Hageawn stepped out of the treeline, his feet dragging as though they carried the weight of the Glade behind them. With every step, he hesitated, his legs unwilling to carry him further. He closed his eyes, forcing himself to remember Shirai’s expression—the way she always seemed to pull away from him, the sharp needles that pierced his heart. The memory hurt, but it pushed him onward.

In the days that followed, Hageawn joined and traveled among a group of nomads. They welcomed him with surprising warmth, free of suspicion, and for a short time, he felt a fleeting sense of ease.

Yet the ache in his chest refused to fade. It returned in waves, striking him unexpectedly and leaving him paralyzed in the quiet moments.

One person, however, seemed unfazed by Hageawn’s silence. A small figure with an oversized hood and an endless stream of chatter filled the quiet spaces around him.

Finally, Hageawn raised his haunted face, his voice soft but firm.

“Enough, Thery. I’m tired.”

Thery froze mid-sentence, his hood slipping further over his face as he drew back slightly. The silence hung awkwardly for a moment before he murmured, “If I shut up, will you tell me what happened?”

Hageawn’s sharp glare was answer enough.

Thery’s eyes widened beneath his hood, and he quickly looked away. “Alright, alright,” he muttered. But the quiet didn’t last long.

“Well, then you listen,” he said brightly, his voice slipping into its familiar, squeaky cadence.

“I’ve visited all of the towers, y’know. Well, except Aesec Tower.” Thery rubbed his chin dramatically, as though trying to summon the perfect thought. “Did you know Wyrlec’s Archmage has disappeared? No one knows what happened to him!”

Hageawn didn’t respond, but Thery took this as encouragement to continue.

“You know what I think?” Thery leaned in, his voice dropping to an exaggerated whisper. “I think some of the rumors might be true. He’s lost his head! Not dead, of course. No, no,” he added quickly, as if worried Hageawn might jump to that conclusion.

Taken from Royal Road, this narrative should be reported if found on Amazon.

“An Archmage…” Thery’s voice filled with awe, his wide eyes glinting beneath the shadow of his hood. “What could kill him?”

Hageawn couldn’t bring himself to care. The words barely registered, muted by the ache that refused to leave his chest. His thoughts felt heavy, too tangled in grief to untangle themselves for idle speculation.

He hurt too much. Missed too much.

His throat felt raw, the words he hadn’t spoken scraping against it like jagged glass. His body ached—not from exertion, but from the hollowness that gnawed at him. He couldn’t even remember the last time he’d eaten, the days blurring together in the haze of his sorrow.

“Thery…” Hageawn’s voice was barely above a whisper, strained and trembling. He shut his eyes tightly, willing himself to regain control. He was struggling, and Thery didn’t seem to understand the danger.

“Quickly, Thery,” he managed, his voice cracking. “Get away from me.”

Thery froze, his shoulders slumping. For a moment, he looked like he wanted to argue, to stay, but the weight in Hageawn’s words silenced him.

“I’m sorry,” Thery whispered, though he didn’t finish the sentence.

It was already too late.

Hageawn let out a wail, one that sent ripples of palpable anguish through the group of nomads. They turned toward him, their faces etched with concern.

The mana surged, answering his despair with a ferocity that startled even him. A violent torrent of energy spiraled outward, forcing the nomads to scatter in panic, their cries filling the air.

Overhead, the sky darkened, as though sensing the storm within him.

Purple streaks of lightning arced across the skies, illuminating golden flares of flame that burned like fleeting stars. The air crackled with raw power, the ground trembling beneath their feet.

Hageawn’s silver eyes glowed, bright and unyielding, as the storm within him raged. His heart pounded violently, each beat threatening to rip him apart.

He could feel the mana spiraling further out of control, wild and destructive, feeding on the emotions he couldn’t suppress.

“Please…” he whispered, though to whom, even he didn’t know.

“Hageawn!”

The mana burst from Hageawn in sharp, invisible waves, cutting through the air like blades. The ground trembled under its force, crackling with the raw energy of his emotions. But Thery didn’t flinch—he ran straight toward him, his hood slipping back to reveal wide, determined eyes.

Before Hageawn could stop him, Thery threw his arms around him, pulling him into a fierce embrace.

The mana lashed out, a chaotic tide battering both of them. Thery shrieked in pain but clung tighter, her grip unwavering.

One of the nomads shouted in horror and confusion, “Is he agresating?”

The question sent a wave of panic through the others. “Pixies! I think he is! Quickly, get back. Thery, you can’t help him!”

Without waiting for Thery to respond, the others turned and fled, their cries fading into the distance.