Will Karn was cleaning busy the king's dishes. They were all made of very rare and precious materials. Some of them were gold, others silver, and more than a few were metals with names he'd likely never learn.

"I've got to stay focused," Will muttered to himself. "There's nothing here that I can have." There would be no food for him if he didn't finish.

If there was a thing Will loved to clean, it would most certainly be the king's chalice. It wasn't one made of natural metals or anything remotely normal, but ones more foreign, unearthly even. The chalice always seemed to be full of a many-colored liquid he'd heard tasted like the drinker's most desired drink and increases their stamina and morale. Will had even heard that it sometimes affected their magic ability or lack thereof. Despite being incredibly hard to clean, it was beautiful beyond words to Will, and he could never find it within himself to fault the strange cup.

'Too bad there are guards.' The guards would definitely stop him from using the chalice, and they might even kill him if he tried to drink from it. As an indentured servant, his life was pretty bad, but even it was worth preserving.

"Do these guards really have anything over you, William, son of Hammond Karn," a piercing yet rough voice spoke in the destitute man's mind. "Given that no man is greater than another at birth, nothing should restrict your drink from the cup. There's no danger in doing so; strength will follow."

The voice was convincing. Perhaps it wouldn't matter if there were guards or not, if the voice was correct, Will could drink from the chalice. Thoroughly tempted, Will couldn't stop himself from picking up the glamorous chalice. He stared into the purple liquid's depths, enamored until he noticed the guards coming.

"Drink, boy!"

He did.

Incredible power jolted through Will, numbing his senses and making him feel unstoppable. Though the drink tasted of cheap liquor, a vile taste to his mouth, he was still addicted the very moment the liquid touched his tongue. The two guards were right by him and ready to strike, but in Will's eyes they seemed to be ages too late to do anything to him. Words popped into the servant's head. "Wishlor," Will shouted.

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The guards were frozen and unable to breathe a single breath. Suddenly drained, Will drank more of the addicting drink and walked on.

More soldiers with bows and blades got ready to face Will, but, as guided by the odd voice, he froze them, drank from the chalice, and walked into the cold night where no one would find him.

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When Flyte woke up he was immersed in the beauty of nature, scent of summer, and the taste of the dewy air. Ander sat by a bright orange fire, his medals glinting in the bright sun as he plucked them off and discarded them.

"You alright?" Ander asked. Flyte nodded his affirmation. "Good cause we have to go."

Flyte wondered why they would have to leave, and why Ander had even brought him along, but he followed Ander all the way to the other side of the forest. Maybe just sticking with the man who saved him would be better than getting himself abandoned. It was just when they passed the brightly shimmering waterfall that Flyte noticed a big gash on Ander's head.

Flyte stopped Ander, grabbing ahold of his shoulder, and said "Elgro", the healing spell, hoping to close the wound. Ander's eyes opened in shock, perhaps even a sense of betrayal, and he pushed Flyte away from him and ran to the waterfall. When he got there, he washed off his face and sat thinking. Flyte noticed a certain look, a cross between loathing and melancholy, on his face. 'Oh no, Ander doesn't like magic, does he?' Flyte walked to Ander and apologized.

Ander inhaled lowly, the action seemingly meditative. "It was ten years ago when my Ma and Pa were in a protest against the magic ban set by King Ralthus. The Dark Circle sent some of their own to snuff them out, as king Ralthus is too prideful to allow for any reform. I was visiting with them when five members just barged in."

"Without even speaking they killed my parents. I had just been chopping a tree down before it happened, so I ran, shouting and screaming at them for killing the ones I loved, swinging my axe like a madman. I quickly killed four of them, but the last turned my arm into some sort of moving stone. I then killed him with a quick swing of my arm, but it was too late. Too late to have saved them. That is what magic reminds me of."

"I'm so sorry I had n-" Flyte started, but Ander shushed him.

"You don't have to apologize for that," Ander stated, trying his best to reassure the youth. "It's not your fault, and you were just trying to help me out anyways. I shouldn't have lashed out like that."

'Maybe he shouldn't have, but in any case, I can understand why he would dislike magic. I won't abandon it, but maybe I can show him the positives.'

The pair of fugitives walked farther from their prison for the rest of the day, only stopping once to eat and relieve themselves. They didn't speak that much, but Flyte was able to strike up a few short conversations with the stone armed stoic.

As Flyte set up camp, Ander hunted, but Flyte still wished he could have reassured his companion. With a set camp, good food, and a fire, the pair had a relatively calm night, though it took a while for Flyte to stop thinking about the chaotic day.