House Moore had been mageless for many generations. No one was surprised. Most families were mageless. Magical prowess was as much about the talent as it was the Coin to pay instructors. For the Moores, it wasn't about the money. They just continued to roll poorly in the dice game called genetics. Milo Moore was no exception to this trend.

Milo had as much magical ability as the average person. No more. No less. That is to say, he wasn't talented in a way that made magic worth studying. Everyone could harness some magic. How else do you think the item enchanting industry stayed afloat? But despite being unremarkable in every way when it came to magic, Milo longed to be a mage.

The fact that everyone could use at least a little magic ignited his passions. Anytime he used a rune to flush the shitpit, his mind would stray to the fantastic stories he heard of Cerulean Mages creating portals to other dimensions. Every time he showered, he thought of the magic it must take for a Scarlet Mage to conjure heat and water at the same time.

When Milo was ten, he was at the Brownlee Wandering Bazaar. The eclectic merchant tents showed up only once a year, and his family always made a point of seeing what interesting knickknacks they could scoop up. It was the first year his father, Harven Moore, trusted him enough to wander alone. For the most part. Dimitri escorted him, but servants can't do as much as a parent when chaperoning.

Each tent had a spread of shiny objects, begging him to spend his 50 Coin all in one place. The specialty candy seller gave him a particular run for his money. Let's just say the servant had a few bags to carry after that. But none of the wonders caught his eye as much as the pristine leatherbound book that said "Spells" in fancy lettering.

Milo grabbed the book off the pedestal that held it up and sniffed it. A long inhale. Always the weird one. He let out a satisfied grunt as the aroma of the fresh leather settled in his nostrils.

"Grubby hands, boy!" the merchant said.

Milo put the book back and apologized. If he hadn't, Dimitri would have made him.

"How much, sir? I have Coin," Milo said, then turned to his father's servant. "Dimitri? Count. How much do I have left?" The servant set himself to counting.

The shop keeper picked up the book and brushed it as if a light dusting of the sleeve would rid it of the boy's cooties. "Still yourself, Dimitri. The book is more than this boy can produce."

Milo acted offended. The way he'd seen his snooty cousins do. "Pardon you," he said, "How much for the book, sir?"

"Two hundred."

Milo's jaw dropped. "Two hundred Coin?"

The merchant said, "Certainly not two hundred Chip, boy. Your expression proves me right. So sad. Daddy didn't give his little darling that much to spend, eh?"

Milo glared at the shopkeeper with a crooked frown.

"Scram!" the man finally said.

"You haven't seen the last of me." Milo spun around and huffed off to his father. But the merchant had seen the last of him.

Harven wanted nothing to do with giving his son enough coin to buy the book. Fifty Coin for each of his ten children was already an extravagance. Two hundred was what he paid his servants in a year. It was inconceivable, no matter how much Milo begged, stomped his feet, bargained with future allowance, and got his mother involved.

But Milo never forgot that book. Anytime he closed his eyes and thought hard, he could recall it down to the smallest detail. The smell and feel of the smooth leather. The hand-engraved lettering. The weight of it in his hands. He imagined it in every textbook, instruction manual, and anthology his tutors made him read.

For the next five years, he kept his eyes peeled at the Brownlee Wandering Bazaar, hoping that he might have a second chance. Maybe a used book dealer would show up one year. Perhaps the same merchant would come back and realize his mistake, and the book wouldn't have sold. He deprived himself of many other trinkets simply to save every Coin he had until the end of the day. Yet, year after year, he saw not a hint of spell books show up. Every magic item shop. Every potion brewer tent. Nothing.

Midsummer came around again, and the Greenlee tents reappeared on the edge of town. He let out a sigh and dragged his feet. He was close to being a man now. His mind was overtaken with thoughts of how his older siblings had stopped attending around his age. Perhaps it was time for him to stop too. He'd already seen it all. The novelty of the tents didn't amuse. But he trudged on in the hopes that his book would be waiting for him.

"You look like a young man in need of this," said the apothecary holding a heart-shaped bottle.

"Pick up a bag of tricks here. Lowest price in the Bazaar!" a man with a handlebar mustache offered.

"Don't forget to bring home some candy apples," called out the spunky twins in matching hats.

All pitter-patter and meaningless consumerism, Milo thought.

The day passed by the same as the previous five years at the Wandering Bazaar. He entered a million tents without buying anything. Not that there was nothing he wanted, but he had saved his money all these years, why spend it now?

After several hours, he tuned out the business of the temporary market and sat down on a bench near the tree line. He looked down through the trees that gave way to a sharp valley and stream below. The ripples of the creek were drowned out by distance and ambient noise.

It was an overcast day. Milo yawned and let himself get lost in thoughts. He imagined the book again. He thought about how badly he wanted a chance to prove he could harness enough magic to do one of those spells. He resented his father and the years he'd spent saying it was pointless to hire a tutor. The next thing he knew, a cold breeze was waking him from his daydreams with a gentle touch on his bare legs.

"What time is it, Dimitri?"

"Nearly the sixth chime, sir. The sellers pack. Do you wish to spend any Coin this year?"

Milo thought about it for a moment and stood up. He felt like he had seen every tent already, and there was no point in continuing, but something was soothing about being one of the few remaining people there. He wanted to take advantage of the stillness.

"One or two tents. Father will expect us back soon."

He walked parallel to the tree line, visiting only the shops on the very edge of the market. And the choice was worth it. His heart skipped a beat when he saw a man in a mage's robes with a red sash around his neck.

"You're a real mage!" Milo cried from a distance. He ran up to the man sitting on a crate outside of a merchant tent.

The man waved but said nothing.

"That's the sash of a Scarlet Mage. You're certified by the council! What brings a man of your talents to such a town of nobodies?"

The man did not answer. He instead started making motions with his hands and smiled at Milo. The boy stepped back. Even Milo knew that spells were cast with movements of the writs and arms. But this didn't seem to be a spell. He hesitated, and the excitement faded from his face.

"He speaks with signs, Sir," Dimitri said, just now catching up to Milo. "I had a cousin once who spoke like this."

"You understand him?" Milo's eyes glowed at his loyal servant.

The mute mage smiled and moved his hands again in ways that Milo had never seen. He made circles and stretched his wrist away from each other like he was pulling on invisible strings in each hand.

"He is apologizing. Normally his partner is here to translate, but he's gone off to, um, relieve himself."

"Then it's lucky you're here with me," Milo said. "Ask him is business with Greenlee's."

The mage moved his hands again.

"He says he's not deaf, only mute."

"Apologies, then."

The mute signed again. "He travels with his partner to make Coin. They sell enchantments. The council looks down on him, and he's not paid enough."

Milo asked, "I've always wanted to find a book on instructional magic. Do you sell anything of the sort?"

"No," Dimitri translated. "But he says those are rare, and Sir won't find one outside of a mage school."

The mute stood up and led the two inside the tent to show them the other things he did sell. Milo followed out of politeness. He didn't need magical toys and shut his mind off from buying anything, but he wanted to seize the chance to speak with a mage, such as he could.

"He asks if anything here catches Sir's eyes."

"It's all very nice," Milo said, running his hands over a collection of smooth, colorful stones that he knew from experience would make a puff of smoke when thrown on the ground. He looked around to be polite, moving from one place in the tent to another.

"What should I call you, mage?"

"I believe he says his name is Tasset, Sir," Dimitri answered. "Do I speak it correctly?"

The mute nodded to Dimitri.

"That's fitting, I guess," Milo said as his gaze fixed some bottles filled with a glimmering, blue gel that would capture an impression of the moment when the cork was removed. "But I would rather learn to wield magic than use magical gag items and party toys."

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The mage signed again—this time for a long while. Hopefully, Dimitri would recall all of it.

"He says," Dimitri hesitated, "That there is not much point in someone like Sir learning magic. It's an art form, he says, and one that not many can do."

The words echoed his father's opinion on the matter. He'd heard it a million times. Everyone has magic in them, but there's no point in learning it. You'll never be good at it. Give up before you spend Coin.

"But there can't be no point at all!" Milo said. He realized his tone was probably too harsh. Thinking of his father made him angry. So he took a breath and collected himself. "Anyone with a pen can be a mediocre artist. So why can't anyone with a wand be a mediocre mage? Just for fun. A hobby."

"Sir confuses magic with fingerpainting," Dimitri translated. "What is Sir's reason for learning magic?"

Milo sighed

"I just think it would be great fun. I've always wanted people to respect me. A middle child's curse. Being the first mage in my family would do the trick, don't you think."

"He asks if Sir seeks power."

"Power? Sure. I guess."

Milo stood still and looked at Tasset, going through a complicated series of motions with Dimitri. The servant seemed to be having trouble understanding.

"I believe he is asking what Sir's distribution is." Dimitri looked at his master and said, "I do not know what he means."

"Me either. Is that a mage thing?"

Tasset signed, "Has Sir ever cast a spell?"

"Of course not."

"Then Sir does not have one, he says. A distribution, I think." Dimitri watched the mage's hands closely. "He says Sir will never be a great mage," Dimitri paused and then hesitantly said, "and should give up."

The mute waved his arms to clear the air of the conversation and started over.

"Apologies, Sir. I misspoke. He said Sir will never be a powerful mage."

"I already told you, Mr. Tasset. I accept that I will never be powerful. I just want the ability."

Tasset was still as if considering something. Then he held up a finger to tell the two to wait and walked off. He returned to the tent a moment later with a small chest, about a foot long. It couldn't have held much, but there was a heavy lock on it that he undid with a key he stuck in his pocket.

The mute opened the lid and revealed a silver knifed sitting perfectly in the middle of the chest. A dagger, really, but who's counting the differences? It was a fancy thing, decorated with intricate geometric patterns that gave the silver plenty of opportunities to catch the light and almost shimmer.

Tasset picked up the blade and carefully handed it to Milo to inspect. The boy turned it over in his hands. He was reverent at the knife's mystery, but ultimately, it was underwhelming. He had seen more elaborate knives. His father's friends carried them as status symbols.

Tasset signed again. "He offers Sir something far greater than an instructional spellbook."

Milo raised an eyebrow at Dimitri as if the servant could clarify. Tasset pointed to the knife.

"He says anyone can have powerful magic if they become--" Dimitri stopped. "Apologies, sir. I do not know the word he is using."

A man entered the tent and spoke. "Bladebound."

Tasset smiled, and Dimitri looked at Milo with indignity.

"I've never heard of that before either, Dimitri."

The man who had come in was not a mage. He was in a tattered tunic with a green stripe down one side. He had a thin face, and his bottom lip protruded when he spoke. He introduced himself as Samir and stood next to Tasset. The man held his hand, and Milo returned the dagger.

"You must be asking him about magic if he got out the blade," that man said. "So, you want to change your lot, do you?"

"I just want people to stop saying I can't use magic when no one will show me enough to let me try."

"You're looking at the way, boy!" Samir said with a tall smile.

Milo was cautious of this new man. He took a step closer to his servant. The term Bladebound sounded a little malicious to him. But it would be foolish to dismiss these men, Milo thought. They seemed to know what they were talking about.

"Most people ain't heard of being Bladebound," the partner said. "What it does is, you take the dagger, see, and if you're the kind of person who really wants powerful magic, it lets you have it."

"Like a wand on steroids?" Milo asked. He had always heard of mages using special wands to make their magic more potent. A wand made from the right materials using the right gemstone could quadruple a mage's power. Or so he heard from the singers and storytellers. The dagger wasn't much bigger than a wand. It was the right shape.

"I guess you could say that," said the partner as he exchanged a confirming glance with Tasset.

Tasset signed, and the partner translated faster than Dimitri could. "A bit different, he says. It draws out your full potential. A wand can't do that."

Milo held the knife again, inspecting it closely. The carvings resembled the runes on other enchanted items, but they didn't follow any other patterns that Milo knew. All magic came in one of three varieties. He just knew them as red, blue, and yellow, like anyone else. A magic item with red colors could produce ice to keep your food fresh or fire to cook it. An item with blue on it, like the image bottles in front of him, would create something. And things like the yellow powder doctors mixed in their salves helped heal you. But the knife was devoid of any color. It was a solid chunk of forged silver.

"I don't understand."

Tasset signed, and his partner translated. "This is better any spellbook. Better than any shmuck teacher at a mage school, too. The Blades of Heart were forged to turn a person's inward desire to be a mage into fully realized power."

Milo focused on the way Tasset's hands moved. Samir was so fast at translating; it was practically real-time. The way Tasset signed the words for taking desire and making them real was to pull away from his chest like he was yanking out his own heart. The image stuck in his mind as he recalled all the times he'd thought about being a mage. He wanted magic more than anyone else he knew. If the blades gave power proportional to desire, he would become the strongest mage in the world.

"Why have I never heard of this before?"

Samir scoffed as if the answer was obvious. "They don't want you to know how easy it is to get power."

Milo dragged his thumb lightly across the sharpened edge. Was he willing to take a shortcut? He imagined the look of awe on his father's face as all those years of naysaying vanished. Proof that Milo could have been taught if he only paid for the lessons or the book. His expression grew serious.

"How does it work?" Milo finally asked.

"It's a ritual, see? Like, uh, getting married. That's why you call it being bound to the blade. Once it's yours, it's yours until you die. Very rare, this kind of stuff."

"You didn't say how rare it was. What's the price? I may not be able to afford it," Milo confessed.

He let out a deep sigh and returned the blade to the merchants. They spoke to each other in signs. Tasset seemed to argue with the other man, but it was hard to tell. He didn't ask Dimitri to translate.

After a moment of this, Samir said, "How much you got?"

"I've saved for years in case I see the book again. I have around three hundred Coin."

"A small fortune, but still not what the blade is worth."

Tasset and Samir went back to their silent argument. It lasted longer, and Samir seemed to be more insistent this time. Finally, the partner turned to Milo and frowned hard with his big bottom lip for a moment.

Samir said, "My partner's taken a liking to you and wants to give you a discount. Three hundred Coin for the blade. Truth is, these blades, not just anyone can use them. You gotta really want it." He pointed the knife at Milo. "And I guess he thinks you really want it."

Milo and Dimitri exchanged a glance. Milo's face glowed with excitement, but Dimitri was deadpan serious.

"Speak, Dimitri," Milo said, "I see there's something on your mind."

"I do not trust these men, and I believe Sir should not either."

"What do you know? Just get the Coin, will you?"

Dimitri reached into the bag around his belt and drew out a huge bag of Coin. As he set it down on the counter and watched the two men snatch it up and look inside, he thought for the briefest moment that Dimitri was right not to trust them. Milo had never met a real mage before, but Tasset seemed far more eager to see the Coin than he'd imagined a mage would be. Milo let out a sigh and dismissed the thought. If the men had robbed him, he had no doubt his father would hunt them down.

The two men told Milo to wait. They went in the back for a moment. He occupied himself by inspecting the dagger again. He noticed a name on the bottom of the hilt. "Vimia." He made a mental note to ask about it as the mute mage came back holding a piece of paper, and Samir came back without the bag of Coin.

"Alright, kiddo. Here's the deal," Samir said, clapping his hands together. "Tasset can't walk you through saying your lines, so you gotta read them. I'm guessing you can read?"

Milo nodded.

"You and him have to hold the dagger together. He's going to cast some magic. You read what this says, and the ritual will be complete."

Milo did as instructed. They had him gently hold the blade while Tasset held the handle. The mage waved his second hand around like he was speaking, but this was different. After the first wave, there was a loud snap. And then a deafening crack. And finally a booming clap. He was casting a spell.

"One more thing," Samir said. "Your servant needs to wait outside."

Dimitri gave Milo a disapproving glance, the kind he used to get all the time when he was younger. Dimitri was no longer chaperone, so Milo gave him the same wild stare, and the servant left the tent.

After a minute, Tasset had finished casting his spell. Milo felt a weight in the air now, something more than humidity. The blade had heated up in his hands. And his mind was racing with thoughts of how amazing this all was that he would soon be able to cast magic. The mute mage kept his one hand on the knife and the other raised above his head. He nodded to his partner.

"Ok, kid. Start reading"

Keeping one hand on the blade, he read:

"Till my body and soul do part,

This pact shall never be undone.

Arise in me a Bladebound Heart,

So Airs of two shall follow one."

"Airs? What does that mean?" Milo asked.

Before the words left Milo's lips, Tasset had taken up the knife. The mute lunged and jabbed the blade directly into Milo's heart.

All of Milo's muscles clenched at the same time. The force expelled a small gasp of air. As they relaxed, they brought a slight gurgle to his throat. His world darkened. He had never felt such pain. His heart had never beat so fast in his life. Beating still? With the knife dug in so deep?

Every pound of his heart sent his entire body into a spasm. Milo's seizure forced him to lurch backward, and the blade was ripped from Tasset's grip.

Milo fell to his knees and looked up at the conmen as best he could. Samir stood with a cocky grin, and Tasset held his hand still, white light emanating from it. He cursed himself for dismissing Dimitri! If only he could let out a single yell, vocalize anything at all while the men stood over him. His body may as well have been paralyzed as it jerked him around. He concentrated all his effort on making a single noise. He felt his airways relax and open slightly, giving him hope. But all that came out was a muted breath of air.

The pain intensified, radiating straight up and down from where the knife in his chest. He managed to look down at his bloody torso long enough to see a line of black crawling its way up his sternum. He felt the same line moving its way down to his navel. The painful line drew up under his chin to his nose and down to the tip of his penis. It wrapped around him, and the two ends met at the small of his back.

"Almost over now. Just remember how this is what you wanted, and it doesn't hurt as much."

Milo gained enough control now to stand again. Tasset placed a hand on his shoulder and kept him down. He managed to groan in anger. Tasset just wagged his finger at him.

His muscles stopped spasming, and all that remained was a constant pain over every inch of his body. He inhaled sharply and tried to call for Dimitri again, but he was as mute as the one who had done this to him. Instead, he raised his shaky hands to the handle of the dagger protruding from his heart, intending to yank it.

The silver of the knife was glowing a pure white. It was too hot to the touch to grab, and doing so made his heart skip a beat. Milo fell on his back. Samir stood over him and said, "Yeah, don't try to do that."

Samir turned his head quickly toward the entrance to the tent and swore. "Go wait outside. Your boy is fine."

"What have you done to Sir?"

Milo lifted his head to see Dimitri drawing his sword. He was saved. But Samir didn't stand idle. He flicked his wrist, and a sword made of pure energy grew from his hand. It made a small hissing sound as it appeared.

Tasset remained still, holding his one hand in the same position despite the interruption. Milo took control, rolled away from the mute, and struggled to his feet. Dimitri and Samir clashed swords beside him. Dimitri was skilled, but Milo knew his servant could only buy a few precious moments.

He stumbled out of the tent and tried to call for help again. What came out was barely a mew. The late hour betrayed him. There was no one around to help the boy shuffling around with a glowing wite knife in his chest and a black line dividing his face.

Milo walked to the tree line and intended to hide behind a large sycamore, but the incline caught him. He slid backward and then fell toward the stream below. As he fell, he noticed the white glow from the blade diminish. Then there was a loud snap, and a roar of flames erupted from the tent and sky. He heard Dimitri's scream just as he landed in the water.

The world went dark as the cold water carried him away.