Alkalis sat on the roof, looking out over the market. It was noon, the busiest part of the day. He was watching one of the women sell small pieces of metal and leather, intricate little pieces for horses. Something that went in the mouth. He knew the woman was his mother, but a few years ago she had cast him out. She was scared of him. He didn’t know why, but he didn’t want to scare her. Perhaps all mothers were scared of their children. But he loved to watch her--to fantasize that she was still his mother.

One day, he wanted to ride a horse--and maybe then his mother would not be afraid of him. The idea scared him, but he supposed that was part of the fun. However, he doubted he ever would. Only rich merchants or nobles owned them, and he was neither.

The smell of cooking meat and pies wafted up to him, and his mouth watered. A baker was only twenty or so feet away, and he could see the glow of the oven as the baker pulled out fresh bread. Next to him was another man, slowly turning a metal rod with meat skewered through it. The meat sizzled over the coals as the fat dripped down.

He sat there, enjoying the sun and the pleasant breeze. He didn't have the meat or the fresh bread, but he was lucky enough to have a fresh apple. Without taking his eyes off the busy market, he bit into it and savored the sweet juice as it tickled his throat. His gaze wandered to the upper part of the city, the palatian quarters, stretching beyond the market.

As always, his eyes were drawn to the figure of the golden man. The sun always seemed to catch it in a certain way, making the tall golden figure easily visible even from a distance. On days like these, it was hardest to resist going up to Palatian Square to get a closer look. The cool but sunny weather tickled his toes as he munched on his apple and stared up at the golden man.

Before he could convince himself that the idea was bad or that he could get in trouble, he scrambled off the short roof of the shack and onto the ground.

It didn't take him long to reach the steps. He had strong legs, and he was used to running around the market and exploring the different streets. But now, as he looked up the steps to Palatian Square, a strange sense of dread filled the pit of his stomach, and he couldn't figure out why.

He was closer to the golden man than ever before. He could see that it was much different and even more of a spectacle than he had imagined. Up close, the man's golden skin seemed to glow in the sunlight, and a distant part of him itched to get a sharp knife and carve off gold shavings to sell in the market. He figured he wasn't the only one to think such a thought, but there wasn't even a scratch on the man's golden skin.

Now that he was up close, he could see the golden man's face, and what he saw there unsettled him. It appeared as though the man was in pain, as if he were screaming. His neck muscles bulged, and he seemed to be straining against something. Alkalis stared at it for several moments, and then he began to realize why he felt so strange.

Had the golden man actually been a man? Was he more than just a strange golden statue meant to showcase the riches of the church? Alkalis couldn't recall ever seeing a statue that looked so real, but he also couldn't recall ever seeing a statue made out of gold either.

How could it look so lifelike? The thick muscles of the man's arms seemed to resist some form of restraint, and even the wrinkles of his tunic were defined and shadowed in the gold. Alkalis thought he could even see the outlines of a bulging vein.

"Can I help you, son?" a voice interrupted his thoughts.

Alkalis turned to see who it was, scared that it might be a guard. Instead, he saw an old man in white robes. The man's face was wrinkled with age, but his friendly blue eyes and smile put him at ease.

"I was..." His throat dried up, and no words would come out. He could only stare at the man as fear gripped his body. There was nothing about the man that seemed dangerous, but his very presence seemed to paralyze Alkalis. His skin turned cool, and a thick nausea overwhelmed him, making him want to gag.

The man seemed to notice Alkalis's discomfort and frowned. "Is everything okay, child?" He took a step towards Alkalis and reached out a hand. There was a coin in it.

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“Here child, let’s play a game. Is the coin warm or cool?”

Alkalis found the question odd, but he couldn’t look away from the coin. It was as if it drew him to it, and he found himself reaching for it. But the man was quick, and he snatched his wrist.

But the boy had been grabbed like that before by other boys on the streets who bullied him, and so he twisted his wrist and slid out of the old man’s grasp. The man narrowed his eyes in surprise and lurched towards him, but Alkalis was fast and he skipped out of the man’s reach.

“Come boy, if you play nice, you can keep it.” He held out the coin again, and again, he felt that pressure to touch the metal.

He thought about reaching for it one more time to steal it from the man, but then an odd sensation came from the back of his neck. It was as if someone was watching him. He turned to look and there was no one but the golden man.

The old man lunged and tackled the boy, and the wind was knocked out of him. Immediately he began to panic, and he bit the man’s arm. The man yelped, and Alkalis scrambled up the steps.

“Fuck off you old prick!” He screamed, tasting blood in his mouth. And then again, the feeling came back--but this time much stronger. The hairs on his neck rose and he looked down at his elbow and he realized he was touching the golden man.

The old man charged at him, and this time he knew that the man intended to really hurt him. But he was pressed up against the golden man, and there was nowhere to go.

The boy panicked, and a shock went through his body, as if he had been plunged in the cold of a lake. The world immediately went quiet and the man who had been charging him turned into a small dull form. But there was intense light originating behind him, and he realized somehow he was casting a shadow that led down into the city.

He turned and was immediately blinded. But there was no pain, only brightness--and the feeling he had before--of the golden man watching him, consumed him. It seemed to pull him closer and closer and he reached out a small glowing finger and touched the brightness.

His mind began to shatter and divide, and then it began to crystallize. One life--his own, one--the life of a man, and then another-- the life of a boy his own age. It all came rushing back—thirteen years as a boy, and fourty years as a man. Memories and pain and battles flooded into his mind like a stream released from a dam. Each memory ignited a chain reaction like gunpowder. Tastes, smells, thoughts, feelings, and memories of intense pain surged through his mind in an instant. And then as quickly as it had happened, the intensity of the brightness was gone, and he was alone. But now they knew where they were. And so they let go of the void.

The old man was almost on them, and they reached for their magic, and there it was, as if it had always been there. The cold, otherworldly connection was just a thought away. It was no longer unfamiliar or a foreign thing to fear. It had been taken away before, and he had lost it, but now he realized he was no longer afraid. It was new to Alkalis, yet also familiar—as if he had always known there was something he could do but had only just discovered his capability. The magic was no longer disconnected--and they were no longer trapped; the small bit of power had entered the world and bonded with flesh—or rather, created the flesh and linked their souls, and they had been reborn.

They held out a hand, and the void left it as if it had always wanted to be freed. Shadow and void streamed out--more powerful than it had ever been before and it swallowed the old man.

The churchmen had once stolen his life from him, and now he was repaying the debt. The shadowy void ate at him--biting and tearing and consuming. His flesh melted as if blown away by the wind, and bone dissolved as if it was made into liquid that dried up in the air itself, and after only a small moment, it was as if the old man had never existed.

There was no joy in what they had done--but there was no guilt either. Although he had never seen the man before, through his own eyes, he knew the pain that man had caused, and would cause again. He simply could not afford to live any longer.

The three of them--Alkalis, Arthael, and Milnas-- gazed out at the city before them, recalling the thousands of people who had watched them burn alive, the bloodshed and chaos of the barn where his friends were torn apart--and the companions who had left him to die. But it was not their fault. They had failed them, and they were all gone now-- and in his own way, they were gone too.

They sniffed the air and caught the faintest hint of bread from the market—Azish's sweet bread. Alkalis could recognize it by the subtle, sweet aroma. However, the food no longer evoked the same feeling in him. Before, it made his mouth water, and obtaining even the smallest loaf seemed like the most important thing in the world. Now, he realized it was just bread, and there were better things out there in the unseen world he had glimpsed.

The boy and the man within him had yearned for nothing more than a chance to live their own lives. They looked down at his small hands, hands that had never wielded a sword, hands without callused scars. Yet, they knew that if they were to pick up a sword—if his boyish muscles allowed it—it would not be Alkalis swinging it, but rather Arthael. Once, he had been the best blade in the world--and none had been his equal.

But they did not wish to wield the sword once more--instead, they just wanted to go home.