The man with the grey hair and thick beard sat on the ground with his legs folded. His back was straight and his chest was bare as the harsh desert sun beat down upon him. He was completely unmoving and had his hands clasped together as he watched the two young men standing thirty-feet away engaging in conversation.

There was no question what they were discussing as they clutched their guns, but he wished they would get a move on. If they didn’t act soon, he would have to force their hands. He didn’t know who would have the stones to make the first move, but he had the sneaking suspicion that it would be Arc, so foolhardy was he.

“I’m not going to be the one who kills Master Dusk,” protested Arc, clutching his iron-grey spellslinger in his right hand. “I don’t care how much he wants us to shoot him, I’m not doing it, Valen.”

“And you want me to do it?” decried Valen, his arm bent upwards and resting his spellslinger on his shoulder. “If it weren’t for me, you’d still be sniffing into holes for foxes to eat. You owe me.”

“I don’t want to be the one who walks back to base and tells the rest of the guys I just murdered the man who taught us everything.”

“It wouldn’t be murder,” said Valen, smirking. “He chose this, did he not?”

“Boys!” roared Dusk. “Would the pair of you stop being whiny children and shoot me. The time to discuss was ten minutes ago. If you talk, talk and then talk some more then we’re simply wasting time. Do you like wasting time, Arc? How about you, Valen?”

“No, Master Dusk,” said both of the young men, snapping to alert and turning to look at the burly old man who remained fixed in his position.

“I’ll do it,” sighed Valen, giving Arc a shove on the shoulder. “You’d miss anyway.”

In stark contrast to his friend, Valen was a young man with hair as black as night that ran just past his shoulders, but he bore similarly blue eyes to Arc. Many had often asked if they were related when they saw the two standing side by side, and they would always say they were not. Family, they may not be, but they were certainly brothers.

“Good,” muttered Dusk before speaking so subtly and lowly that neither of the two young men even noticed his lips moving.

Valen breathed in deeply as he held out his spellcaster and stared down the barrel, looking straight at his master’s head. He was already feeling the familiar heat of the desert, but he could have sworn that someone had turned the sun up a couple of degrees at that very moment. The young man’s finger trembled as he placed it to the trigger.

“Alright,” he said before doing absolutely nothing.

“Alright?” asked Arc.

“Don’t rush me!” snapped Valen, looking over his shoulder.

Arc walked over to him and nudged his friend aside. “I’ll do it,” he said, holding up his own spellslinger. “I owe you after all.”

“Thanks,” said Valen, turning around and kicking sand as he breathed a sigh of relief.

Arc held his gun firmly and had to force his eyes open. Dusk was staring straight at his young apprentice and giving nothing away. Was the old man afraid? Relieved? It was impossible to say, for his expression was calm and neutral.

“Good luck,” muttered Valen.

Arc squeezed the trigger and an Arcane Shot burst from the muzzle and soared straight towards the old man. The two young men felt their hearts jump into their throats as they watched the man that they respected so greatly facing imminent death.

As the sphere of arcane power whizzed towards Dusk, a sudden eruption of energy erupted from the master. It formed a circular shield in front of him, distorting everything behind it as though it was a bubble. The Arcane Shot collided with the protective barrier and zapped out of existence, taking the shield with it and leaving Master Dusk unharmed.

“Son of a bitch,” whispered Arc in relief as the old man climbed to his feet.

Valen’s gun thudded onto the sand as his mouth hung open upon seeing what his master had done. “M-master Dusk…how?” he stammered.

“You think that I’ve shown you all my tricks, boys?” asked the old man as he approached his two students with a smug grin upon his wrinkled face. “Not every spell is cast from a spellcaster, you know?”

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Arc and Valen looked at each other and then back to Dusk.

“You’re a mage?” asked Arc in a state of utter disbelief. “All this time and you never told us?”

“Yes,” said Dusk. “Out of all of my students, I trust you two the most. I thought it was time that I revealed my true nature to you.”

“We thought you were insane when you asked us to shoot you,” said Valen, sweeping his hair back and wiping the sweat from his brow. “I was trying to come up with a way to explain this to the others.”

“And you still were prepared to shoot me?”

“Well, I thought so before buckling.”

“You were prepared Arc?”

“I didn’t want to,” replied Arc, “but this morning you told us to trust you no matter what happened today. Even still, I was terrified you didn’t have some sort of truck up your sleeve.”

“Why all the secrecy, Master?” asked Valen.

“I was seventeen years old, about your ages, when the Arcanaclysm took place,” said Dusk, putting a hand on a shoulder of each of his favourite students. “I was barely out of my training when the dust settled and all manner of magic-users were hunted down as vengeance for the old world. There was confusion, chaos and all manner of hell unleashed. Anything you can imagine…it was worse than that.”

“I had no idea,” said Valen. “You hear all these things throughout your life about the worst years after the apocalypse, but to have lived it through it? You’re right, Master, I can’t imagine. How did you survive when they were killing mages?”

Dusk shook his head sombrely. “I did what I was supposed to and hid my abilities well. I dedicated my life to bringing magic back in the most subtle of ways. Ways not tied directly to the caster; ways that were more expendable. Magic was feared and for reasons both good and bad, but I knew from early on that it was magic that would let us forge a new world from these ruins for humanity to thrive and prosper in.”

“And this is where spellcaster guns come in,” remarked Arc.

“Exactly. This determination of mine led me to researching a forgotten technique from a few centuries ago in some of the last remaining texts; the art of spellslinging.”

Arc pulled a red cartridge from his pocket and held it up to Master Dusk. “These cartridges you gave us…you created them, didn’t you?”

“As I said, the concept of magic guns and bullets is not mine, but this particular cartridge is one of my creation,” said Dusk proudly. “Any wizard with an ounce of wit, which is most of us, can do it if we know where to begin. I know you’ve grown quite fond of this particular spell, Arc. Would you like to see something special?”

“Yes, Master Dusk,” said Arc breathlessly, in awe of just how powerful his spellslinging teacher was.

The old man walked over to the dry husk of a tree that stood upon the wiry grass on the hill. He held his hands together and began to chant an incantation aloud. What he was saying, neither Arc or Valen could tell, so incomprehensible were the words of their master.

From the old man’s hands, erupted an Arcane Sphere identical to one that a spellslinger could shoot from a gun. It streaked through the air, sending the sand whooshing aside, and struck the tree precisely where Master Dusk had aimed. The tree was torn in two and the top half broke into a dozen pieces before it hit the sand and slid down the far side of the hill, leaving only the stump intact.

Valen looked to his gun and then to Arc. “He can do that with mere words and we need these hunks of metal,” he said breathlessly while Arc continued to stare in disbelief at what he had seen.

“You can wipe those ridiculous expressions off your face, boys,” said Dusk with a chuckle. “Now that you know what I can do, we will be training differently. When I train you personally, it will no longer be spellslinger versus spellslinger, it will be spellslinger versus wizard.”

“Can you do it again?” asked Arc, eager to see the stump uprooted.

“I’m afraid not, Arc,” said Dusk. “I don’t remember the incantation.”

Valen started laughing, but Dusk raised an eyebrow an eyebrow at him and he fell silent.

“When a wizard uses a spell, it takes a piece of his memory with it. Specifically, the memory of the spell itself. With enough power, you can withstand the erasure and cast the same spell multiple times, but eventually, you will forget and have to learn the spell all over again. And this is where a spell cartridge is an advantage for you boys.”

“We can just keep going,” said Arc, understanding what his master had meant. “As long as there’s a cartridge in the gun, the spell does what it’s meant to and doesn’t affect us.”

“Very good,” said Dusk, turning to look at the stump. “When the others are ready, I’ll show my abilities to them. For now, you two are sworn to secrecy. Is that clear?”

“Yes, Master Dusk,” said Arc and Valen together.

“Shall we head back home, gentlemen?” asked Dusk, not waiting for an answer before he strode across the sand.

Valen spun his spellcaster in his hand. “Master Dusk makes this thing look obsolete, doesn’t he?”

“I disagree,” said Arc, tapping his own gun. “Not everyone cares for spellslinging, but nobody hunts us down. Wizards are still in hiding even today, right? This keeps us safe.”

“When all the wizards eventually die out, my friend, what are you going to do for new cartridges? Hell, what are you going to do if Master Dusk kicks the bucket?”

Arc contemplated this for a second and realised that Valen had a point, but he also knew that his master was smart enough to have some sort of contingency in place in the event of his demise. Surely, the art of creating spell cartridges would live on in others and so too would the mages themselves. All it would take is someone with the right aptitude to be taught by the right teacher.

“Come on, chum,” said Valen, holstering his gun and slapping Arc on the back. “I bet Evie’s waiting for you with a hopeless smile on her face.”

“Shut up,” said Arc with a chuckle, elbowing his friend in the ribs.

“Ah, you bastard,” laughed Valen. “I bet you’re itching to tell her all about the master’s powers, aren’t you? Get yourself some points there, eh?”

“Master Dusk said we’re sworn to secrecy and that means that I won’t tell a single soul, bud.”

“Good man,” said Valen. He started to run after the master who was quickly fading into the distance.

With a last look at the tree stump on the hill, Arc hurried to catch up with Valen and Master Dusk.