There was a time of kings and queens, of wealthy merchants, of the pauper, and of the common knight. Magic was abundant, and the strength of arms could conquer a nation. In these times, kingdoms of human kind did not alone reign supreme just yet. There were other contenders, such as those who claimed to be born of the elements—the dwarves and elves alike—and there were also hordes of demons whose mere existence corrupted all things around them.
These powers were teetering on the brink of all-out war, divided by boundaries that were frequently redrawn as a result of ongoing conflicts and ownership disputes. The stage was set and all it would take was a spark to start it.
There lived a man in these lands who desperately wished for such an outcome. He desired for the curtain to finally rise to reveal the greatest calamity of war that the world of Reva had ever known. It was not because he wished for death or for spoils begotten from war. He only felt in his heart that his side could win, and with victory, there could finally be true peace, even if it meant sacrificing countless lives.
That man was the Archmage Zane Grinus, an ambitious human and also the greatest wielder of magic on the continent of Fedinor. His title spoke for itself: Archmage, the title given to practitioners of magic who had reached the apex of the arcane arts.
But he was not without opposition.
Since he wanted war, his opponents were those who naturally wanted peace, a fool’s peace as far as he was concerned since it was hanging on by threads.
In a castle on a land rife with magic, there were two opposing forces fighting for their ideals. The surrounding authorities did not know of this conflict, for it was fought mainly in the shadows, with each party holding their own self-righteous reason to fight.
On one hand, there was a man whose magic threatened the might of the stars themselves, and on the other, there were clergy who held the hearts of millions in their hands.
"I cannot kill you, Archmage Grinus," a soft and soothing but pained voice spoke.
A man hidden under the hood of an intricate robe grinned manically at a pale-faced woman sprawled out on the floor at his feet.
"You state the obvious, High Priestess," the man in the hood, Archmage Grinus, replied, watching with satisfaction the woman’s strained expression.
The woman clutched at her chest as she squeezed her eyes shut.
He mocked, "Is this the way of the holy men and women of the church? To not only attack an Archmage in his sleep, but to close their eyes, frightened to witness the consequences for doing so?"
"You’ve brought this upon yourself!" the High Priestess screamed, her voice cracking from emotion.
"Odd," the Archmage mused, "It’s almost as if you think that you’re casting judgment on me instead of the other way around. I’m the victor here, Desia, High Priestess of Vanglo. I am the judge who proclaims who’s at fault here."
"Wrong," the woman, Desia, croaked out as her eyes opened, revealing empty white eyes that glowed fiercely with light.
"What manner of magic is this?" Archmage Grinus asked, perplexed, feeling a whirlwind of foreign energy swirling within the priestess’ eyes.
"Your magic power is not something that I or the rest of the clergy can contest with," the High Priestess yelled.
Archmage Grinus took a step back, hearing more voices coming from the High Priestess than her own.
The wind started to pick up in his castle.
There shouldn’t be wind in here, he thought, incredulous. His robes flapped wildly in the strange wind's turbulence.
"If we cannot overpower you," the High Priestess shouted, with the voices speaking in unison with her own, "Then let us contest with our souls!"
Archmage Grinus put up his hand in front of him, shielding him from the light flooding out of the High Priestesses’ eyes.
"This does not seem like holy magic," Archmage Grinus muttered.
A strange feeling fell over him, forcing the Archmage to go down onto one knee.
This can’t be, he thought, panicked, I’m losing power?
The High Priestess stood, her eyes flashing overwhelming light down on Archmage Grinus causing him to tremble.
“This isn’t possible!” Archmage Ginus roared.
The pale hand of the High Priestess touched the top of his forehead as she shined the light from her eyes directly into the gray eyes of the Archmage.
“I have to stop you, Achmage. Your ideas are too dangerous and will lead to the end of us all. I do this because we want peace!” The High Priestess declared with her many voices.
Unable to struggle against the strange light, Archmage Grinus found himself thrown into a white void, feeling like he was floating away far off like a sailor lost at sea.
***
A lone bandit crouched over the lifeless body of a young man by the side of a desolate dirt road. Only wilderness surrounded him on all sides, encasing him in nature where only the creatures of the wild roamed. There was no one to hear the victim's screams, no one to stop the bandit from committing the heinous crime of murder and robbery.
“My, my,” he chuckled, his veined eyes scrunching with joy as he gazed at the dead young man’s face, which still held the softness of youth. “This baby dared to be a wayfinder on the frontier. Your ma should have taught you that wandering dangerous places can be fatal!”
The bandit's appearance matched his cruel demeanor. He had a head of unruly reddish-brown hair, and deep wrinkles etched lines into his weathered face. The bandit's eyes were set too close together, and they seemed to sink beneath a heavy brow, giving him a shifty, suspicious look. His thin, almost non-existent lips hardly moved as he spoke. The bandit wore a tattered green bandanna over his head, a well-worn leather jerkin underneath a green vest, threadbare linen pants, and scuffed-up leather boots that had seen better days.
His victim, the young man, had been a victim of his own daring, his adventurous spirit leading him to his untimely demise. The dangers of exploring uncharted territory on the fringes of civilization were too much for him to bear. But for the bandit, the wild and lawless lands held opportunities for gain and profit.
The same opportunities that attracted settlers and explorers also drew scavengers, seeking to devour scraps left unwanted or unattended, among them the bandit. He offered many new explorers the services of a guide, and when they least expected it, he would kill them, take their coin, and toss them for the beasts of the forest to consume.
“Wayfinding really does pay well,” the bandit grinned greedily, fingering silver coins in the palm of his hands. He often imagined a different life for himself, one where he could have been a brave wayfinder or an honest store clerk, but he had only experienced life as a criminal, gaining by taking from others.
"Who in the abyss are you?" an annoyed voice asked.
The bandit stiffened, raising his head to find the dead wayfinder looking at him. The young man peered down at the coins slipping out of his pocket and reoriented his dark eyes on the bandit.
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“What is this?” the young man asked in disbelief, his face as in much shock as the bandit staring back at him. “Are you robbing me?”
“But I killed you,” the bandit responded to his own thoughts asking him how a dead man could still speak. The evidence of the crime still showed in the pool of red leaking from the young man and the blood dripping from the bandit’s long dagger.
The young man sat up, propping an arm on a knee as he rubbed head, attempting to gather his wits. The sight of smooth skin on his hands that lacked liver spots caused him to panic. Brushing against his jaw, his eyes widened sensing no beard.
I’ve become young? The young man thought, distressed. But I’ve never been one to hide my age with magic, so how have I become like this?
The young man's dark hair hung limply around his face, as if someone had poured water over him. It was neither curly nor straight, but somewhere in between, lacking any distinctive style or taste. His features were unremarkable, with a nose that was neither large nor small, eyes that were neither bright nor dull, and lips that were neither full nor thin. He blended into a crowd easily, and even those who knew him might struggle to recognize him even when searching for him.
The back of his shirt was stained with blood, and several rips of equal size suggested that he had been attacked with a stabbing weapon. Mud clung to his dark linen pants, and his worn-out shoes hinted at his humble origins.
The young man's eyes held the only remarkable aspect about him, with a glint of something otherworldly and a flicker of magic seeming to emanate from within..
The memory of a battle with a priestess flashed in his mind.
The High Priestess…I was having a fight against the High Priestess when I was thrown into a vortex of white light! The young man turned over his two smooth skinned arms. How was she able to throw my soul into this youth?
"Hey," the bandit yelled, "I’m talking to you; don’t ignore me. How are you still alive?"
"Silence," the young man commanded, his voice echoing with power as he revolved magic within himself.
The bandit was neither impressed nor intimidated. He got low into a crouch while he pointed his short blade toward the youth, ready to lunge at his throat. The bandit decided to get the young man talking so as to lower the other’s guard, then strike when his victim least expected it.
When the bandit opened his mouth to taunt the youth, no words came out.
He tried again, but there was still nothing. He grasped at his throat in dread. What happened to his voice?
The young man across from the bandit stumbled in his step a bit.
Hmm? The young man thought with worry, the silent spell isn’t something that should take so much out of me.
He closed his eyes to measure the levels of his body’s mana and found his answers there.
Mana is a mystical energy source that pervades all living things. It varies in size among creatures and is even present in those who may not be aware of it. Some individuals can increase their mana through various rituals and experiments.
This energy source isn't just used for magic, but in every aspect of daily life, albeit in minuscule amounts. Eating, working, sleeping, and other activities all draw upon mana as a subtle but essential energy source. Although mana isn't as noticeable as energy derived from chemicals in the brain, like adrenaline, or from food, it is still used in similar ways.
The accumulation of this mana energy was how Archmage Grinus came to power. He trained and studied magic all his life in order to become the most powerful mage in the entire continent of Fendinor.
My mana has shrunk to such a paltry amount…
The youth opened his eyes sensing something.
The bandit had started to charge at him while mouthing something in silence. The young man, adept at lip reading, saw what the bandit was trying to convey.
“What did you do to my voice?!” the bandit inaudibly yelled.
The young man revolved mana to unleash his magic, Beginner earth spell: “Unpaved Earth”.
Mana moved rapidly around the young man then his power seeped into the ground. From below the bandit’s running feet, a piece of stone shot up, tripping him over, causing him to fall over onto his face.
At least I can still conjure the simplest of spells without much issue, the youth discovered.
Beginner psychic spell: “Sleep”.
The youth placed his hand onto the prone dizzied bandit’s head and proceeded to send a pulse of mana into the man’s body. The bandit became still and the sound of snoring could be heard escaping his nostrils.
That takes care of this annoyance.
Beginner ice spell: “Ice Mirror”.
From the humidity of the air, ice started to form into a flat, circular, reflective disk. The young man caught the disk in his hand and held it up to his face. From what his reflection in the disk showed, the young man couldn’t help but sigh.
So this is what has become of the great Archmage Zane Grinus, he thought depressingly, thrown into the body of some unknown youth without the mana reserves he had fought so hard to collect. What a world.
Zane released the ice disk to the floor, breaking it.
What to do, what to do…
He looked down at the bandit snoring loudly and came up with what his next step should be.
After a few minutes, the bandit awoke groggily and found his body being bound to a tree. Strangely, his bindings seemed like wood directly grown out of the tree as if the tree itself was holding onto him.
“What manner of devilry…?” the bandit gasped.
“Don’t be alarmed, criminal,” a voice spoke.
The bandit looked over to who was speaking and found the youth he had killed.
“Y-you,” the bandit stammered, “How are you…”
“Still alive? You’ve been asking that quite a number of times already,” Zane answered with a grin, “Well, let’s just say that you’ve chosen the wrong person to rob today and let’s leave it at that.”
“What do you want from me?”
“Just answer my questions and depending on how well you cooperate, I just might release you.”
The bandit gulped nervously.
“What time period are we in?” Zane decided to ask.
“It is the third day in the month of the red harvest moon, my lord,” the bandit answered respectfully. He had made his mind up to grovel in the best way that he could. He did not wish to die here in the woods and left as food for wild animals.
“What nonsense are you spewing?” Zane asked irritably.
“Um, my lord?” the bandit asked, unsure how he had gotten the date wrong or how this surly youth could derive anger from his answer.
“Where on Fedinor does the calendar change so much as to not even reflect any similarity to that of the empire’s chosen calendar?”
“I do not know of any Fendinor, my lord, or this empire you speak of.”
Zane’s expression contorted in anger as the air around him became twisted by his mana being pushed out of his body.
The bandit gulped at the sight. He had never seen magic before and what was in front of him seemed like devil work.
“Maybe I should just kill this one and find out information from someone more knowledgeable…” Zane began to mumble.
The bandit felt his heart almost jump into his mouth and began sputtering, “N-no, my lord, please don’t kill me. I’ve been living in these parts since a boy. There shouldn’t be a soul around as familiar with this area as I am, no sir, not a soul!”
Zane eyed the bandit and considered him for a moment.
“Then tell me, what country are we in?” Zane asked. If he didn’t get a meaningful answer out of this bandit this time, he’d kill him. The bandit was a criminal who slayed others for coin anyhow. The world would be a better place without his pathetic presence in it.
“We are in the country of Havenfor, my lord, ruled by the Kingdom of Havenfor that is under the rule of the royal family, Dulinon, for about a few centuries, give or take,” answered the bandit as best he could. He even used as much proper pronunciation in his words as his backwater accent would allow.
Zane searched his memories for such a country and kingdom, but he found that he had never heard of such a place. None of what the bandit was saying made sense.
“And what is the name of the continent?” Zane asked, beginning to worry what he’d find out.
“I believe, disregarding the elves’ belief in what the name is, our continent is called Aristas by us humans, my lord,” the bandit replied, this time with a formal bow of his head.
Zane’s pupils dilated as his pulse began to quicken. Sweat wetted his skin.
This can’t be, he thought, reeling, have I been thrown to one of the continents at the ends of the world?
It took him a few seconds to recover from his spiraling emotions before he could pose another question, “What is the state of the world? What powers rule the continent? Are the humans, magical beings and demons fighting?”
The bandit looked away while thinking then said, trying not to upset the youth, “The humans have always been subordinates to the elves and dwarves, my lord. This is known history…”
A sudden surge of anger filled Zane as his mana once again twisted violently around him and distorted the space there.
“Magical beings rule over us humans…!”
“Um, yes, my lord…we have always served them since the times when they fought back the demons to the other side of the continent…”
“The demons rule over half of the known territory…?”
“Yes, my lord. They have ruled there for as long as any human can remember. The border that divides us is being protected by our saviors, the elven Kingdom of Paradise.”
Humans in servitude to those elf bastards…demons ruling over half of this land…
Zane could barely contain his rage. He had tried to warn that damned High Priestess that this could occur on their continent, but she wouldn’t listen to him. If he had been here on this continent to help his fellow humans while he was in his own body, he could’ve saved them from the humiliation of having to serve…
An idea sparked within him.
He was here now. The once Archmage, who had earned the respect of the human empire on Fendinor and became a lone sovereign of his own territory, was present and could help the poor wretches on this continent before he embarked on his journey back home. Perhaps, he could even establish a transportation route from this place to Fedinor and make a valuable contribution to the ongoing war between his people and the other powers on Fendinor.
No High Priestess of Vanglo, or Vanglo as a whole for that matter, could get in his way of truly creating a safe place for humanity to live and thrive.
“What is your name, bandit?” Zane asked to the bound man.
"They call me Ricket, my lord. I have no memory of my surname," the bandit replied, sensing that his freedom was about to be at hand.
“From this day onwards, you will serve me, Ricket,” Zane decreed.
The bandit made an expression of outright disgust at the idea but quickly recovered as he answered, “Of course, my liege. I am willing to serve.”