“It sure is a good thing me and Osric arrived. You two would’ve been done for,” Harpyn said for the fifth time since they’d started moving again.

His friends, though they had thanked him for saving them, did not seem quite as impressed with him and Osric as he had hoped.

The wolf padded along at his side, occasionally loping off between the trees to investigate something or other, but always returning shortly.

Harpyn soon found himself leading the way, although he suspected that this was because Brugo wanted to keep an eye on the wolf, and wasn’t comfortable with it lurking behind him. Either way, Harpyn was kind of starting to like leading. After all this time, he finally got the chance to be seen. He wasn’t hiding in the shadows anymore. This was what being a mage was all about.

Their journey into Yaal was not particularly difficult as they moved downhill toward the city, but hours later, the ground was still jumping and buckling sporadically. Several times they heard trees fall, crashing to the ground with a terrible sound, always followed by the alarmed cries of the birds and critters trying to get out of the way.

Harpyn had read about after shocks like these before. He assured his companions that it was perfectly normal. After all, it was he who had studied under Geor’s tutelage, so he would know.

He even found himself singing a little tune as he marched onward toward Yaal, driven by purpose and a distinct sense of duty and honor. With Osric at his side, he had no doubt that the mages would be very interested in what he had to say. And if he was lucky, they may even let him join their order immediately. He wondered idly about the rankings inside the mage tower. Under Geor, he’d always just been an apprentice, but with so many mages in one place, there would have to be formal titles and things to tell people apart.

He was still pondering this very thing when a flash of white light shot up into the sky, followed by another ripple of the ground. Osric growled, hackles raised, as they all fought to clear the blinding spots from their vision.

“What was that?” Anaya asked, her voice shaky.

“Probably just lightning,” Harpyn answered confidently.

“Do you think the sword…”

“This? No. I would know if the sword had called the lightning down. It’s probably just a storm brewing from the east. You know how it is out here.”

This story originates from Royal Road. Ensure the author gets the support they deserve by reading it there.

Anaya and Brugo exchanged a look but they didn’t argue. Whistling to himself, Harpyn continued onward, comfortable with his understanding that lightning never struck twice in the same place, and the sky above was still perfectly clear. The storm couldn’t be that serious.

But moments later, another flash of light tore through the trees, shooting straight up in one solid beam. The earth moved, and this time, when everything settled, they could see that the light remained. It was not a momentary flash of lightning. It was… something else.

“Run!” Anaya screamed, pushing Harpyn ahead toward the city.

But Harpyn was transfixed. As he stared at the beam of light, something altogether new came over him. The sword across his back jolted and jumped, and he reached for it, drawing it out and holding it before him.

“We have to go!” Anaya screamed again, tugging at his arm, but he could not bring himself to leave.

Suddenly, something hard hit him from the side, and when he looked down, he realized it was Brugo. Brugo, who had picked him up and was carrying him away from the light. Away from the very thing he needed most in that moment.

“Put me down before I stick you with the pointy end!” Harpyn cried, kicking his feet wildly at Brugo’s knees.

Brugo did not release him. Not until Osric bounded out of the trees and blocked the path, snarling at Brugo.

“Get your beast under control,” Brugo muttered so only Harpyn could hear.

“Put me down.”

Anaya stood ahead on the path, staring at them both, her mouth open in shock. Finally she gave Brugo a slight nod and he lowered Harpyn back to the ground.

“Thank you,” Harpyn’s voice was strained and he did not pull his eyes from the source of the light. It was still crackling between the trees, sending a giant beam up into the already bright sky.

The sword gave a crackle of lightning, and then Harpyn started walking straight toward the light.

“Don’t!” Anaya called, but she made no move to cross the wolf.

Harpyn didn’t hear her anyway. All he could hear was the magic. The magic that had finally freed itself from its prison and wanted him. Him! It sang in his ears, a lovely song that lulled him along. He wanted to be one with the magic. He wanted to feel it wrapped around him, like the most perfect blanket. All that time with Geor was nothing compared to the vibrations coursing through every fiber of his being in this moment. This was his chance.

He raised the sword overhead and yelled, “For Andrysfal!”

Then, he broke into a run, heading straight for the light. Osric was right behind him, charging forward with such great speed he appeared to be a blur of white fur.

As he drew closer to the light, he began to feel its warmth. He hadn’t been cold before, but somehow, this was more comfortable. The light embraced him as he continued forward. He couldn’t see anything anymore. Everything was white and warmth and magic and freedom. His head was spinning with the sensation.

And his feet hit something, and when he blinked, he was standing on the side of a very steep cliff, looking down into a great, rocky valley. The sword he’d been holding was dull gray and lacked any sign of the power it once held.

He looked around in confusion.

“Anaya? Brugo?” Swallowing, he tried to make sense of what had just happened. “Osric?”

There was no answer. Only silence.