It had been a cold winter in the 13th year after the separation.

This made the warmer seasons more than welcome to the people of Civia. On a particular midsummer night, fate struck.

It struck one of the gods' most beautiful gifts to humanity. One to subdue the hungry night, a star. As the sibling of the sun deviated from its course and fell, the star's neighbors glowed brighter for only a moment so short it might have been an illusion.

In the endless fight against darkness, it was almost as if they had shed a tear for their fallen comrade. As the ancient celestial body crumbled and shattered, it dimmed from a star to a blaze to a will-o'-wisp.

Until it ultimately faded.

"An end for a beginning. This one will wreck quite some havoc," commented Sor, gazing upon the new but strong string of fate growing in a small house on the outskirts of Civia.

☫

Lybis, during the year 35 AS

Agoth scrutinized the boy, who had snuck into his quarters. He already felt a headache tugging at his consciousness. How was it even possible for a child to manage to get past the guards?

A serious talk about the importance of doing one's job properly would be inevitable.

What a waste of time that is going to be. Just in case of the child, being one of Umbrael's shadows, Agoth carved a quick protection rune. After many years, it had become second nature to him and was almost a reflex. Relaxation set in only as he sensed the soothing presence of a protective membrane formed by his will surrounding him. In a singular motion, he turned his head, giving the intruder his full attention.

The boy in front of him was no assassin. Stance, age, and the lack of stealth or a weapon supported that claim. Nevertheless, he was a sight to behold. The kid held his nose high and his back straight. The vest he wore had golden buttons, probably gilded. It obviously was moderately expensive and portrayed an affluent upbringing. Despite these factors, the boy strongly reeked of sweat. The shoulder-long brown hair, skillfully cut to frame his teenage face, was a mess as it valiantly withstood gravity. The vest was torn and dirty, clearly unfit to face what perilous journey it had to experience. It was glaring the boy hadn't rested in a while.

‘So, no high noble or offspring of one of the two political parties. Not like there is a big difference between the two, anyway,’ Agoth deduced with mild amusement.

'They would probably never let their image lace by running around like a commoner.'

After quickly collecting himself, he sternly looked down upon the child intruding on his solitude.

"By Origia, what are you doing in my private quarters?"

"I have a business proposal," the boy answered without wasting a single heartbeat while his eyes curiously wandered through the inn room. His voice was calm and steady when his green, intelligent eyes finally met the wizards.

‘I suppose now that he is here, I might as well find out what this fool desires. My occupation is challenging enough without people begging me for miracles. If this is going to be about another love potion, then I will not rest until I find the unholy fiend that spread the rumor about them.’ Agoth massaged his temples. He could tell this was going to be painful. The wrinkles on his forehead caused by years of stress and brooding deepened. He gestured for the boy to continue talking with a wave of his hand. The kid hastily straightened his attire as if he had only now realized the state he was in and started where he had left off.

"Agoth Maddock, you are part of the Order of Lumior, which leads to certain obligations. Some of these obligations members must be fulfilled periodically. Or there will be quite severe consequences, so I heard. For one of these, the completion period expires in two months. When the annual conference of the Order will be held in Sinor."

"Boy," interrupted Agoth. "My current position may be a little of a predicament, but there are valid reasons it is that way."

‘Mostly me having enough work on my plate already. The archons may skin me alive if they find out.’

Even the experienced wizard, who had often come close to the peaceful embrace of death, couldn't suppress a frigid shiver at that thought.

The kid was right about one thing he needed a disciple, and he needed one fast. 'Still, I will not make some volatile runaway my apprentice. Or maybe I would. He got at least a bit of a bite and knows to keep himself well-informed, but he is too old. Taking on someone like him will only earn me spite. Ha, to say he is too old when I'm thrice his age.

Not giving him false hopes and setting his head straight is probably the wisest choice.'

"I'm sorry, but I may not teach you in the art of sorcery."

"Why?" Uncertainty flickered across the boy's face. Fear beseeched his heart. Until something else prevailed in the end: determination.

"I assure you, I am a quick learner. I know basic arithmetics and can read and write well. The talent for magic runs deep in my family."

A deep sigh found its way straight out of the wizard's soul.

"What is your name, boy?" he inquired.

"Arion."

Agoth frowned. Mercilessly striking down the boy's expectations would not be quick or enjoyable. 'It might be better to call the guards and get him kicked out.' The kid would get a slap on his wrist, and with that, the unusual evening would end. 'No, that would be wrong.' The boy deserved to hear about and comprehend the futility of his dreams. Not explaining the problems with his ambitions would only lead to more pain and sorrow down the road. Agoth was a lot, but not a sadist.

"Arion, why do you intend to learn magic? If what you covet is fame, money, or power, there are simpler alternatives for any of these."

The boy took a deep breath and swallowed.

"Freedom."

Noticing Agoth's questioning gaze, Arion explained. At first, he uttered his words hesitantly, but as more left his lips, he gained fluency.

"I have been enslaved my whole life. Figuratively I mean. I could make small choices, but my fate was always already sealed. I want nothing and nobody but myself to dictate my life. So, I wish to experience and master the power which has been controlling my life for the last fourteen years. In a way, one could say I crave power, a lot of it even. I don't require it for its own sake. I only intend to return my fate to the proper hands, mine. I desire the freedom to make my own decisions."

Agoth pitied the boy. At least he seemed to be the honest type.

'No, his name is Arion. A bit of courage deserves a bit of recognition. He seems to be genuine about learning sorcery, determined even. I would make him my apprentice if we had this meeting seven years earlier. Consequence be damned. To say his motivations make my task to discourage him more complex would be an understatement. Why is it that nothing ever seems easy? Or is it just my memory glossing over the uncomplicated things?'

"Arion, the issue is." The older man paused for a second.

"I could seriously consider your business proposal. I really would if it wasn't for your age. You mentioned you are fourteen years old. Correct?"

Arion nodded cautiously. The wizard could almost catch the gears in his head spinning,

attempting to unveil the problem with his age.

"Not a single self-respecting mage will teach you. You are just too old, you are fourteen, close to receiving your first blessing. The time for you to become a wizard has passed years ago. Perhaps you have already achieved enough to please the gods for an adequate blessing. As a devoted, you could gain the freedom you seek too, only in another way."

The boy's face went blank. The sudden revelation that no mage would accept him as an apprentice had stumped him.

"I don't understand. I'm not even able to cast magic yet. How can it be too late already? Do you want to get rid of me by lying?" His tone grew more and more desperate until it turned close to a whisper.

"The majority of magic isn't defined by casting. It's about the principles underlying what you are doing. Those should be grasped a long time before the first spell is cast and the first rune carved. Arion, you are five years behind your peers if I'm generous. There is no possibility for you to ever become a decent mage, let alone a wizard. For any proper student position, there will be younger competition with a brighter future ahead. "

The boy's shoulders slumped down as he was crushed by the weight of reality. Slowly, realization seeped in, and Arion turned to defiance as a way to cope with the events.

"Wizard." He spat out the word.

"Do you have an idea of what I sacrificed, what I risked, when I came here?"

Agoth grew irritated and ran his hand through some of his precious black hair with white strains, pulling out some of it in the process. 'Why can no one ever leave with dignity?'

"Don't throw a tantrum like a child. Take responsibility for the choice you made of your own free will. Nobody asked you to sacrifice anything. And even if somebody did, why should that earn my affection?"

"Please," Arion begged desperately. "What would it take for your tutelage? Money?"

"Did I not make myself clear? There is nothing you can do or could have done. You might get some third-rate mage to teach you if you pay enough, but no self-respecting wizard will take you over a younger candidate half as good." The older man's voice turned gentle. "Now, get out before you get in trouble."

☫

Arion felt like he had woken up from a fever dream. He was hot, his clothes reeked, and the last few minutes seemed like the most surreal thing he had ever experienced. He had stumbled out of the wizard's inn room, this time through the front door onto the dirty, crowded streets of Lybis.

The shadows of the grand cathedrals' loomed over his head akin to voracious vultures preying on another poor soul. If he turned to any of the churches, the list of what he could do would probably be shorter than the one stating what he couldn't. 'Damned fanatics.' He would rather wear his torn vest than any of their crests. He bit his lip in denial of his situation. What was he supposed to do? Go back, tell his parents he was sorry, so he eventually could be shipped off to the highest bidder?

This tale has been unlawfully lifted without the author's consent. Report any appearances on Amazon.

Rapidly, Arion tapped his index finger against his right thigh. Again and again. What could he do? Besides the worst case, which would be returning home, there were multiple options available.

Maybe that pompous wizard had lied to get him out of his hair.

Unlikely. There was no reason for the mage to spit lies in his face. There were a hundred easier ways to get rid of an annoying kid for someone of his caliber. Maybe he should heed the man's advice and wait for his first blessing. He had sufficient funds to stall safely for about two weeks. Or he could try to salvage the situation and apply as a scribe somewhere for something more permanent.

That would allow him to choose his birdcage, at the very least.

Hurray.

How could he have been so stupid? So mind-bogglingly dumb? So naive and foolish?

Of course, there was more to a mage than plainly flinging around spells if that could be considered plain. There existed libraries filled with knowledge about magic. Naturally, one could acquire it before being able to cast. Under the presumption, that nobody was actively hindering your progress, that was.

Another reason not to return home.

Becoming a mage had always been his escape fantasy, he mused. His alternative to the joyless life he had been condemned to. 'Stop finding excuses and focus on the situation upfront,' he told himself.

Arion groaned. He was royally fucked.

He had no certainties. All he had was little spare change. Even the horse, which had aided him in his attempt to seize freedom, Arion had left behind in fear of being tracked through it. If they bothered trying to return the disgraced son to his natural habitat. Abruptly, Arion was yanked out of his thought process.

A pale man had halted before him and stared him down.

"Can I help you, Sir?" Arion inquired bewildered. The man in front of him was giant, almost three heads bigger than him, and wore nothing but black clothes. Black trousers in black leather boots spanned by a black coat. Even the man's pupils seemed to be devoid of any light. The man's attire was skilfully tailored despite the man not wearing a crest, at least as far as Arion could tell.

'Definitely somebody with wealth.'

"No, no, it's fine, little one." Arion disliked him already.

"Actually, I'm here myself to help you." The giant smiled, revealing a set of teeth paler than his refined face.

Weren't his canines a bit too long?

And what kind of answer was that? It took Arion a few seconds to remember his current state.

'Does he think I am a beggar?' That would be awkward.

If only his mother could witness this, she would get a stroke. Arion chuckled.

"You don't have to give me anything. I am not bargaining for your charity, good sir. Just a bit of dirt from traveling." He gestured at himself.

"Oh, is that so?" The weird man didn't seem the least bit distressed by the misconception.

"Here, have this. It is a gift." He handed Arion a book with a leather binding.

'Wait, a book?' Which kind of altruist walked around town handing out books to the poor and starving?

Arion looked perplexed at the man, then at the book, and at the man again.

"I don't think I can accept this..."

"You are welcome." With that declaration, the giant turned around and continued walking down the road on his unusual mission. 'How does he know I am literate? Or perhaps he doesn't care.

There are some people like that. What a strange man.' Arion shook his head. He probably gave him some obscure faith's holy book. Damn, there existed a lot of cults besides the big churches these days.

He peeked at the title. On a blank black cover stood the words "The mysterious deaths of Greenville" in scarlet letters.

A distant memory of his sister talking about a story with a similar title crossed his mind. A murder mystery story? Well, she used to not read much else. Esme was the one he missed, out of the messed-up bunch. If she only never had left.

By Insun's insanity, what did just happen? Arion closed his eyes and put some thought into it.

Nothing of this made any remote amount of sense. Or it did. In all likelihood, this fraud attempted to catch an ignorant peasant off guard. It was obviously a fraud. Any minute now, the man would show up again with a guard or worse, a devoted of Uris. They would demand compensation for the book and swindle him out of his money. Cautiously, he touched his pouch. To find its weight heavily reduced.

He wasn't going to be robbed. He had been mugged already. The man must have used Arion's confusion to redistribute some wealth. Fuck, he had always prided himself on being decently clever. 'Just what kind of person steals from someone in such a poor state? Especially when they possess so much more wealth.'

One day in the real world and he began to feel like a moron without breaks. The primeval part of him wanted to let loose and scream to the heavens about his idiocy.

Arion contained himself, albeit barely. He would leave this fucked up city today and never return. Swift steps echoed from the cobblestone as he left the place of crime.

Somewhere between these steps, Arion had lost his rationality. Another trait he had taken pride in before today. Cursing under his breath, Arion spun around, his walk turning into a full-blown sprint in the direction the mysterious man had left in.

It took an hour for him to give up on his foolish pursuit. At a crossroads, he finally stopped, out of breath again. Whoever the man was, he might as well have been a specter at this point.

The city had swallowed him completely.

Arion collapsed. His will had worn off. The dam holding back his tears had been breached. The tiny bit of delusion that had kept him going evaporated.

So, he attempted to smile.

Reminiscing a memory of his sister before she had lost his trust.

"Listen, Arion. It's not good to keep your emotions bottled up, but if you feel down and want to be happy, smile. Smile long enough and after some time, you will trick your brain to be happier automatically." Alias the trick didn't work. There was no feeling better, just his face morphing into a grimace as he did his best to regain control of his facial muscles. While tears streamed down his cheeks, he slowly took out the book he had stored in his pocket out of spite. Still sobbing, he read the first lines of the novel.

Inspector Galen arrived at the crime scene late. It was the middle of the night when a colleague woke him up. He had known the victim. Della had worked at the local bakery, where he usually bought bread. Now, the bakery had become her deathbed. In decades of doing justice's work, Urises' work, he had never seen something like this. The body was a mess. He couldn't find a bit tracing back to Della when he looked at the bloodless husk of a corpse.

Arion blinked. His surroundings were warped since tears still clouded his vision.

He was sure that he was no longer in Lybis. The large stone buildings had made room for smaller wooden buildings. Even the huge cathedrals, which observed the inhabitants of Lybis every day, were not to be found.

The smell of the city had also changed. To the stench of the big city, a more rural, pleasant smell had given way. 'The book? Where is the book?'

It had vanished out of his hands as if it had never been there in the first place.

Had he finally succumbed to madness?

How could a rational thinker explain spontaneous teleportation?

Magic.

That was the only plausible answer, Arion was sure. And the easiest way to achieve this effect was not by truly changing locations but with an illusion!

The more he pondered about the situation, the more likely a worshiper of Somnus was behind his current predicament. The why could wait. Much more crucial was the how do I get out of this shitty situation.

'All this is not real.' Arion repeated the sentence like a mantra in his head.

With modest success, unfortunately.

Passerby threw him funny looks. Once again, Arion was reminded of his expandable condition, which had worsened even more during the last hour.

How many powerful blessings would someone have to receive to replicate a situation so lifelike and trap a victim within? At least someone with the might of a deacon would be necessary.

Arion would test this bizarre fever dream to its limits.

Smiling amiably, Arion approached a relatively young woman looking at a pastry shop window of a store with her child in hand.

"Excuse me, madam, would you be so kind as to tell me which city we are in right now?" The woman stared at him in dismay. ‘From idiot to beggar to madman, what career lies ahead of me?’

Confusion washed over her face for a few seconds until she appeared to have made a decision and simply ignored him. To then devote herself to the shop window again with seemingly great interest.

‘Rude.’

Just as Arion was about to ask again, the little girl answered him.

"We are in Greenville."

She was obviously proud to know the answer to the question and nodded complacently. The mother pulled her away from Arion.

"Talea, you're not supposed to talk to strangers."

She looked at Arion pejoratively and wrinkled her nose. Only to then hastily grab the girl by the arm to seek the vastness. The boy in shabby clothes, on the other hand, was dumb-struck.

"Greenville?"

These people were no puppets, their expressions, and their behavior was too human to be conjured by one of the lower ranked of Somnuses' Blessed.

The effort of this illusion exceeded everything he believed himself to be worth many times over. A Blessed with this kind of power would not waste his time on such silly pranks.

His mind was foggy. Maybe what he read indeed corresponded to reality.

'By the Pantheon, how could I end up in a book?!'

And, of course, it was not just some kind of book, but one where a brutal killer was walking around somewhere in this very city.

The tears on his face hadn't even dried when he started laughing out loud. It was not a nice, amused laugh. It was a painful, hollow laugh.

Shearing a muck about the muck, he collapsed on the floor. The exhaustion of the long day had seeped in and all of his remaining energy had vanished. Despite his circumstances, which he couldn't fathom just yet, somewhere in him, the hope remained that everything would be better when he woke up in the morning.

Fortunately, it was relatively warm in the city, town, or village. Whatever. He would hardly freeze to death at night.

Asleep, Arion dreamed about how he carved one rune after another into the air while facing off against a blurry and hooded opponent. Fireball after fireball smashed into the opponent's oval iron shield, leading to radiant sparks flying everywhere. Arion grew more and more desperate as another of his attacks was shrugged off by the stranger. Suddenly the opponent swiftly dashed forward while holding his heavy shield in front of him, not giving Arion any possible openings. Panic flashed across Arion's face as the distance between him and the mysterious warrior shrank to mere arm-length, but the foe did not stop continuing the dash. Arion caught off guard, prepared himself to receive the blow until...

A cruel kick in the ribs woke Arion up.

"Was that really necessary, Edgar?" The voice of one of two guards resounded. Arion blinked, getting used to the little light while holding the now aching rib.

"It wasn't inspector, but are you happy to roam the city at night because of this scum?" The other one replied. Arion identified his tormentor as a short man with a pig's nose and greasy black hair.

"He's just a boy, don't you see?" The lantern in hand of one of the watchmen only illuminated Arion fully as he stood up.

"At least the bum still has some of his senses together," Edgar commented.

"And now get lost. Fuck off to the lunatics of Turbor or somewhere else. Your kind isn't welcome here."

Arion had never seen himself as someone with a big ego, especially compared to some of the pampered brats he had to deal with. But there were limits to how much vilification he could endure. And on said limits had been spat on today. He straightened up, making his spin produce a clicking noise, and glared at the obnoxious man with sinister eyes.

"Know your place."

Edgar's muscles tensed as he prepared a punch, but his partner restrained him with inhuman speed.

"Hold on, Edgar. Look at his clothes. The boy is obviously not a homeless person."

"What if the son of a bitch stole the clothes? You're not seriously trying to sell me that someone from a respectable family would sleep on the street. We are the guard, don't you dare try to turn us into a charity."

"Trust me, I have the feeling that there is more going on here than it seems at first glance."

The other guard, a tall man around thirty, with friendly features and honest sky-blue eyes, gave Arion a wink and an encouraging smile.

"I'm Inspector Galen. Would it bother you to answer a few questions at the station? We also have some leftover tea leaves fresh out of Valia there, if I remember correctly."

Was this another trick to fool him in the end? No, he recalled the name Galen. The book had mentioned him. This time he would make certainties. Had he not been described in the book as someone doing the work of the God of justice?

"Forgive me for my mistrust, but if you are part of the local guard, is one of you part of the Uris faith?"

Galen's smile widened. "Indeed, while good Edgar here is a worshiper of Pecus, I worship Uris."

"Surely you could prove that, then?"

Edgar scoffed.

"Do you have any idea how rare primeval blessings are?"

Suddenly, a bright white light found its way into the world and oozed out between Galen's fingers, illuminating the street as if it were a miniature sun. "Is that enough evidence?"

"Yes, that is sufficient."

"Tsk, show-off."

With this done, the rather distinctive trio made their way to the sentinel station, whereby Arion tried not to let the back pain condemned by sleeping on the cobblestone be noticed. He would rather spend another night outside than give that greedy Pecus follower a thing to gloat about.

The target building was recognizable from afar, as it was one of the few buildings in the city entirely built out of stone with multiple stories. But before Arion could enter the imposing building, Galen gave him a sign to halt.

"I don't want to seem unkind by any means, but it would probably be best if we postponed the interview until tomorrow and you would visit the public bathhouse first. With a little luck, the water is still warm."

"You stink," Edgar added, stating the obvious.

Galen guided him carefully to the wooden building, which was located just across the street from the station, containing the baths.

Perhaps the man had read Arion's feelings quite well, as he didn't try to strike up a conversation.

After this point, Arion's memories blurred into a mixture of exhaustion and scrubbing, but the wonderful feeling of cleanliness remained.