'Aster, wake up'

Aster abruptly opened his eyes, his mind instantly alert. Countless days of living in the forest had honed him to become very responsive the moment he woke up. But it was the sudden wail tearing into the sky that prompted him to rush out of bed, his wooden staff already in his grasp. Expecting some kind of threat, he warily searched around until he recalled that he was resting in a room within an inn, surrounded by four walls in all directions. He just about let out a breath of relief when his master's voice pierced through his soul, instantly jolting him.

'Quickly get dressed, apprentice. It seems this little town is already done for.'

Never one to hesitate, Aster swiftly changed into his darker and faded robes, also making sure his half-mask was securely set on his face.

'What is happening?' He asked as he pushed the cowl of his robe over his face.

His master only uttered a single word.

'Marauders.'

Aster nearly crashed into the floor, his fingers tightly clenching his staff for support.

"What… how is that even possible?" he harshly whispered as he pulled the rest of his belongings into his void stone, including the bag he usually carried for pretenses. " How are they there? Were they not fully purged by the inquisitors all those years ago?"

His master practically snorted.

'A lot of time has passed since then, child. If my demise was not proof enough of the corruption that lied beneath this monarchy, then what will?'

Not having a response to that Aster made for the window that overlooked a small part of the village. Even before he had crossed paths with his master in the forest, the stories of the marauders were the stuffs of nightmare for a young child. Many books have iterated a time when their presence was a common blight on the continent. But the birth of the monarchy and their inquisitors has pushed their existence to naught. They remained only as stories to scare children, their penchant for violence painting them as monsters who only sought to kill and rob the villagers of their babies. But now, as he stood beside the window, looking over the town, he knew there were not enough stories or lore to prepare anyone for when it actually happens.

It was mayhem down there.

The terrible scream that had woken him up had abruptly been cut off, only to be replaced by a blaring siren. If the scream hadn't already woken up the denizens of the village, then that loud horn was surely enough to rouse even the deepest of sleepers. From where he stood, he saw the whole town being swept by a horde of savage men in torn rags and pelts. Brandishing their crude weapons above them, they pounced upon the unwary villagers, reaping their lives almost as easily as harvesting crops. Half the town were still pushing through the effects of their wanton drinking from the previous celebration and it was these that met early death as they were quickly bashed or cleaved apart, barely coherent to defend themselves from swinging swords and clubs. The horror, the blood, and the desperate screams stunned him, locking his mind in a familiar memory, until his master's words finally snapped him out of his daze.

'There is no time to lose, little apprentice, you must escape while they are still distracted.'

Aster stared at the burgeoning violence; the streets were now marked in blood as a few villagers fought back against the tide. Only a few years ago, he once stood on the familiar pedestal and watched as his family were slaughtered to the ground. He had been weak back then, a child who could only stare as everyone he had ever known lost their lives one by one. Just like last time, he could escape again. With his affinities, there was barely anyone who could stop him for fleeing with his life. After all, he was only a stranger here, and this village serves as nothing more than a backdrop to his ultimate destination. But as he looked at the desperate struggles as the villagers resisted, he knew there was only one choice for him.

"I won't run away this time." He whispered, "I would fight and help."

He practically felt his master's ire rising.

'Are you a fool, child? Why would you want to meddle in a battle that does not concern you?'

Aster simply replied.

"If I don't help master, a lot of lives would be lost." His hands tightly clenched his staff, even as his eyes watered. "I don't ever want to turn my back when I know I can help. I was weak back then, I didn't have the choice. But now... I won't let myself be blind to people who need me."

Eiseldawn got quiet until he eventually sighed.

'I only care for your wellbeing, child. Perhaps if I had some strength or if you were just a little bit stronger, we could afford to do something. But as it stands right now, there is a lot riding on your shoulders, little one. If you lose your life here, a lot would be lost.'

Already, Aster could hear rising wails, cries, and grunts of effort from down below. Again, his master was right about his strength. By all accounts, he was still a mage of the first order, just like last time. But compared to back then, when he was a good-for-nothing descendant, now he had been reborn from a rare ritual, one that had served to transform him from the inside out and even awaken a concealed affinity within him. He had no idea how much he compared to a normal mage of the same rank but he knew he was far stronger, not even counting the fact that he had trained under an undying old mage.

When his master saw his silence, he knew his mind was already made.

'If you choose to do this, apprentice, you will put in jeopardy your vengeance and mine. Are you sure about this?'

Aster, who has never faltered once he made his choice, nodded.

"Yes master."

Eiseldawn sighed as he acquiesced.

'Well, if you are going to do this, then you might as well save our gracious hosts below. The marauders have already entered inside.'

Just then, a loud crash reverberated throughout the inn. When Aster stretched his senses below, he felt there were already three hostile intents within the building. Hoping he was not too late, he rushed out through the door and down the stairs. Something told him, though, that although the old woman and his granddaughter were a little strange, they might not be as simple as they seemed. He was proven right just a moment later.

The moment he arrived down the stairs, an explosion rocked the building. Looking around, he saw two men, each wielding a crude weapon of some kind, with the third one already down for the count. The granddaughter, Leliana, kept one of them busy as she gracefully flirted around him, dashing and slicing the marauder with her short knife, while another one was instead hollering at the top of his voice, scratching his eyes, his face bleeding in several places. There was a lot he was saying that he couldn't make heads or tails of, but there was one word that immediately caught his attention.

"Witch,"

He kept on screaming the word again and again until an invisible force picked him up and hurled him to the far wall near the fireplace. It was then that Aster finally recognized the last presence in the room. Lowering her wizened hand while leaning on her staff, the elderly woman, whom Aster realized just then that he never got her name, coldly stared at the lumped marauder with a look that promised death in her eyes. A satchel was tied to her waist, and before Aster could even comprehend the fact that he was probably in the presence of a witch, his senses pricked at something, prompting his eyes to shift to the ongoing battle on the side, which at the moment tittered on a thin margin. The girl, who was previously flirting around the marauder like a fly, was down on the ground, groaning in pain. The marauder, bleeding and torn in several places but very much alive, stood over her, jeering as he unhesitatingly drew his dagger in order to plunge into her body. The elderly woman, no, the witch, soundlessly screamed as she began to thrust her hand in her granddaughter's direction, trying to save her life, but Aster could abruptly tell she might already be a little bit too late. The dagger was already in full swing, and whatever she had hoped to do would take a bit of time to reach him—time her granddaughter didn't have.

Pulling on his innate connection to blood, it only took a thought for him to stretch his will and forcefully still the lifeblood rushing through the man's veins. The connection was tenuous at best, but it was enough to freeze the man mid-motion, his eyes bulging in surprise. He didn't even have a moment to contemplate when the witch's force finally arrived to blast the frozen man directly into the wall with such strength that a loud crack was heard. His body slumped to the ground, and when Aster narrowed his gaze, he saw blood spilling out of his clearly cracked skull. At that moment inside the inn, silence pervaded, and when Aster turned towards her, he saw the elderly warily pointing her hand towards him, her eyes colored in suspicion as she stared at him.

"What did you just do?" she crowed, her voice stable and determined.

Aster sighed.

"Please believe me when I say I'm not your enemy. All I ever wanted was a place to rest for a night."

The elderly woman stared at him for a moment before she finally relented, lowering her aim.

"I believe you." She immediately moved towards her granddaughter on the floor. "These marauders were not supposed to be this far in the south. Bah, a safe town, my ass."

When she finally reached her, she kneeled beside her, cradling her head on her hips. Swiftly taking out a small flask from her satchel, she slowly cajoled her to open her mouth, admitting the concoction to her throat. Leliana's face scrunched up in distaste, but she forced herself to finish the whole bottle. Once she was done, she leaned sideways, trying to prevent herself from retching when the grandmother fully turned towards him.

"What are you doing, standing there staring? Go outside and do something. No doubt there are a lot of people right now who need your aid."

Not knowing what to say, the old witch ushered him outside.

"There is no time to waste, little mage. You can find me later and ask your questions but for now, go. This village needs your help."

His master chose that moment to chime in.

'While I have no doubt you are just as surprised as I am, the witch is right. If you mean to help these people, then you should probably go. Hopefully, the both of us will live long enough to get some answers. For now, let it be and leave. It is clear the witch can handle herself.'

Stolen from its original source, this story is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

Nodding at her, Aster replied.

"I will try my best."

He made for the door when a whisper floated into his mind.

'And child, thank you for saving my granddaughter.'

Realizing she must have carried her voice to him through soulwhisper, Aster could only nod as he crossed through the door and into the night. A lot of wails and screams came from all around him as he fully stepped outside. But this time, instead of just watching, he could finally do something about it. It was the whole reason why he sought strength in the first place. With his heart beating wildly, he smiled as his bloodlust stirred. Soon, these marauders would learn to fear blood.

** ** **

Aster flickered through the village of Milren like a ghost, his presence concealed by a cloak of darkness. By this point, the streets were filled with blood, and the carnage was quickly spreading to the edges of the small village. On every corner, clangs of metal could be heard like a dark symphony, heralding the inevitable march of death, but Aster didn't let any of that faze him. Unnoticed by anyone around him through the chaos, anywhere he crossed, the marauders would suddenly find themselves at a sudden disadvantage. A stutter here, a lurch there—they all somehow found their way to their enemies' blade, their lives ending in some unexpected ways.

The plan he had come up with was very simple.

In order for him to save as many lives as possible, he couldn't allow himself to be trapped in a single battle. A quick look around revealed to him that the marauders had come well prepared. Their numbers were seemingly overwhelming, and their jeers and roars of battle intimidated more than a few villagers who could defend themselves. Even with his reborn strength, he knew he couldn't fight all of them. Instead, he could do the next best thing, as, with some ingenuity, he could perform some very unique feats as a rare mage of two affinities.

Though the night was well lit by the pale moon and its three asteroids, it wasn't enough to give him away. With his enhanced astral affinity, the familiar cloak of the night spell truly covered him in nothing but churning darkness. When his flawless body was added to the situation, he was practically invisible. That was exactly what he wanted as he quickly shifted from street to street, lending an invisible hand to every person he met on the path.

Being a true blood mage, or, as his master called him, a blood scion, was now working to his advantage. His innate connection to lifeblood allowed him to wield the blood of enemies to his will. Any marauders he passed by found themselves faltering at the most inopportune moments. Some found the heart stuttering as if it missed a beat, while others found themselves slipping directly to their opponent's weapons, giving the fighting villagers a chance to finish them off.

This would have easily not worked if any of the marauders were particularly strong, but everywhere he passed through, they all felt surprisingly weak. Several times had his master warned him of the potential limits of his innate ability, but at the moment, it did not matter. On this night where everyone fought for their lives, he was the bogeyman, the kind of monster most parents used to scare their children with. Everywhere he passed, the marauders fell left and right, and it didn't take long for them to realize something was wrong as the tide of the battle slowly shifted against them. But seeing as they could not identify any clearly visible enemy, it only served to shatter their bloodlust and strike fear into their hearts. A few of the barbaric men dared look around in fright, but all that met them was a silent slick as something blood red flashed through their throats, ending their lives in only a heartbeat.

It wasn't until he reached a familiar clearing that he finally slowed down. The whole place was lit up in flames and blood as several villagers fought against the invaders with hooks, swords, rakes, and spears. There was no hint of order or discipline as the battle flowed and spilled in whichever direction the closet enemies was. The ground was already piling up with bodies, and just like the previous time, where the eerie dance had once caught his attention the moment he first arrived, his gaze was instantly pulled to the central battle. There, the elderly man who had previously introduced himself to him as old man Al stood holding a wizened old staff in his hands, while all around him sprouted large tendrils and shoots of greenery that whipped, cracked and trapped the surrounding enemies, like limbs of the life-devouring trees he had once seen at the endless glades

With marauders on all sides, it was almost like he was standing at the eye of the storm, his only guards being a crowd of villagers who struggled to keep him safe. One of them, whom Aster recognized as the man who had performed with Liliana, was nimbly dancing around, his sword finding veins and muscles as he tried to cover every blind spot the old man's spells left behind. Aster had no doubt that the old mage would have already died if it wasn't for them. All around him, the tempo of the battle was reaching its peak, with every single marauder seemingly mad as they fought tough and nail to take the lives of their adversaries. Despite all he had seen and witnessed, the savagery of it all almost overwhelmed him. It shook him to the core to see such wanton cruelty taking place before his very eyes for the second time in his life. A part of him couldn't help but wonder if he was fated to witness such battles for the rest of his life.

It wasn't until he heard a whoosh of something rushing past his senses and a groan of pain that he realized he dared stand still in the midst of an invasion. An arrow abruptly sprouted from the old man's shoulder, making him stumble. Due to the sudden pain, his vines and tendrils faltered for a short while, leaving a hole in his defense that the surrounding marauders pounced on like corpse-devouring vultures. When he traced the path the arrow took, he saw the archer on top of one of the buildings to his left, just about to let another arrow fly. Quick thinking got him to swiftly step into its path, his tendril of blood slapping the arrow away. He knew he had to make sure the elderly man survived if he ever hoped to shift the battle in their favor. That meant he could no longer act from the shadows.

Moving with an unnatural grace that belied his form, it only took a thought to retaliate with another spike towards the archer. Probably because he wasn't expected it, his blood spike speared through him, quickly taking him out of the battle. But when he widened his senses further, he became aware there were several more who were just about to shift their focus to him, and so without hesitation, Aster willed into existence several tendrils of blood, which all coalesced under a single spell.

"Blood Spikes."

With his body eerily looking like several tentacles had sprouted from it, they abruptly solidified into sharpened fragments that swiftly sought out their targets. All archers on roofs dropped without fail, but what he had never expected was for his actions to pull the attention of almost everyone close by. Almost the whole battlefield froze. However, before the marauders could comprehend the fact that they had a blood mage in their midst, Aster decisively made the first move, and with it, he slashed his staff-blade made out of solidified blood, claiming the lives of two nearby men in a heartbeat. That was enough to spark a new frenzy on the battlefield, one where he was the focus of the ire of almost every marauder in the vicinity.

What happened after was very obvious. Being at the center of the wrath of several men almost choked him as their bloodlust pushed against his sphere of perception like a heavy blanket, threatening to rob him of air. His senses were almost overwhelmed, as he could practically taste death on each side. But he wasn't his master's apprentice for nothing. He quickly pulled himself together, settling into his familiar battle stance, letting his mana freely flow out of him in a red haze. Here, a single mistake would take his life And so, without hesitation, he willed his mana to form into several tendrils as he summoned a skill his master had once been forced to practically beat into his body for several weeks.

"Dance of Everfall."

None of those words meant anything to the murderous men but on the next moment, they could only ever catch a flicker of his shadow or the fading trail of robes. With each flicker, their lives were continuously reaped in a shower of sprouting blood. Aster whirled, jumped, slashed, and hacked his way through the throng of men, almost like a vengeful farmer ripping off some weeds. Soon the men realized they were far out of their depths as each attack or lunge of theirs was met with a deadly counterattack, and every time they thought they had cornered him for good, a tendril would suddenly pull him to safety or mesh together to form one strong enough to lash out at anyone unluckily enough to be close enough. The rest of the villagers were wise enough to steer clear, taking advantage of the situation to finish off the ones severely injured. Before long, Aster soon found himself standing still, with none of his enemies standing before him.

"They are...all dead. You killed them all." The performer whispered as he looked around and then stared at him with fear and suspicion on his face.

Aster closed his eyes and took a slow, deep breath.

"There was no other option. They all had to go."

Haggard and exhausted, the surviving villagers—the ones who still lived—could only come together and support each other. Some stared at the carnage and shed tears, while others wore a hard look on their faces. For many, this night had become an irreversible mark in their lives. Most of the villagers were distracted, some trying to fruitlessly search for their loved ones, but there were a few who whispered and pointed in his direction, almost as if they couldn't believe what he had just done, nonetheless saved by a child.

Still, from the moment he took action, Aster knew there was a price to pay. In most places, blood mages were reviled precisely due to their potential for widespread destruction. They wielding the lifeblood that could be found in almost every living thing made them almost heretic in many eyes. Most mortals found such a thing more unnerving than a flame mage who could burn them all to ashes. Shaking his head, Aster was just about to allow himself another breath when his eyes flashed wide open.

"I have to heal the old man."

He quickly tread over the dead bodies, making his way to him when his band of protectors instinctively encircled him, despite being clearly terrified of him. Despite his injuries, the elderly mage would have none of it.

"Let him pass." He gasped as he ordered them, "The child risked his life to save us. We cannot return his good will with mitrust."

The performer still tried to block him when Aster decided he had had enough of trying to be respectful. Shoving his hand, he quickly brought the man's blood to his will and then shoved it out of his way, which his body unceremoniously followed. The ease of the action hardly surprised him, as he had had enough practice in one night. In hindsight, it was probably a little too much, but at the moment, he felt satisfied seeing the rest of the villagers cowering. None of them wanted to raise the ire of a blood mage, savior or not.

When Aster got close, he immediately got to work.

"Has arrow pierced any of the major blood veins?" He asked as he checked the wound.

The old man, whose eyes were stirring between wakefulness and unconsciousness, shook his head.

"Its head seems to have tore right through..." Aster observed. The arrow had pierced cleanly through his shoulder, though not without doing some damage. The metallic head of the arrow was sharp but barbed, which meant that if anyone had tried to pull the arrow out of him, it would have ripped out his flesh and left behind even more grievous wounds.

Aster hesitated only for a second before he summoned one of his most precious healing potions from within the obsidian stone to his hand.

"You have to drink half of this right now."

The old man could barely focus, which prompted Aster to lend a helping hand. A sad note passed through his heart as he opened one of the few potions his dead mother had left for him and then tilted its contents into the old man's mouth. Once half of it went down his throat, he placed the flask of the potion beside him before taking the arrow with both of his hands and snapping it off on either end, a feat that came easily to him due to his remade body. His actions elicited a gasp of pain from the elderly man, which prompted the performer, who had come to his feet after being thrown off, to try and interrupt him.

"What are you doing?" he demanded, his body luckily stopped by comrades nearby.

"I'm trying to save the life of the only one who can make a difference in this battle. I might have bought us a few minutes of respite, but soon others will come, and your lives will still be in danger. As much as I want to help, I cannot do this alone. You all need him to protect you, and that wound would have only slowed him down."

Aster took the remaining flask and then poured it all over the injury, which quickly stemmed the blood flow, with the flesh already knitting itself slowly. Knowing that the wound no longer needed his help, Aster still helped push the remaining wood out of it. After he gave it a proper look, a part of him was glad the wound showed no signs of lingering poisons within it. The old man would not have survived so easily if that were the case.

Once he was done with everything, Aster took the chance to look around the clearing. The place looked nothing like the first time he had laid eyes on it. The circle of stones was broken, with logs scattered everywhere. The battle was just winding down; his contribution was more than enough to shift the scales against the marauders. Aster was about to move on in order to help clear the few obstinate stragglers when the old man suddenly grasped his hand tightly, his eyes wide open, boring into him.

"The children..." he gasped.

"The marauders... took the children out of the village. You have to go after them." The old man took a deep, shuddering breath. "While I'm truly grateful for healing me, child, your work here is done. Please, you have to save them. If anything happens to them," he took another breath. "Go, now. We will take care of the rest."

Looking around, Aster knew what the old man had said was true. In all honesty, what he has done here is enough. While the villagers might still be wary of him, he had made it clear to them that he was on their side. Bowing his head, Aster replied.

"I can only promise I will try my best, old man. You just make sure you take care of yourself. The wound is still tender."

The mage tiredly scoffed. "Who are you calling old, you runt?"

A blossoming smile on his face showed that he was clearly jesting. Aster smirked before he nodded once more and then whisked himself off to the streets. Consciously pulling on his astral affinity to cloak himself, his body ended up being nothing but a shimmering shadow in the night. He could only hope he was not too late to save them.