“Light magic is one of many studies of magic, very recently discovered by Modern Mage’s. Not much is commonly known about it as most practicing Mages closely guard their secrets, however it is believed to be one of the oldest magics to date.” - Notes on Mages

Mokk had been in a tough spot before, in fact it was hard for him to name a time that he wasn’t knocking at death's door. Numerous adversaries from his youth had tracked him down over the years and all tried their best to kill him. He didn’t like the idea that it was going to be someone he barely knew that killed him. He blinked his eye, blood had dropped down over his left eye and crusted over, closing it shut. His wrists were tied to a rather large log of wood, with plenty of kindling at his feet. He looked over to his left and saw the Evrin merchant Thorn in a similar position. He smiled.

“Finally caught the great Moon Merchant huh?”

Thorn growled and looked over at him.

“Be quiet you filthy mage, you’re just waiting for the right moment for a great escape.” He sneered. Mokk shrugged as best he could with the ropes.

“The idea is quite tempting, I’m simply enjoying the rest I’m getting right now.” He said.

‘“Good, then you’ll free me when you do, after you’re sufficiently rested.” Thorn said. Mokk tilted his head and turned towards him.

“Why should I free you?” He asked, puzzled by the sudden ask. Thorn closed his eyes, taking in a deep breath.

“Because I’m the King of the Evrin.” He said solemnly. Mokk stared at him, Thorn stared back. The crowd of scavengers moved past the two without paying a sparing glance, they continued to pile up the firewood and tend to their wounds. Mokk turned away from the Evrin.

“Pfft, you’ve been into old Silvereye’s secret stash then?” He said straight faced . “If you share some with me I’d consider getting you out.”

Thorn laughed and looked back at the scavengers.

“Hah, if I had any left I’d consider giving it to you then.”

“King of the Evrin?” Mokk said wistfully, Thorn glared at him.

“Got a problem with my people’s beliefs?”

“Not at all, not at all.” Mokk replied with a shake of his head.

“I’m afraid I do though.” Botchin stated as he approached the two. The crowd parted around him as he walked forward, unwounded. It was as if he was out for a midnight stroll and had not been in a fight for his life minutes prior. He approached Thorn so they were only a foot apart. “If you were really the King of the Evrin,” he looked at the back of his fingers as he continued. “I would spend every day of my life torturing you, feeding only on your screams.”

Thorn spat at his feet and Botchin simply stared at him. Mokk watched the exchange of the two with a raised eyebrow. Botchin sighed and rested his hand on the pommel of his sword, tapping it as Thorn glared down at him.

“You already failed to kill me, should I ‘fail’ to kill you here?” Botchin asked. There was a glimmer of amusement in his eyes as he spoke, Mokk noted.

“If you’re going to kill us, you’d better make it quick.” Mokk said, catching the man’s attention. Botchin strolled over to him.

“The Mage from the forest I presume?” He asked gently. “What good would it do me to kill you slowly? This is supposed to be a festival after all, the fun shouldn’t end so soon.”

“Ah, you’re just as sick as I assumed.” Mokk mused, he pulled his wrists around his ropes, the cord was rough and felt rather weak.

“Sickness to some, is strength to others.” Botchin replied. He pulled out his sword and turned to face his crowd of scavengers. They cheered as he turned to face them. “My people! My chosen! Today I gift to you our new home!” The crowd roared and swung their weapons in the air. Several of them threw torches onto already burning buildings, and others overturned stalls. ‘Chaos,’ Mokk thought, looking at the crowd he wondered how many still held the ability to think for themselves. After all, there was no doubt in his mind they were under the control of an ancient Dructini spell. He felt the ropes in his hand one more time, they felt flimsy now. He turned to Thorn.

“Waiting for the perfect moment was it?” He snapped the ropes out and reached into his robe to pull out his spell book.

“The Mage is free!” A voice in the crowd cried out, causing Botchin to whirl around.

“I told ya!” Cried another.

“Now someone free me!” Thorn cried out to Mokk, but there was no answer as he stood facing Botchin.

Botchin smiled and readied his sword.

“I’ve been wanting to fight you since the day in the forest.” He said, pacing back and forth.

“I didn’t want to disappoint my Student back then.” Mokk replied, his face was set like stone. “He’d be upset at how quickly it was over.”

“I agree, you’d barely have time to cast a spell.” Botchin replied, and as he did he lunged forward to stab at Mokk. Mokk stepped to the side and extended his left arm. His spell book stood floating right outside his grip, the pages began to flip rapidly, numerous spells going by in moments.

“I make my own time.” He said. The pages of his spellbook suddenly stopped mid flip and the world itself seemed to freeze. The crowd, in the middle of their movements, hung suspended, yet their minds still moved like normal. They tried to cry out but their faces were like statues. Botchin’s fingers whitened and he swung the Miunli blade down, tearing a seam in the world behind its path. He stepped forward and stretched out his back as if he was standing up for the first time in a while. Mokk’s remained expressionless as his opponent broke free.

“Quite interesting these Miunli blades, as I’m sure you know.” Botchin began, running a finger down the blade.

“Spare me the lesson.” Mokk replied. He leapt back into the air, stepping onto a shimmering plate of light. His spellbook followed him, it continued flipping through the pages before Mokk placed a hand on it. Ribbons of light wrapped around his fingers and hands, spreading up over his robes and arms. They formed a colorful spiral as they flowed like streams of water.

“Beautiful, I must admit.” Botchin mused, he began pacing again, waiting for Mokk to make the next move. Mokk stared down at him, the light around him shimmered briefly before surrounding his entire body. The light seemed to emit a droning sound, like the whoosh of a fire but if it was stuck on a single note. Then with a flash the light disappeared and with it so did Mokk. Botchin spun around trying to figure out where he went, before he felt a great force hit him in the side. He slid several feet across the stone pavement, bumping into several of his crowd, their bodies felt like stone.

This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.

“I’ll say it once as a courtesy, surrender now.” Mokk said. The air around Botchin shimmered and Mokk reappeared.

“Your magic doesn't scare me.” Botchin said, pulling himself back to his feet.

Mokk didn’t answer, the air simply shimmered once more and he disappeared from view.

--------------------------

Hawar stepped cautiously through the garden behind the manor. He froze in place at every sound he heard, not wanting to be caught by the scavengers. Solle had sent him out on his own to look for the merchants who had gone missing, Silvereye, Thorn, and Allsin; Solle had told him they all abandoned the village after indirectly causing this. He had initially protested leaving his teacher but Solle had placed a hand on his shoulder and told him:

“I’ll bring your teacher back, don’t worry about here and just focus on bringing those merchants back.”

Hawar had gone back to the manor where the merchants had originally been, he had taken the rear entrance to avoid the fires as much as possible. The wooden doors on this side offered a different tone from the front gates.. The whole entrance seemed uninviting, a stark contrast to the earlier atmosphere of the gate he had met Nerri at. He approached them cautiously, as far as he knew, there was nobody inside, but the building still felt inhabited. Solle had told him the maids and servants had cleared people out and led them to various hiding places. The mood reminded him of when he was younger, sneaking out from his room to wander the halls of his family's home. He recalled one night in particular, where he had waited for the guard outside his room to be asleep before he tiptoed down. His family hall was decorated with portraits of his ancestors. In the day it was a source of pride to look at them but in the moonlight their faces became sinister. He has always tried to deny it, but that night he felt something walking behind him. The hallways was always well lit, even in the night, yet as he turned back to see what was following him there was only darkness. The longer he had looked at it the more it seemed to loom closer and closer. His appetite for exploration had been ruined after that, and he scurried back to his room, breathing heavily as he pulled his sheets over his head. He never told his parents about it, and the guards outside never said anything about that night.

As the memories of that night raced through his mind he whirled around expecting to see the shadows pulling towards him. Yet nothing changed, the flowers of the garden did not grow legs and they did not begin chasing him. Hawar breathed a sigh of relief and gently opened the door.

The door opened into a large room filled to the brim with crates of food, a storage room for the merchants passing through the village to unload their goods. Hawar peeked around one of the crates to a nearby hallway, he was expecting to see someone jump out at him with weapons drawn, but it was empty.

“This just makes it worse.” He muttered. His hands reached into his pocket, where he felt the comforting leather of a bound spell tome. Before he left Solle, he had begged for one of the spell tomes the maids were using, for his protection of course. He wanted to pull it out and flip through it, but the fear of not seeing something approach him kept it in his pocket. He walked out of the storage room and into the hall, pausing for a moment in case his movements alerted some malevolent wanderer. The hall itself was neatly organized, there was the odd crate stacked up against the wall due to the sudden attack, but it all felt clean. The lamps were all still burning as he entered the main entrance hall from earlier. He took in another deep breath and started marching up the elaborate grand staircase.

When he reached the top of the steps he looked around to gather his bearings. The hall stretched around the staircase on the upper level, leading into various rooms. As he approached the nearest door he felt his blood freeze, the distinct sound of scratching was emanating from the closed door. His body felt cold and he felt the world start to swim.

“Get ahold of yourself.” He muttered. He had messed up earlier, this time he wouldn’t let it happen again. The scratching on the other side of the door had stopped. Hawar put one hand over the spell tome and the other on the door, cautiously pushing it open. As the door creaked open there was a scuffle inside and the sound of books falling onto the floor.

“Don’t try and fight it, let the elements beat you down.” His Teachers' words rang out again as fear coursed through his entire body. He took a deep breath and closed his eyes, letting the fear wash over him. In his mind he could see the faint glow of a flame in the distance and the spell tome in his hand began to feel warm. He opened his eyes and pushed into the room, spell tome at the ready even though he wasn’t sure how to use it.

The room itself was fairly plain, dimly lit with the light coming from a single candle atop a desk. There was a small fireplace that was filled with coals now, and a window on the other side of the room that was opened slightly ajar. It was a typical workspace, where Hawar imagined Solle spent many hours pouring over papers and trade documents. Gingerly he stepped towards the desk, scanning the area for anyone around, or the sound of the scratching.

“Anyone still here? I’m here to take you to safety.” He called out, taking a pause to wait for any response. Silence filled the room and seemed to bring with it a chill in the air. ‘It was probably a wild animal.’ He told himself, focusing on the small flame in the distance of his mind.

He kept scanning the room but began to turn his attention to the papers on the desk; he wasn’t quite sure what he was looking for but hoped to find some sort of correspondence between Solle and the Merchants. A note about possible routes, a hint of where they came from, how many they were traveling with. Any sort of information would be helpful, though he wasn’t sure he could decipher any of the local names for places. He turned several more pieces of paper over but they were all filled with gibberish and scribbles.

“Did a child work here?!!” He said as he threw his hands into the air with complete exasperation. His fingers drummed against his forehead, a habit he had formed years ago after watching his mother do the same. ‘Even if there was information on their whereabouts, how would I recognize it?’ He thought, followed by, ‘Do I just take all these papers to Solle?’ He shivered and rubbed his hands against his forearms. The papers on the desk were numerous, but there were the crates he could use from downstairs to transport them. ‘If I spend all that time transporting the papers back,’ he began to realize. ‘I’m going to lose time actually catching these merchants.’

The wind blew through the open window, scattering the pages onto the floor and bringing the door closed with a slam. Hawar jumped to his feet, heart pounding at the sudden movement. He stood there, joints locked for a moment before taking a deep breath, which turned into a nervous laugh.

“It’s just the wind, how harmful can wind be?” He said. Moments later, the scratching at the door began again, this time however it came from the other end. Hawar laughed again.

“Just the wind, what else would it be?” A false attempt to reassure himself, for as soon as he said it he felt a chill run down his body. The scratching stopped and then the door began to shake. Hawar’s fingers fumbled as he flipped through the pages of the spell tome. His eyes darted up at the door to make sure it was still there, and whatever was shaking it was on the other side. A small black fog started to drift through the crack under the door and into the room. Hawar’s fingers flipped through the pages faster. The pages themselves were filled with unfamiliar lettering and long golden brush strokes. The fog was getting closer, the window closed behind him with a large crash. With a yell he ripped out one of the pages from the book and grabbed a blank sheet of paper from the desk.

“Ink, ink? Ink!” He muttered, holding up a small container of ink which revealed itself to be empty. The fog wrapped around the base of the desk as the door seemed to collapse in on itself, creaking and groaning before it snapped and sent splinters flying across the room. Several splinters scratched Hawar’s face and blood began to drip. He fanned his finger against his blood lightly, an idea beginning to form as he reached for the sheet of paper.

In that moment there were two significant things that happened, the fog began to wrap around Hawar’s legs, sending a deep chill up his body; but as soon as he felt the chill an even greater warmth rose to combat it. It was no less than the same feeling he felt during mountain training.

“Resist, don’t fight.” His teachers words rang through his mind. The flame in his mind felt close, far closer than it had ever been.

He reached back to the paper and felt his fingers glide, blood stained, against the sheet of paper. Marking out the flame that appeared in his mind. A single ribbon of light began to trail out from the paper and into the room, it hung suspended, twisting and curving above the fog. The fog had reached his chest and began numbing any feeling of his lower half. Hawar winced, the pain was stretching over his body but at the same time he could feel the flame in his mind wrapping around him.

Hawar grabbed the paper off of the table and held it out in front of him. Flames sparked out around his body, chasing away the fog as they grew in size. Hawar was startled by the lack of pain he felt from them, there was only warmth from the fire.

The fog receded back from Hawar, a small hissing sound emanating from the center of its mass. It paused, as if preparing for another attempt at surrounding him. Hawar outstretched his hand towards the fog and the flames leapt out towards it, scorching the room. There was an even louder hiss and the fog retreated back out of the room, leaving the young Mage staring in wonder at the flames.

He was exhausted, more so than ever before, more than after the winter training, but he had cast magic for the first time. As he collapsed to the floor there was a smile on his lips.

He knew, in that moment, he was a mage.