly, her gaze fixed on Einar, as though waiting for something—something he wasn’t sure he could give anymore.

As they approached the towering gates of the town, a guard stepped forward, his hand already raised in anticipation. "Pass, please," he said, his tone bored, as though the task of standing guard had long since lost any semblance of interest.

Loran, the merchant leading the group, nodded curtly and fumbled inside his worn coat, finally producing a small silver plate, which he handed to the guard without a word. The guard inspected it, the subtle glow of mana flickering along the edges of the plate before he grunted and waved them forward.

Einar, walking just behind, squinted at the plate, confusion creeping across his face. He turned toward Rina, who walked beside him, her gaze fixed ahead. "What's this pass thing about?" he asked, his voice laced with unfamiliarity.

Rina looked at him, mildly surprised, as if she'd forgotten he was completely out of touch with the world beyond the forest’s edge. "Oh right," she muttered, a wry smile curling on her lips. "You’ve been stuck in your village for a few years, haven’t you?"

He nodded. Far too long. The isolation had dulled him, and everything beyond the trees now felt... alien.

"A lot's changed," Rina continued, her tone dry but tinged with empathy. "Since the dark mage activity started to ramp up, a new law was passed across the continent. No one’s allowed to enter towns or cities without a pass. The cities? They’re stricter. No pass means a cozy cell or worse."

Einar frowned, the weight of her words settling heavily on his shoulders. "Imprisonment? How does that even work? Dark mages don’t exactly go around wearing 'evil mage' badges. How can a piece of metal tell them apart?"

"The passes," Rina explained, her voice low enough that the guard couldn’t hear, "are more than just silver plates. They're infused with a unique mana signature from the Merchant, Adventurers Guild, or any other authorities of the Scared Seven. They detect dark magic—or at least any corrupt mana signature someone might carry. It’s not foolproof, but it's better than guessing who’s a threat. Keeps the towns safer... for the most part."

He raised an eyebrow, impressed despite his skepticism. "That’s... clever. I didn’t expect that."

Rina chuckled darkly. "Clever, sure. But don’t get too comfortable. Systems like these have loopholes, and where there’s power, there’s always someone finding ways to exploit it."

They continued moving forward as the guard finally waved them through, his eyes lazily scanning the street for the next group of travelers. The town beyond the gates opened up like a stage, bustling with life and trade, but the lingering sense of threat, of hidden dangers lurking in the shadows, seemed ever-present.

Einar leaned closer to Rina, his voice lowered. "So... how do I get one of these passes?"

She gave him a sidelong glance, her smile tinged with something mischievous. "It’s simple, really. Just register as an adventurer. We’re headed to the Adventurers Guild anyway. I can pull a few strings to speed things up."

Einar nodded, though unease churned in his gut. "Sounds easy enough."

Rina smirked, her tone laced with a bite of sarcasm. "Easy? Maybe for someone who hasn’t tangled with the Guild bureaucracy before. But don’t worry. You stick with me, and we’ll have you passing through gates like a noble in no time."

Einar gave a short laugh. "Yeah, because nobles have it so rough, right?"

Rina’s smirk widened. "You’ve no idea."