As the crowd continued to buzz with discussion, I took a slow breath and stepped forward. The murmurs quieted as all eyes turned toward me, their anticipation palpable. I could feel the weight of the crowd’s mixed emotions—anger, fear, gratitude, uncertainty—all pressing in around me. For a moment, I let the silence linger, gathering my thoughts.
“This is exactly what I thought would happen,” I began, my voice calm but firm. “I understand why some of you are concerned. You think I’ve been watching you like some kind of overseer, that my magic gives me too much power over your lives.” I scanned the crowd, meeting the gazes of those who had spoken out, and those who had remained silent. “But what you’re asking me to do is like asking someone to put out their own eyes because you don’t like how they see you.”
I let the words sink in for a moment, the gravity of the analogy hanging in the air. “I can’t turn off my vision,” I continued. “The magic I use—Verdant Dominion, as some of you now know—it’s not something I can simply switch off. It’s a part of me, just like your ability to see or hear. I don’t ‘spy’ on you; I sense the world around me because that’s how my magic works. It’s how I grow the crops, how I heal your wounds, how I built the walls that protect us.”
Some of the crowd seemed to soften at that, but the unease still lingered. I could see the skepticism in the eyes of those who weren’t convinced.
“If you want me to leave,” I said, and I saw a few heads nodding at the suggestion. “I will.” I paused, letting the idea of it settle over them. “But my magic goes with me. Everything I’ve built, everything I’ve maintained—it’s connected to me. I can leave behind the walls, the buildings, the crops… but they’ll fall into disrepair without someone to maintain the magic that supports them.”
A woman in the front row frowned. “So you’re saying you’d take everything from us if you left?” she asked, a hint of accusation in her voice.
“No,” I replied, shaking my head. “I’m saying that what I’ve built here isn’t as simple as bricks and mortar. The walls aren’t just walls—they’re reinforced with magic to keep out things that shouldn’t be here. The crops aren’t just ordinary plants—they’re nourished with mana to grow faster, to resist disease. It’s not that I’d take anything away from you—it’s that these things would wither without the magic I used to create them in the first place.”
The story has been illicitly taken; should you find it on Amazon, report the infringement.
A low murmur spread through the crowd again, as people turned to discuss my words with each other. Some looked thoughtful, others frustrated.
“I didn’t do any of this to control you,” I added, raising my voice to cut through the noise. “I did it because I could, and because it was the right thing to do. You’re free to want me gone, and if that’s what the majority of you decide, I’ll respect it. But I won’t pretend that there won’t be consequences.”
Scott stepped forward, his voice cutting through the quiet. “And if you stayed?” he asked, looking directly at me. “What would that look like?”
I met his gaze. “If I stayed, it would be on the understanding that I’m not here to control you, or to rule you. I’m here to help in the ways I know how. But that doesn’t mean I’ll stop using my magic just because some people don’t like how it works. I won’t pry into your lives, but I also won’t pretend that my abilities aren’t what they are. I can’t change the nature of my magic any more than you can change the color of your eyes.”
Kim took a step forward, addressing the crowd. “Look, we’ve all benefitted from what Gavrin’s done,” she said. “Whether it’s the food, the walls, the healing—he’s helped us survive. Are we really going to push him away because we don’t fully understand how his magic works?”
A man from the back shouted, “It’s not about the magic—it’s about the secrets! If you were just honest with us from the start, we wouldn’t be having this conversation!”
I nodded slowly, acknowledging his point. “You’re right,” I said. “I should have been more open. I underestimated how this would feel from your perspective, and for that, I apologize. But understand that I didn’t keep things quiet to deceive you. I just didn’t want to make a spectacle out of something that, to me, is as natural as breathing.”
There was a long silence after I spoke. The townspeople exchanged glances, some whispering quietly, while others just stood in thought. The tension hadn’t disappeared, but it felt like a shift—a willingness, perhaps, to listen, to consider a middle ground.
“I’m not asking for your forgiveness,” I added, “and I’m not asking for your trust. I’m only asking for a chance to show you that I’m not your enemy.” I let the words hang in the air before I spoke again. “Decide what you want, and I’ll respect it. But know that if I go, you’ll have to find someone else to keep the magic alive.”
And with that, I took a step back, leaving the townspeople to murmur among themselves, the weight of their decision settling upon the field like a gathering storm.