The spell within the scroll I burned can be said to be one of the most fundamental parts of my existence. It was simple in its execution, and I met many others in my travels that had heard and even used the same technique.

It was simple. The constant flow of Ka, the earth’s very lifeforce, existed in the air. What the spell allowed one to do, was to visualize and conceptualize the normally invisible flows of energy going through the air. It was whimsical, seeing streaks of blue shooting from the ground and coursing through the air. The energy of the Ka came in any color, and the streaks radiated brightly throughout the air.

Still, my understanding of the magic arts did not truly start until I began to be able to manipulate these varied streams. For a long time I was content with just my sight, and it was not until I met a wandering spellsword that I had gone from a fresh neophyte to a true novice.

The spellsword carried a combination of books and parchments, all I’m sure contained many different arts and secrecies that would have made my hungry for knowledge self salivate. The greed did not fuel me however, for the woman I had met I was sure could kill me if I even thought of stepping over the line.

So instead I let my curiosity guide me, and guide me it did, as I placed my head against the ground in reverent bow in front of her. I asked her to be kind, and to donate the weakest spell she had. I wished to learn more, and I told her she could have the entirety of my wallet as a price.

Although it was meager, and certainly not worth the piece of paper she gave me, I’m sure she took no great notice. To her who was already teetering on the point of speciality, the spell was relatively useless, much more so than the coins I gave her.

She set off without a real acknowledgement of the situation, not caring in particular my story or even my potential as a mage. Where she went, I do not know. Though it is remiss of me to say she is gone forever, for I could tell she was a master of her craft and those like her never truly die.

The nature of the art I taught myself from the parchment was only a degree of complexity higher than the one that granted me sight. It granted me a voice capable of communing with the streams themselves. Although my words were not of great detail, my meager voice too was captured as a stream of energy, coiling around the others.

Each stream had its own temperament, and while I wish they listened to me and shared their secrets, they widely distrusted me and ignored me. Still there were those who had heard the eagerness I held and told me of the world. They did not grant me any divine art, or mastery over magic, but I understood why the water raced in streams, and why the earth shifted ever so often. I heard the wailings of a burnt forest, the greed of predators that proudly shout about their hunger.

My understanding of the world grew in tandem with my voice. My perspective rose higher, and my want for more grew as well. It took me to all kinds of places. Places where water rose upwards without a care for the oppressive reality of gravity, places where life flourished with only the energy in the air, rejecting the thought that one must step on another to get ahead.

On my journey’s I searched high and low for any new spell, but time and time again I was met with failure. It didn’t seem to be rare, and yet opportunity would never present itself to me. Merchants would dissuade me, teachers would shake their heads and claim that I was unfit. At the time I had no clue that these rejections and refusals were based on the gold hue of my eyes.

To say I was without anger would be a lie. I cursed the world, and those who would so callously reject the path I had set myself upon. For a long time, longer than I can tell, I traveled with my heart closed to any but the streams in the air. I became immersed in their world, and I had begun to gradually lose my grip on the Earth. Many times I had thought of those inverse waterfalls, envying them for their lack of care for the standard. I too wished I could reject the laws of the natural world, and set upon my own path.

To my eventual recovery and understanding of my own blindness, I must thank a most awful and terrible experience. My travels took me to anywhere I could step to, not only places I wished to step foot on.

My journey took me to the remnants of a battlefield, of what cause or purpose the original battle stemmed from I am unclear. Broken weapons lined the ground, some embedded in the earth permanently, some already melding with the earth as a part of nature's reclamation of the land.

The streams of energy were much unlike anything I had ever seen. Helical blacks twisted out of the ground like worms, plunging out and back into the earth at their own convenience. In the air there were gray clumpings of energy, something that you could certainly not call a stream anymore. They were like maligned, deformed clouds that moved with absolute lethargy.

Even the benign forms of energy were tainted, blue’s mixing and dispersing with the other colors. The yellow rays that fell from the sun lost their light the closer they neared the earth, and even the most gentle of white colors that conveyed the wind now ran with streaks of gray and crashed into the earth, aimless and without direction.

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My error came from my belief in myself, for when I spoke and projected my own energy, one that had always been a vibrant gold, for the first time I was seen in entirety. I was not ignored, I was examined with scrutiny I had never felt before. Each part of my body, even my mind, the things I did not remember, they were all made evident as the various forms of Ka put their attention on me.

Attention, as I found out, is not a grantor of peace, or acceptance. In an instant my voice had made me a target, and I felt the helical energies carve their way through the earth and rap around my legs. The gray clouds quickly came to smother me, and the tainted light from the sun had dispersed completely, refusing to shine down.

I felt resentment much greater than my own. It was amplified thousand fold, a relic of those who made the battlefield their grave. The gray clouds struck me with terror, my muscles could not move with even the strongest of intents.

I felt myself sinking down, being clawed at by all manners of hands and claws. The things that I saw as simple streams of energy now took on corporeal form, and threatened to end my life with hostility unparalleled.

There was no indifference like that which took my village, every scrape, every scratch and every flow of blood started as the result of a meaningful and intentional attack on my being, all with the intent to stop my breath.

I thought back to my travels, to the plague that ravaged my village. I thought of how weak it made my parents, how quickly it sapped them of their strength. Taken from them was the cornerstone of human dignity, the willingness to resist. It crippled them, making death seem like a gift instead of the end of possibility.

I thought of the lack of ability those in the valley had, with the closest of escapes lying to them in their basement. They had not even the choice to prolong their life, it was taken from them far too quickly.

I felt strength, at the thought that I had survived both the plague and the act of divinity. I felt strength, at the thought that if I were to die now their stories would be forgotten forever, and I would never uncover the truth of the plague, nor the reason for the utter destruction of the valley.

I felt a strength bellow up from my stomach. I would not allow fragments of the past to deprive me of my future. I would not let my vision be obstructed by those still trying to find their shape.

Focusing everything I could onto the spell that projected my voice, I yelled with ferocity, terror, and hope. I funneled the entirety of my being into that yell, which tore at my vocal cords and bloodied my throat.

Perhaps not expecting a final act of resistance, or underestimating my ability, I felt the grip loosen on my feet, I felt the clouds in front of me disperse. I felt the golden glow of my own energy scatter around me errantly and without focus the moment it left my mouth.

Scrambling, I ran. My posture was terrible, I fell nearly multiple times, but each time I clawed at the ground and pushed myself forwards. I ran until the colors of the world returned to normalcy, and further still.

Collapsing out of necessity instead of choice, my body landed on the ground and now truly was without the ability to move. I panted heavily, and sucked in the cool air. My throat stung, my legs ached with the countless wounds and gouges that marked them.

Fortuitously, no harm came my way as I slipped into slumber. I must have slept there for days, for when I awoke the terrain around me had changed tremendously, something I had grown used to while awake but had never been able to sleep through before.

Returning to my feet, I look out at the direction I know I ran from. I thought of the secrets that might lie there, of the countless potential voices hidden deep beneath the earth’s surface. I thought of if it had managed to stay the same after the careless changes in the earth.

Part of me yearned to return, to attempt to overcome the humiliation I had just endured. I had wanted to walk through haughtily, with no fear in my heart. But I realized then, that I had grown to want to act in opposition, instead of what I truly wanted. Were it not for my own want to continue living, I would have not have come away from the day with my life intact.

Even my hatred for those who refused me my path, I had now felt quite distant to. I rejected the thought that I was taught by another, the strength that came from within me was a gift I had managed to claw for myself and myself alone. And while I would never forget the graciousness of the spellsword, I had thrown away any belief that she was anything but a lucky encounter.

I would accept the kindness of others, but the firmness of my own heart would be what led me to them, not the vague current that shaped the world.

Before I set off, I sat down with my legs crossed. The pain running down my legs was quite severe, though as far as I could tell I had grown quite lucky and had resisted any potential infection. I lowered my head, and pondered over the nature of the battlefield.

Why did they resent me so much? Was it because I trespassed onto the resting ground of heroes? Was it because I spoke with no reverence? I wished to understand that which had wished to cause me so much harm, if I were them, would I think the same?

I pondered until day turned to night, and night turned to day. I searched for an answer resolute and strong, one I could live my life by. But none came. Through my pondering and thought, I had become none the wiser. Only more questions arose, only more regrets from the past surfaced from the deep lake of my mind.

My arrogance ebbed. The questions I had thought so deeply on had begun to vanish. They became less important than the truth, the meaning of the thought itself. I questioned why I did not act resolutely, and why instead I sat in contemplation.

Realizing that I would not know until I had the chance to think about the world more, I understood that I must travel more. This time with a goal beyond the meaning of my pain, I wished to know why I carried it. Much like the battlefield, I had grown resentful and hated those who stepped on my grounds. But why, that was something I could not even answer myself. Instead of celebrating my fortune, I detested my misfortune.

Thus, standing up and finding my voice once more, I set off on the path of the sage.