’Rash actions cause failure; they cause you to find harm, or they cause others to take the blade that would have felled you. Always be cautious, Kyallan, but never be afraid.’

— Said to Kyallan after he struck his first blood, aged 11.

She’s already halfway to the slave cart by the time I get out of the thicket, and I give chase, Enhancing my legs and running in leaps and bounds. I watch as one of the guards pulls his arm back to hurl a Conjured javelin only to freeze like an unlucky goat as Pyra screams at the top of her lungs, a shrill piercing sound that cuts straight through the air. I cover my ears before they start to bleed as she maintains the assault of sound. It drives the horse mad, bucking and kicking — until it smashes one of the guards straight back into cage, sending a rattle that can only just barely be overheard. I’m only a few steps away when a man removes his hand from his ear long enough to Conjure a blade and take a step towards the source of his agony. His eyes are bloodshot, and he doesn’t even see me until I’ve shoved a Conjured spear right through his ribcage and into the wooden cart, impaling him like he is a shrike’s prey. I stagger over and reach up, pulling Pyra from the horse and clamping my hand over her mouth. She squirms, continuing the release the sound. “Stop!” I shout at her. “The village militia will come down on us! Tens of men. In the name of the Arbiter, I Command you to silence!”

My last words come out not as a direction or advice; but an absolute and unbreakable commandment. Her mouth closes with a uncontrolled snap and her eyes go wide as she looks at me, suddenly so afraid. I let her go, taking a step back before hearing the shuffling of footsteps behind me and whirling to find three men watching me, their eyes filled with fear. What happened?

I Conjure a small hammer, and hand it to her. “Break the lock at the back of the cage; it will take too long to find the key.” I say, and she stares at it. The air is so silent now without her screaming. The skin around her mouth moves as she tries to speak, but she can’t. Still, she takes the hammer and I look back at the men, ignoring the gazes of both hope and terror from the imprisoned. I feel another surge of power rumble in my throat, but when I go to speak, it disappears. I stumble backwards. My Power feels so much emptier inside me. I don’t let it show, instead speaking in a harsh voice.

“Stand back or die.” I say, a promise that makes them think twice about stepping forward. The fat man from before wobbles round; and I notice the insignia on the collar of his merchant gown; a silver claw embroiled in red, thorny roses. House Thorne. We must be nearby to their territory. They are nearly singlehandedly responsible for the influx of new slaves; be it from raids either offensive or defensive. He takes a step back when he sees me. “You! You were… the Das’en’uei!” He sputters, then smiles.

He rubs his hands together as I ready a larger blade; putting two hands on the handle. Should they all attack me at the same time, I’ll use the length of it to create space. “Oh boys, there’s a good bounty on this one!” he practically giggles and then snaps his finger when a man emerges around the other side of the cage recalling him. “Leave the slaves. Surround him.”

They follow like good lapdogs, attempting to circle me. I match their pace, then swing the flat of my blade at the horse, more of a shock than anything; and I get the intended result. It startles a bit, starting to run only to slow down. I’ve put it on edge; it won’t let those unfamiliar approach. I hoist the blade up, swinging it in lazy swings, making sure they don’t advance without hesitation. They aren’t dumb; their movements are faster than mine, Enhanced so that they can get around me and attack from all sides. They do not need efficiency with three of them. I cannot let that happen. I snap towards the man going around my left, bursting with such speed he only has a chance to blink before my blade is at his sternum and through his spine. I wrench him round, his gut-blood pouring onto my hands as he groans in pain. Gut wounds are the most painful; and the slowest. I Conjure a thick pad of hardlight wrapped around my knuckles and smash my fist across his jaw. He goes out like a light; slumping on to me. I support the weight; a human shield. The fourth man joins the slow dance of death, emboldening the rest of them.

A thick tension rises; any man could make a move.

Then one does, charging from my right. I pull a great mass of Light into my arms, slinging the great sword around and and letting it dissipate, slinging the soon-to-be-corpse as a projectile towards the oncoming man. I hear a skull crack but I don’t have time to see whose both other men take advantage of my weaponless, exposed body. I dance backwards, but the larger man catches me off; lunging forward to scrape his blade across my arm, cutting deep into the fabric and into my flesh. I cry out, and the other man takes it as his oppurtunity to send a stab right for my heart. I raise the injured hand up, Conjuring a shield with a small sphere in the middle, filling it with Light until it’s ready to burst. When the sword so much as scratches it, a blinding flash of light pulses out. I kick out, Enhancing the strength of my leg to deliver a sickening snap of the larger man’s knee. He topples forward, blind and missing the use of a leg. I throw the shield at the other, then Conjure a dagger quick as lightning and sending it sailing into his stomach as he bats the shield away. He stumbles back, wrenching the dagger out and holding his hand over the wound. The man on the ground clutches his leg, trying to Repair it. I Conjure a thick pad of hardlight on the bottom of my boot, heavy as I can make it, and bring it down onto his skull, feeling the fracture as it grinds against road.

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A spear comes out of the corner of my eye, and I barely have time to react I wrench my arm down, putting the muscles in the way of the stab, and feel as it digs through the skin, cuts through the fat and through; into my ribs. I feel them shatter and crack as they are forced apart and I feel the tip stab into my organs. I can’t breath.

He wrenches it out and makes for another stab. I’m so stunned I can’t do anything but watch my death approach. Something blurs, and the man’s head is gone. The body seems confused at the loss, standing still for but a moment before it topples to the ground. I stumble backwards, and then I’m flat on my ass, my vision swimming. Each breath is both terror and deep unending ache, grinding the ribs further and further. I put my hand over my side and ready myself for the suffering.

Tendrils slither down; an almost beautiful sight. Until it isn’t. Until it is only pain and has only ever been pain, sharp wracks of pain that make my body shiver and my vision darken. My eyes shut hard; like two boulders fallen together in a mountain pass, and my mouth screams silently, breathless screams. Hours and hours of agony go on and on, each new piece of flesh to be knitted sending new waves of absolute hell through my mind. My face feels wet, my stomach emptying on myself, the vomit driving down the side of my neck and into my gambeson. Sweat drenches me as the pain only just begins to subside only to start a new fresh wave of torture as my arm muscle reconnects, sliced fibre sticking together like glue, as though the spear had never pierced flesh. When the skin begins to knit, it is almost a relief; the beginning to the end of pain.

My hand drops to my side. The pain is gone. I see… a tree, and a red girl. No; that’s not a tree. I Conjure a dagger, sending a lazy swing upwards — which the tree catches. I hear a word. “Dular.” Before I feel strong hands on my arm, pulling me up and over heavy shoulders. Kairos?

No. It’s someone else; someone who carries me what feels like miles from the ground. They move, their gait jostling me back and forth until it feels almost as if I’m swimming in the air. I catch a glimpse of the red girl looking at me. Her lips are sealed even as she tries to talk, and it only now dawns on me that she is beautiful. How… strange.

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I wake to an endless void. Where before there was a beautiful women in a long, white flowing dress, there now stands a tall man, staring off into nothingness. His head is a deep shade of brown; a skin I have never seen before. Despite his tallness, he doesn’t seem to have much in the way of muscle.

“Why am I here?” I ask. The man turns. “We have summoned you; Arbiter. That is reason enough.”

He walks over, then past me. “I had thought subordinates were supposed to kneel.” He says, walking around me. I don’t kneel. He smiles. “That’s good. We don’t want a loyal dog; we need one with a good nose and a good bite. You have awakened the first power. We were… under a different philosophy when we designed this. It derives its strength from our Authority.”

“I… commanded Pyra to silence herself. Is that what you speak off?” I ask, and he nods twice. “Yes. You, and you alone, have access to this. This is not the Magic of a race; this is for you alone. And should you fail, we will pass it to next one we choose.”

I cock my head. “Surely you are protecting me? How could I fail?”

The man shakes his head, then his shoulders. “Did you not listen, before? We are not omnipotent. We cannot stop every strike that seeks your heart; every dagger in the shadows. We give you the tools — it is up to you to build the house.”

“I understand. Then this power… how do I use it?”

He laughs, throwing his head back. “Oh, no isn’t this the fun part. Truthfully, we don’t know. You have a teeny tiny spark of the Divine in you. How it will manifest will be shaped by your mission and the choices you make; as well as what you need at the time. I believe we copied that from the Elaudir’s Birthrights; only made it a little more… modern.”

“So, you don’t know?” I ask. “I don’t know what to think about that.”

“Then I suggest you do not think about it. We have tailored it to you specifically; if it does not come to you naturally then it would have never come to anyone at all. Sometimes, we fail to create a perfect design.”

“But you are Gods… how do you even begin to fail?”

“Just because we are divine does not mean we are free from failure. There was, at one point, Seventeen races; seventeen systems of Magic. But they… did not work as intended.”

He twirls, and suddenly he is replaced by the women from before. “That’s not important; what is, however, is your powers. Each time you manifest a distinct power, we’ll contact you. We need to ensure your soul can handle the spark of divinity and for that it would be much easier if you were here.” She says, and then smiles, uttering two words. “Wake up.”