I was born on a day marked by nothing. It was the first sign that something had went wrong. All the other three prodigal children had been born on days celebrated throughout the whole empire; Winter Solstice, Homestay and Emperor’s Day. Each more meaningful than the other.

But I had none, and I also had no connection to the Energies. From what I heard, they stared at me for a long time, unable to believe the fact. It was unthinkable. Servants whispered that father accused mother of laying with other men. She close to killed him until he subdued her with his own power.

Nothing more was exchanged that day. They might have talked in the privacy of their chamber or not, no one can say.

What is known, though, is that I was left to my own devices. Something a baby could never accomplish himself. When I cried and cried, uncertain servants took pity on me. They didn’t know whether they should, but they didn’t want to be at fault for letting their master’s son die.

And so, cared by the lowest of the servants I started my life. None took ownership of me, and I just went from one family to another, knowing I belonged to none. They let me roam the mansion, giving me absolute freedom and no responsibilities.

At first I was very surprised and asked why it was so. All other children had work to do. They told me I was the son of those people in shiny clothes and haughty appearances. Brother to the children that went around the house properly dressed and ordered everyone around.

Armed with this knowledge, I approached the mistress of the house. She was about to step around me, when I moved in back. Her eyes rose up to meet mine then and I saw such disgust, I couldn’t utter a sound. There was such hatred in the slant of her eyes, the way her mouth curled on one corner.

“Presumptuous bastard,” she muttered pushing me out of the way. I fell like a log, too stunned to catch myself. She didn’t turn back. Not a waver in her step. Next moment she was behind the corner and out of my sight.

I lay there, wondering what she had meant by her words. Presumptuous? Bastard? Did that mean my father was not the lord of this mansion? Or was that simply a word to express her horror at my existence?

In time, I learnt it was the latter. Somehow that short encounter with the mistress removed my invisibility. My two brothers and sister suddenly started picking on me. They tricked me into getting into trouble, then started pushing me around, ordering to do stuff for them and later on even practising on my body.

They changed my bones in shapes they weren’t supposed to be. The whole breaking and reshaping of the bone was a living nightmare but that was never the end. I had to walk for days, sometimes weeks with those limbs that didn’t work. Often enough they ached constantly but there was no one to change me back.

Parents cared none for my state and servants had no way to aid me. Not that they wanted. No matter what my family did to me, I was still part of it. No one dared to interfere with their treatment.

More than that, they came to despise me too. If my own family hated me, there had to be a reason, right? Servants children stopped playing with me and noticing nothing happened, they went further. Occasional pickings, pushes, taunts.

Whole house became a huge danger zone for me. Nothing I did was right. But the pitiful creature I was, I thought it had been my own fault. I was certain I had done something wrong. Everything would change if I only found out what that something was.

However, my courage didn’t go as far as asking someone from the household. Servants would keep their quiet while my family... I shuddered at the mere thought of asking something of them. It’s embarrassing to admit, but I was terrified of my parents. Occasional disgusted looks, sneers at noticing me from mother.

Absolute ignorance from father. To him, it was like I didn’t exist at all. That might be what prompted me into thinking I’d done something wrong. He acted similarly to fathers of other noble houses when their children ashamed them. Abandonment of the child or even cutting him from the house wholly.

I thought I was too young to be thrown out so that’s why he was ignoring me. All I needed to do was change the thing I was doing wrong. I had no idea what that was but I was determined to find out.

One day when a celebration was held, I waited in a corner and looked for a suitable person. Soon a gentle looking old man walked into the corridor and I approached him, “Excuse me, mister! Maybe you know what I have done wrong?”

Before I could explain anything more, he looked me over and glaring backhanded me. The hit was so unexpected I fell on my back, unable to catch myself.

I tasted blood in my mouth as I half lay, half sat stunned against the wall. My mind couldn’t comprehend what had happened. What had I done this time?

A man clad in black entered the corridor. He was moving in quick, confident strides and I struggled to get back up. He looked too much like my father for me to dare being in his path.

The man stopped before me, his dark stylish boots stopping before my still prostrate form. “Your fault child is that in a family of prodigal magicians you were born without any talent.” I raised my head to meet his pitiless grey eyes. No compassion shone in there but a cold understanding.

Magicians ruled this world.

I had heard the saying muttered by servants but never had paid much attention to it. It seemed like many of the curses, complaints that people said without really meaning it. They did it just because they could.

“Learn your place, child, and you might still have a life worth living,” he told me, noticing the horn crown I wore this week. I tried to hide it under a scarf but they had poked through when I fell.

The man then left and I scuttled away. It wouldn’t be good to be found by anyone else. Experience told me I already passed today’s good luck’s limit. Next meeting wouldn’t end so well.

While getting away, I had an idea of what to do. I had to prove myself worthy of father’s respect. Such a silly notion. When I remember those days, I can’t believe how stupid I had been. To even for a second think father would accept me.

The mere thought of it is outrageous. Eagle’s don’t respect the snakes they hunt. They’re nothing more to them than a meal, something to fill the belly so they could continue their flight.

But in my mind at that time it all made sense. I would learn to become a great person and then father would respect me. He would be able to do nothing but admire the person I became. All on my own.

Blinded by such silliness I went into the city. It was one of the few times I ventured outside, usually too afraid to show my mismatched appearance. People didn’t tend to look at me with pity, but rather disgust.

Still, I joined one of the commoner schools. Sitting in the back I learnt my letters and numbers, not attracting attention to myself. I knew better than to put myself on the spotlight. It was hard enough to hide my second pair of twitching arms and without everyone looking at me.

One day in the streets I saw something that changed my whole view on the matter. Or not the view, but the approach to it.

Two people were dancing with swords, sparks flying with every clash. Each step in their duel was calculated, not a single wasted movement. I stared entranced till they finished, unable to take my eyes away.

In an instant I knew who and what I wanted to be. Not some bookkeeper but a man of the sword. A soldier who can protect himself and those he cares about.

For hours I stood there, watching. Duellists changed and replaced one another but the dance continued without end. There were just so many reasons to fight for the lower nobles. Not enough hours in the day.

Before each battle a herald would specify the details and then the clash would begin.I thought they were greatest of people, fighting for honour of their ladies, families and country. It was like their problems were higher than those below them.

I envied them with the stupidity of youth. Vowed to surpass them all. Become the greatest duellist in the city. No, the whole empire. Whole world! My ambition didn’t know any bounds.

And somehow, I achieved it. Joined a school for the nobles, were laughed at but proceeded none the less. It mattered little to me that no one thought I could make it happen.

All I saw was my father. Every time he passed me like I didn’t exist, every time he praised my siblings or presented them as if I didn’t exist in the family, my conviction only grew.

At nights I started to train in the gardens where no one could overhear me. In day time I ran through the scrolls, finding descriptions of old fighting techniques. No one was there to teach me so I failed and failed, learnt wrong and had to re-teach myself from the beginning.

An arduous task for one so young but there wasn’t anything else for me. No responsibilities or expectations lay on my shoulders. The less I was seen, the happier everyone else was.

Such things didn’t go unnoticed by me but I pretended not to see them. It was too painful. I didn’t want to accept that the whole household would be better off if I hadn’t been born.

For if that was true, what would it make of my existence?

No, I did not dwell on such thoughts and concentrated on my training. Calluses and aching muscles became my every day companions. I pushed myself farther than any master would have advised.

Sometimes I just fell from the exhaustion, falling asleep on the cold garden ground. In a day or so, I would wake up and have to drag myself to the kitchen. Cook and his assistants learnt to ignore me.

I was a ghost that haunted the mansion. Seen by all but acknowledged by none. It suited me fine then, believing that my time was better spent on my own. There was so much to learn. I could spend my whole lifetime studying the scrolls and practising the forms, unable to master all. No matter how much I improved, I saw faults in new places, something I could improve.

It was a never ending circle.

But one day my classmates taunted me into participating in a tournament. I had been tired of everything, sick of my life so much that I stopped caring for a moment what I did.

For so long I had fought on my own, facing the dummies and moving contraptions I made myself. I was tired of that hiding, being mocked when I was the one trying the hardest. So, I spat at them and said I would enter.

To this day I remember the shock on their faces. Fourteen years I had trained in that school. People came and left while I remained, despised by the masters but paying the fee so always there. Not once had I been allowed to or wanted for that matter to enter a contest of swords.

I was twenty one then, my blood slow in rising but that was the breaking point. Emotions contained through all my teenage life rushed out in a torrent. I won one contest after another.

Real opponents showed up to be more than I expected but my anger was unwavering. I used everything I had learnt to push through the first duels and then there was no longer anything they could do to stop me. All their tricks fell through as my determination pushed me onwards.

By mid tournament there were no new tricks left. I had seen everything. Each duel lasted no more than a minute, all fighters falling before my sword like puppets whose strings were cut. It was more of an official thing for me to enter the ring rather than a necessity.

No one stood a chance against me.

People started to stare at me in bewilderment. They wondered where I had been hiding while I basked in their admiration. For the first time in my life I was looked upon without disgust or annoyance.

More than that, people sought my attention. They wanted to talk to me, inquire about my interests and way of life. Some even tried to become my supporters, my guardians in the back.

I had to lie to all of them but that didn’t diminish my joy. One day, when I became the best, I would tell the truth. My father would come and acknowledge me before all, saying with pride that I was his son.

It would cause such an outrage. A smile would sneak onto my face every time the thought entered my mind. Couple times every hour.

Now I wish I could punch some sense into that thick head. Be able to sit down with the silly youth and tell him the truth, explain that he was only going to hurt himself.

And yet I know it would be pointless even if I could. The stubbornness of those days, the certainty of my belief... No words could have shaken that foundation.

Only the man at its centre had that power.

Oh, and how much power he had. My whole life shaped by his disregard, then mockery. At times I thought I managed to push it away, to forget him but that was just a dream. Even now as I write these lines, it’s because of him.

Not a day passes that I don’t find his shadow hovering over my mind. It’s driving me crazy and I think I might be falling for it. The thing that I’m going to attempt to do, it’s pure madness.

Yet I will do it nonetheless.

Kallum... He is my only regret. If not him, I’d have fallen so many years ago. I still don’t understand why he caught me and kept me by his side, protecting me from myself. He’s a friend I never deserved and going to let down in the worst of ways.

But even knowing that, he’s still by my side. With his own healer’s hands he’s shaping the destruction of the world.

How can I ever repay a person like that?

By killing him along with the rest of the world. Tears run down my cheeks as I write these words but they are the truth. I wish there was another way, but there isn’t. Magic has to be gone.

Then, and only then can the world become a better place.

I say that and know it for the lies they are. It’s not for the people I do this but my own twisted being. Even knowing the shadow hanging over my head does nothing to diminish its power over me. I need to surpass him.

It is my name that has to echo through the ages. He was so proud, so persistent in carving his family name into the very bones of the world. In his mind it meant lasting forever.

But I’m going to steal that. Destroy it with the hands of my dearest friend, killing him in the process. Will it be worth it? No. Not in the least. I know it and yet...

Kallum knows me better than I do sometimes. Unlike me, he understands that I won’t change my course. This is something I have to do. Only then I will be free. Death following suit is but a mere nuisance.

I would have achieved my goal. Be able to rest peacefully.

Ha! What peace can there be for one who brought his one true friend’s death? I hope I’ll burn forever in the flames for my decisions. One person that was good in my life, one true thing and I’m going to destroy it for nothing.

To avenge myself against someone that doesn’t deem me worthy of even shining his boots.

What a pathetic little creature I am.

This reminds me of the days after the tournament. I had won the world championship, I had become the sword of the realm. No one could come even close to my skill.

My father as the representative of the council was supposed to congratulate me. I hadn’t looked at him the whole tournament, afraid for no reason what I would see on his face. I believed I had chosen right but doubt rose the closer I got to winning.

And the doubt hadn’t been unfounded. When I stood on the dais, victorious, bowing before the puppet emperor, my father came to stand before me. For the first time in my life he looked straight into my eyes and I saw such distaste it made me shudder.

I fell on my knees before him, lowering my head. He moved closer, touching my head. But it wasn’t in a fatherly acceptance. No, he reshaped my body. Bones broke and muscles twisted, blood flowed freely on the floor.

“You will never be good enough,” he whispered as I sprawled on the ground, losing my precious life before his eyes. “Without magic you’re nothing more but a mortal coil. I could kill you with but a thought, all your training meaning nothing.”

And then he left. Some admirers of mine saved my life, bringing magic healers that costed a fortunate. I was so lost, unable to comprehend what happened that I did what they wanted.

There wasn’t a single thought in my mind. I became an empty husk fit only for wielding the blade. One thing led to another and I found myself fighting in wars that had nothing to do with me.

Each battle was a way of release. I didn’t know what to do with myself but lose in the emptiness of movement. Like a madman I rushed into the thickest of skirmishes, entering battles that no sane man would have joined.

But it did not matter to me. I wanted to find release in the blood lust. It was the only thing that could quench the emotions exploding within me. If there was no battle, I created fights. Other soldiers learnt to evade me whenever we’d had a longer period of calm.

Officers then sent me to the most dangerous of fields but where I came death reigned. I won even if I was the last man standing. It was as if I was Lady Death’s harbinger. Dealing death where I went, but never suffering more than flesh wounds.

I suppose, I had been lucky.

It was the luck of one who sought death. The lady never visited those that looked for her. I had heard that she frowns upon such creatures but that hadn’t stopped me from trying. If only I entered a fight desperate enough, battlefield too lost to be saved.

But no commander dared to send me to my death. They knew who I was. Even disowned I was still the son of a councilman. His blood and flesh.

And so I lived. For years. Sword had been part of my body from long ago but in war, you didn’t always have what you preferred. Shields, staffs, maces. I learnt all of them by simply picking them up.

My talent for battle was unprecedented. Each weapon became part of me in weeks rather than years it took others. By thirty I was the master of the battlefield, able to use any weapon at my disposal.

People begged me to teach them and I did so but few lasted more than a day. I was as harsh with them as myself. Rigorous training for the body so that the mind wouldn’t have time to ponder. In ten years I hadn’t thought about what had happened.

And I wasn’t going to start then. But as the empire entered a peace, I was left without an outlet for my emotions. Desolation swept through and I found myself sitting on a riverbed, watching the rolling waves.

“You don’t want to do it,” a voice had interrupted my musings. I had looked up to see a young man with windswept dark hair and bright blue eyes walking towards me. He sat beside me as if I had invited him in.

“Who are you?” I’d asked in annoyance. I hadn’t wanted an audience for what I planned to do.

The youngster turned to me. “Won’t you give me a chance?”

“Chance?”

“Master told me if I save you from yourself, my training will be over.”

I laughed at his ostentatious words. Who did he think he was? “Leave, boy. I have no time to waste on the likes of you.”

“Boy?” he had asked with a raised eyebrow. “I’m younger by no more than six years. Less probably. And,” he returned his eyes to the river,” what does it matter to you if I try? Couple days more or less, isn’t that the same to the one who’s standing at the Lady’s door?”

“I’ve waited long enough,” I dismissed his words. It had been around ten years, maybe more that I had soldiered for the empire. I’ve battled in more wars than any person should have. It was time I ended this miserable excuse for existence.

Or else it ended me.

Without a word and before I could react, the young man shifted and put a hand on my shoulder. I jerked away from the tingling of magic as he pushed it inside my body. “What did-?” I hissed before I felt it.

Old aches that had been my constant companions disappeared as if never having been there. Muscles relaxed and I slumped forward, taking a breath of air that had been long denied me.

Those mages hired by my admirers had healed me to the best of their ability but they hadn’t redone everything. My father’s changing had been thorough. It was made to such extent no other mage dared to reach so far, afraid of taking my life.

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So, I had lived with the constant aches and pains, feeling my body betray me more with each passing day. It wasn’t obvious enough to cause my fighting any damage but I tired more easily, breathing was harder and I had to go on stubbornness more often than pure strength. Going far beyond exhaustion.

“I can heal your outer wounds but we both know that’s not enough,” the healer said in a wistful tone. He then looked me straight in the eyes. “Give me a chance. I promise to find a way to free you from the shackles strangling your every breath.”

I had mocked him for his words and actions, told him to tell his master to go he knows where. And somehow in the process I found myself smiling by the time he had to return to other healers.

From then the army had to travel around calming rebellions and peasant warriors. It was tiresome work, more travelling than any combat. So often enough I found myself sitting with the man who’d called himself Kallum and bantering about things that mattered not at all.

He made fun of my skills, saying I was nothing but a glorified butcher while I poked at his healing skills. Why was he saving people we’d just injured? A conflict of interests we jokingly called it.

Weeks, months passed and another war started. After battles I often ended up in the healer tents, though, not as a patient. Strong hands and an iron stomach was more than welcome in that place.

Most healers weren’t shapers and their methods, though effective, were crude and painful. It took me and another burly caretaker to hold the wounded as they thrashed, doing all they can to escape the healer’s touch.

Kallum’s healing was less violent but no less painful. Magic could do more but it was the same breaking of bone to reshape it into the form it should be, changing blood into skin so wounds closed. All of it required inner reserves few soldiers possessed.

Death ran rampant in those days and I saw the man greying under my eyes. Kallum was too empathic for his own sake. His pain was evident in the way he spoke even if his actions didn’t betray the inner suffering.

I watched him and wondered when he was going to break. It seemed inevitable to me. But he never did. From somewhere he took the power to push on, survive in the blood and misery that were the healer tents.

He became calmer, more reserved. Each of his words calculated for that specific thought. Only when we were sitting alone could I glimpse something of the young hopeful man that had approached me.

There was still one hope he held onto, go back home and start teaching children with magic capabilities about healing instead of killing and flaunting their power. For a long while I had mocked him for it but as time went by, I accepted it as part of him. It would fit him.

So, one day I simply suggested we leave. There was a lull in the battle, some treaties signed that were going to be broken in a couple years. But for now peace reigned. We were free to leave if we wished so.

I had never planned to do so, having no idea what to do with my life outside battles but Kallum needed an incentive. He was sacrificing himself for me, staying there for it was clear to both of us what would become of me if he left. His friendship was what kept me from returning to that place he’d dragged me out of.

He was shocked at my proposal, resistant but I pushed and pulled until he gave in. I had to agree to become part of some gathering in the city but I deemed it a decent price to pay. He had helped me and now it was time I repaid the favour.

There was nothing I wished of my life. It had been over for many years now but his companionship had brought something nice to my world. For once, I felt satisfied with who and what I was. He was capable of making me feel like an equal, a true person and not a shadow of one.

That’s why being able to bring his dream closer to realisation was worth leaving the army for. My life was past its bloom, and I had no regrets. None I dared to think about and simply thought of myself as an old veteran like other soldiers saw me.

It was simpler and more comfortable that way. I sometimes caught Kallum staring at me, shaking his head but neither of us said anything. We both knew I was avoiding the topic of who I truly was, and there was nothing to say.

I’d told him of my life but as one bad story teller. Dry facts, events and words that had cut me into pieces said in an emotionless tone. He had listened quietly, not interrupting once and hadn’t asked a single question.

It’d been years since then and he kept my secrets as he gave me my space. Some things cut too deep to be explored or shared. He understood and left me be as he distracted me with his work and the world surrounding him.

Those were the best years of my life. Helping him rebuild an old house from his saved up wages, hunting through the town for talented poor children that couldn’t receive education they deserved. At times we racked the city for supplies, bartering for hours for single coins.

We would laugh about it later, knowing we didn’t have to be so frugal. Yet we’d lived in an army for more than twenty years. It was unnatural for both of us to spend on extravagances of life.

Most soldiers returned wishing for comfort but we found it jarring. Blanket on the floor was much better than any feather bed and dry food over lavish banquets we weren’t invited to.

Now I wonder if it simply hadn’t been disbelief that we were really out. Somewhere in our hearts we might have believed this was all just a dream. We would soon wake up and have to live without any comfort till the end of our days. Not tempting ourselves with it in this dream only made sense.

But as a year passed and a small group of students started visiting Kallum we were forced to face reality. He needed tables and chairs, tablets for his students. They also needed space to practice and learn.

I had to leave and make something of myself. I was closing on fifty and couldn’t fathom what to do with myself. At that time I considered myself an old man, unable to learn any new tricks. I had been a soldier all my life and couldn’t imagine being able to do anything in the city.

For a time I considered joining a mercenary group as a caravan guard but soon pushed that thought away. I had seen enough bloodshed in my life, I had promised Kallum to find something better to occupy my days than mindless killing.

So, against my own better judgement, I joined the city’s accountants as a scribe. My letters weren’t perfect but I could read and count well so they allowed me to join.

I did nothing but write for others from morning to dusk and at first it angered me. Was this what I had lived my whole life for? To end up as some nameless old man, just another one in the counting machine.

Remembering the old days while seeing my current state wasn’t as easy as I had expected. I had been the best duellist in the world, my name had rung from one corner of the empire to the other. Then I had retreated from everyone’s mind but I had still been someone.

Soldiers thought me mad but in a way they respected me. If I came to a battle, all knew we were going to win it. My presence alone made fights turn tide and shift to our advantage. Or so they believed, revering me as Lady Death’s right hand man.

It wasn’t true but I did fight with all I had. My sword and heart were thirsty for blood, protecting my allies by killing all the enemies. I wasn’t merciful in those days but not excessively cruel. Purely as much as the battle required, not seeing the point of spending extra effort on such nonsense.

“What do you say about becoming my representative?” Kallum had asked me one day as we sat in his little abode. Students had went to work so they could bring some food to their families. They would return soon enough but for now we were alone.

I stared at him for the question had taken me by surprise. “Representative?”

He gave me a tortured smile as he wound the bandages in neat bundles and put on the shelf. “Apparently, my school is lacking official documentation and can be outlawed if anyone feels like it. I need someone to make it and maybe defend my interests in the Commoner Council.”

“I’m a soldier, not some bookkeeper,” I growled at him, finishing my bowl of soup. My choice of profession was a somewhat sore spot in my mind. At times I thought it would have been much better had I never seen those duels and been tempted into following their lead.

Kallum grabbed the bowl from my hands before I could slam it into the table. “I have few of these and you know it,” he told me with a dark look. Then he sighed and sat down before me. “Stop pretending your life is over. Go and do this or something else if you don’t want it that much. I’ll find someone else. But don’t act as if you’re dead already.”

“I’m fifty seven,” I told him with a grim finality. “It’s past time I started new activities. Few years and I’ll find myself in one of the mass graves.”

The jolt of magic he sent my way had me rolling away, crouching before him with a blade outstretched on instinct. I carried the long knife for protection purposes or that’s what I told myself and anyone who asked.

Kallum gave me a look. “Look at yourself,” he pointed at my crouching position. “You’re spryer than most twenty year olds.” The expression on his face told me I had failed miserably in proving my own point. “Any more reasons why you can’t?”

I straightened, sheathing the cheap blade and opened my mouth when Kallum waved me off. “Don’t. That was a rhetorical question. Go and do it or I’ll sign you up as an escort for the travelling theatre!”

The threat chilled my bones. “You wouldn’t,” I whispered in a freezing tone. The theatre was a group of minstrels, actors and other kinds of drunks and beggars. They paid nothing while mocking, tricking, abusing their protectors with the wiliness of a serpent. Being ordered to guard them was a national disgrace, no person returned from their clutches unchanged.

And they always picked up all who had been signed to guard them. Gods, magic or brute strength ensured that.

“Try me,” he told me with an icy look that rivalled mine.

We both had been in the pits of hell, seen the same sights there. Neither was going to win this staring contest. “I could kill you here and now.”

“And die right beside me. Fitting end to our friendship, wouldn’t you say?”

“God, Kallum,” I muttered dropping to the bench. “Do you know what you’re asking of me?”

“Get off your ass and start doing something?”

I glared at him but my look lacked the conviction behind it. “You’ll regret this, boy.”

“Sure, sure, old man,” he laughed. “Now leave, my students should be returning.”

“Fine,” I breathed out standing up. “You’ll be the death of me one day.”

His eyes locked onto mine for a moment but he didn’t say anything. I threw that line often enough even if it was clear it was the opposite. Still, for some reason it always rattled him. That’s why I kept on repeating it whenever he decided to push me into something I had no wish to be venturing into.

So, without having much of a choice I took up a politician’s mantle. It was much easier than I had expected. Commoner’s Council dealt mainly with city’s problems with little reward. shaper’s took up the tasks that would enrich or higher their status while the thrash was passed onto the Commoner Council.

With little to no funds they battled filth, sickness and decay. This was an old city filled with festering problems that needed immediate addressing to keep it afloat. Yet the shapers were too proud. They deemed such problems beneath their notice.

So what if a house fell on an unfortunate family? Their own problem. They should have taken a better care of it. None considered that maybe the poor didn’t have the funds for it, nor could they use magic. There was simply nothing they could do to repair the age old crumbling places.

And half the city was like that. More than that. Only the centre shone like a gem, renewed every few months once the shapers got tired of their current looks. In the mean time the rest of the city fell deeper into disrepair. Working classes were so overused, that the thought of where to get dinner was much more prevalent than that the roof might fall in.

Few shapers cared for such people. Most thought of them as lesser beings. A couple like Kallum, who didn’t, usually went into healing. It was the most immediate need. If people were alive, at least they had a chance of bettering their situation. However thin that chance was.

That is in what kind of situation I ended up in because of that meddlesome healer. I had no idea where to start caring for that festering wound the city carried. Having lived on both sides I knew it well, but what did that help me?

But I wasn’t one to do things halfway. If I set my eyes on something, I reached for it. Even if that goal was set up for me.

So, I learnt all I could about creating a school. There was scant little and soon I was certain Kallum had tricked me. He knew that however much I didn’t want to do something, if he said it was for him, I’d agree to it in the end.

He knew me too well for his own good.

Other councilman were surprised to see me join but welcomed me in none the less. Most were life wary old man just like me. None knew me for who I truly was and taught me from the beginning.

There were ways to go about this ruling the commoners business. You had to act powerful when all you had was air in your hands. Pretend it was because of reasons you didn’t do something, not because you couldn’t.

On the other end of the spectrum there were the mages. You had to lower yourself and beg for favours. It was important to be always helpful and entertaining, then they sometimes gave something away for you to use. But there was also the problem of timing.

You couldn’t ask for things until a certain amount of time has passed. There was also other restrictions that prevented you from even approaching them. Not that it was easy once you did ask them.

It was a never ending circle of walking on your knees and hoping someone will drop you a bone off their table, all while acting like it was you who held the power.

I couldn’t believe my ears when I heard it all. What world were we living in? I had thought my life was bad but everyone was living that nightmare every day. People unable to sense the energy currents like me were treated like animals. Their lives were unimportant but for a few special ones.

Two weeks of this learning later, I met up with Kallum. He was waiting for me in his garden, resting against a tree after picking the herbs. Old age hadn’t been kind to him. He was younger than me but having used magic to excess all those years in the army took a toll on him.

His skin was parchment thin with eyes set deep into the hollows. They looked like pebbles on a grey background. A disconcerting sight whenever my eyes landed on him. I was the warrior, the battle weary one. Why was it then that he was the one nearing Lady Death’s doors so quick?

“How have you been?” he asked me with a tired smile, leaning back against the tree. He was so thin it looked like he was going to fall back and disappear within the bark. So little of him remained in this world.

“Starting to regret?” I asked, bending down to check up on his latest batch of herbs. They were sowed with his usual carelessness of order. There were no lines or markers that I could detect separating the different variations of the same herb.

He breathed out a laugh. “What if I am?”

“You’re wasting your energy for nothing. I see why you wanted me there. It’s a mess.”

This time he laughed for sure. “It has always been so. What do you think you will be capable of changing?”

I turned to stare at him, a frown on my face. “What happened?”

He wrenched his hands, eyes going down to look at the skeletal fingers. “One of the students was apprehended for using shaping. A noble decided he was talented enough to be adopted. Now he will be taken from all he knows and sent to some far away city so he forgets about all he’s known.”

“One of the younger ones?” I asked with dread racing in my veins. It could only be them since older children were too hard to re-teach, make them into fitting secondary ring of shapers.

“Yeah, I had barely started showing him the basics. The child was no more than five years old. What world do we live in, Elecar, that such a little boy can be taken from his family, all he’s known and sent away just because he shows promise?”

I clenched my teeth, turning away from his all too knowing gaze. My own life flashing before my eyes.

No words left my mouth. How could one even begin to answer such a question?

I straightened and without looking back marched out of the garden. On my way out I met a child sneaking towards where we had been talking. He looked abashed to have been caught and quickly turned tail.

Children and their wish to know all that the grown ups were talking about.

Shaking my head I left the small house and returned to my rented abode. It was cramped and dirty but I didn’t mind. That moment I knew this was going to be my last night sleeping here.

From then on I would live in the libraries; reading, writing, scheming. There would be no time to sleep or rest. I was powerless and thought I could gain power through the written and spoken word rather than waving a metal stick.

Such a fool! I believed that there was a way for me to gain power. It was the mistake I repeatedly did throughout my life. I simply couldn’t understand the true nature of this world.

People born without sense of the energy currents were born at the bottom and could never raise. We simply didn’t have wings to lift us into the air where the rest of our kin resided. Earth bound, unable to even comprehend what the others are seeing.

Worthy only to shine their boots.

My father kept on trying and trying to teach me that but I simply was too thick. Repeatedly I passed what should have been human limits to reach him but never got even close. I was just not seeing my own limitations. Without shaping I and the rest of humanity were nothing.

Dust on the ground. Nothing more.

But like a fool I was, I set my sights on changing that. For the next eight years I played the word game. Whenever deals were made I was there; lying, tricking, abusing my non-existent authority. Whatever worked I used.

That talk with Kallum about one of his students had set me in motion. There was no stopping the hurricane I turned into.

Surprisingly, it worked. The city’s situation improved. It didn’t become good but some people could take a breather. Many houses were renewed, streets cleaned and people hired. It brought smiles to people’s faces to see me walking around, talking with them and inquiring what had to be done.

When shapers abused their power, I did my best to reduce the damage or nullify it. Couple children were returned, a few people escaped death. Many more didn’t receive help but that couldn’t be avoided. A capital of the empire couldn’t be saved in a year.

In time the citizens started to recognise me and what I did. When I needed help to achieve something, there were even volunteers to aid me. It broke my heart to see those overworked exhausted people work even more but they did it with a smile. I simply couldn’t refuse their open trusting souls.

So, to aid them even more in the last six years I started a campaign for equal rights. Kallum thought I was mad but he did all he could to help me. I was shocked to see how many connections he had gained while living his simple life. He was clearly a much better shaper than he had led me to believe.

All those people suddenly doing me favours wouldn’t have aided just anyone. Who was he really?

I wondered that from time to time but in the end I knew it was a pointless thought. He was Kallum, the man that had saved my life and made sure I never returned on that path. For that alone he deserved my trust.

But more than that, he was my best friend. We had been by each other’s side for years and knew the other as well as ourselves. Things that were left unsaid were nothing more than details of the past, knowledge that mattered not any more.

So, I slaved day and night to my cause, wishing and disbelieving triumph at the same time. It was just too hard to imagine shapers living at the same level with those that were now so below as to be unseen.

Yet I went forward. Some people I could talk into, some owed me or Kallum favours. Others were blackmailed by information supplied by their own servants.

In time, I had all but one vote from the shaper council to pass the edict. Emperor was just a figure head. All I needed was the whole council to agree. One more vote and I would be done. My life’s work achieved.

But that one, strongest vote, it belonged to a person I had no wish to meet. That was why he was left the last.

Only when I had everyone’s signatures on the paper did I dare to approach him. The council welcomed me with cold silence as I entered. Stares ran down my ageing body but I went towards the front and told my tale. It was a practised one by now.

As I finished my eyes landed on the person sitting at the council’s head. My dear old father that looked younger than me. His shaping renewed his body repeatedly and he was most likely going to survive twice my age if not more.

The bastard was smiling.

I remember that thought clearly. It was as if the whole world disappeared as I stared at that smirk. One second and then I felt something hot. My hand was burning.

No, as I glanced down, I saw the paper with all the signatures having been turned to ashes. Right there. In my hands.

“Who are you to change this world, silly boy? Leave.”

And before I could utter a single sound, guards dragged me out. I was thrown out of the palace like a sack of bones. Passengers walked past me without bothering to stop. They were shapers so close to the centre and cared none for some commoner having stepped above his station.

Rage, anger, desperation, disbelief, fear, horror warred within me as I pulled myself up. None of of the emotions able to take prominence. Like a ghost I wandered through the streets, somehow making it out the city at some point.

I don’t know how long it had taken me or what I had thought at that time. All I know is that I found myself standing on a river’s edge like all those years ago. The swift rushing water beckoned me with sweet release, the end; but I hesitated.

There was one more thing to do.

Even in my state of madness I waited for Kallum. He found me when dawn broke, a sheen of sweat on his brow. Without any preamble he stopped before me and crossed his arms. “You won’t succeed.”

“I have to try!” I bellowed, narrowing my eyes to glare at him. Standing, thinking, I had settled on bitterness and resentment tinged with violence. I was on the verge of bursting out, on him if he defied my last wish.

He turned his eyes away, watching the river pass by without a care. “There’s another way.”

“Forgive and forget?” I mocked. “Is that your genius solution? How well had that worked for me, huh? First I was ignored, then disowned but I left it at that! I didn’t do anything! And where did that land me?” I asked, coming closer to invade his space. “Now all I had worked for in the sunset of my years was destroyed! Why? Just because I’m me! He didn’t even hear a single word I said!”

Kallum turned back to me but my rant wasn’t over. “If it had been anyone but me, there would have been a chance. Small one but still there! But with me... There was nothing.” Tears came unbidden. “The city will stay the same, unchanged, living with all its horrors just because I was born. Now, since I wasted this try at equality the people will have to suffer for at least another hundred years until the shapers will allow for another attempt!”

By the time I ran out of breath, I was sobbing. My hands clenched and unclenched into fists, nails drawing blood.

“I healed a man yesterday,” Kallum said, looking me straight in the eyes. I wanted to turn away but he held my gaze. “He was thrown out of his workplace because of the injury. It would have brought starvation to his family. So, I healed him.”

Silent power washed off him. He didn’t use the Energies for anything specific but I could feel them wafting off of him in angry currents. “Today he was executed for obstructing work. The shaper was annoyed by the man’s pleading to be returned to a position that had already been filled by another.”

“What does that have to do with anything?” I asked.

Kallum sighed, shifting his gaze away. It was as if energy had left him and he crumbled in place, no longer able to keep himself standing. I brushed the tear stains off my face and lowered myself beside him.

Strangely I was feeling more of a human now. My desire to run for my father’s estate had not disappeared but my mind had cleared. I knew it won’t be as easy as I would wish it to.

“This world needs to die, Elecar,” Kallum whispered.

My head snapped towards him as if on strings. “You don’t mean...”

“I do. This city is diseased and its beyond saving. For years I tried to heal its wounds little by little, helping where I could, teaching where I couldn’t. I did all that I could think of, even asking you to aid in my endeavour.

“But it was all for naught. We were pouring tinctures over a wound that had already rotten. The only way to save the body is to cut the limb off.”

I knew what he was getting at but my mind was reeling off the subject. I couldn’t believe he was really suggesting what he was saying. “You want to destroy shaping in its entirety?”

“That’s the only way.”

As he said it, I knew the words to be true. This world was too corrupted, too long in the tyranny of shapers. And it wasn’t going to change. How does one fight someone that can kill a squad with just the barest of thoughts?

The difference in innate power was just too great. Especially since you didn’t have to do anything for it. You either had it or not. Simple game of chance, a roll of the dice at birth.

For hours we sat there, unmoving, letting the silence retake its control. Sounds of cheerful waking nature reached our ears but they were deaf to them. Our hearts were heavy from the knowledge what we were going to do.

We were old, two ancient men, but we had experience to aid in our quest. It was going to be a swifter journey than all others. Our goal was clearly set before our eyes. This time.

Or so we thought as we made our silent deal.

But it wasn’t so. For years we struggled without any success. How does one come about destroying something he doesn’t even feel existing? I knew about the energy currents but only from talking to Kallum and hearing from other shapers.

Myself, I couldn’t feel them in the least. I was but a normal human, without any power running through my blood.

But I sequestrated myself in the libraries, disappearing from the society altogether. I read ancient books that had been written by scholars from civilizations long gone. Few held any useful hints but I collected them one by one, not allowing myself to waver.

My father’s face lingered constantly in my mind, pushing me forward. I couldn’t get that smirk to disappear.

Who are you to change this world, silly boy? Those words were like a thorn in my side. Whenever I felt tired or despondent, I remembered them and continued without any rest. Sleep was a luxury I didn’t allow myself.

Kallum often found me passed out from exhaustion. He made it into habit to come over himself or send one of his students to check on me every two days so I didn’t starve to death. I didn’t have time to waste on getting food or sleeping.

There had to be a way to make my father suffer, topple him off his self-established throne.

My friend had more altruistic motives and his anger drowned in the ordinary. There were his students that needed protection and teaching, his garden that needed tending and people that often came to ask for his aid. There was little time for him to worry.

Often I saw sorrow in his eyes but every day there was another horror story. It weighted him down, destroying all his hope and dreams for a better tomorrow. At time I wondered how he moved on, started a new day knowing it was only going to be the same. Or worse.

But somehow he did and found time to take care of me too. I promised him I will find a way to change this world but his enthusiasm died few years in. I knew he had no belief but not once had he said it aloud.

Instead he made sure I didn’t starve myself, and explained me things about energy currents and using them that made no sense to me. He shared his knowledge easily, not holding anything back. Even having no hope of his own, he didn’t seek to destroy mine. If I thought it was possible, he was going to aid me in any way he could.

That trust flattered me and I worked even harder, searching in places I wouldn’t have entered otherwise. Forgotten and forbidden tomes went through my hands. There were secrets in them that endangered the empire, many noble families but few held anything I wanted.

But recently I finally stumbled upon something.

I’m afraid.

That’s all that I can write here. What have I started?

Kallum was horrified but without a word of question for me, he took it up. With his own two hands he’s fashioning a tool that will tear the world apart. Neither of us knows what will happen but it’s going to be bad.

Real bad.

And we’ll be the ones unleashing it.

Is my hatred worth it? My wish to make that man suffer? To push him off his pedestal?

I wish I could say no but that would be a lie. Kallum sees it in my eyes. He knows I’m not the hero people had painted me to be. Yet, he still does it.

I’m certain I wrote it somewhere here before. He knows me too well for his own good. Because from that understanding comes a certain irritation, bitterness. Why had it happened that way? Why was I born without the ability to shape? Why did my father have to despise me so? Why did I always end up in his path, being destroyed by his words again and again?

No answers were satisfactory.

Only a savage backlash could make it better. We both knew it was the wrong course but the only one left for me. I had been passive for too long, accepting what fate had dealt me. Resentment had grown to the point where I couldn’t take a step in peace. My mind was consumed with outrage at what had been done to me.

Kallum entered my room. I can feel his gaze on my form bowed over the paper. “It’s finished,” he says in a raspy whisper.

Can it be? So, it’s today? Will the world end this very moment? I don’t dare to raise my head, turn around to look at him, release the feather pen I’m using on this paper.

“Have you finished your tale?” he asks me and I have to end this. I shouldn’t procrastinate it any longer. The end is near.

Even if for a second, I’ll be the one victorious.

That’s all I had ever wanted, isn’t it?