There’s an ancient tale of an immortal mage,

who wandered through the dark, cold eyes locked in rage.

Once young and untested, with alchemy as his gift,

he dreamed of great power, but found only rifts.

With blood-stained hands and secrets untold,

he vanquished the shadows with spells dark and bold.

Once-mighty creatures bowed down to his reign,

while the world trembled under his gaze, void of pain.

For centuries he stood, never resting his head,

a silent guardian, keeping chaos in dread.

Yet within his cold heart weighed the burden of time,

an endless nightmare, without solace or chime.

Now his legend fades in the whispers of wine,

a ballad of an hero, both cursed and divine.

Year 3917 of the Almanac of Ages, in a remote rural region

The sun was rising on the horizon, painting the sky a pale gold, as the rickety carriage continued its journey down a bumpy road. Sitting on a worn-out wooden bench, surrounded by crates and barrels that reeked of something between spoiled wine and rancid oil, I felt like a fish out of water. Every jolt shook my bones, and the emptiness in my stomach mingled with nausea, creating a whirlpool of discomfort.

I hadn't eaten enough to vomit, which was fortunate, I suppose. But I would have gladly done without the feeling that my insides were playing cards. Ah, the pleasures of long journeys.

I was the only passenger in the carriage, surrounded only by haphazardly stacked crates. The heat inside was oppressive; the sun's rays beat mercilessly against the wooden walls, transforming that miserable cart into a mobile furnace.

Sweat ran down my back, soaking my already drenched tunic. Every breath was heavy, and every sigh that escaped my lips tasted of resignation.

The creaking wheels continued to screech on the dusty road, making every moment a further insult to my existence. I winced at every jolt, vainly trying to find a comfortable position on that damned bench that seemed to be cutting into my flesh.

Behind me, the guards chattered noisily, their rough voices drowning out even the incessant creaking of the carriage. Occasionally, their chatter would turn into boisterous laughter.

In front of me, four armored knights escorted a fifth, a fellow who looked like he had stepped out of a legend. With his shining armor and gaudy cloaks, he moved with the grace of someone who believes they are superior simply because of the glitter of their clothes. Who do you think you are, huh? I should have sold you a potion for dysentery.

My internal curses were interrupted by a violent jolt of the carriage that almost sent me flying into the crates. "Really necessary all this?" I blurted out, irritated, glancing at the guard driving the cart. The man gave me a fleeting glance over his shoulder, his eyes resting on my bound hands. His grin widened, drawing my attention to a scar that sliced across his cheek.

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'Thank your lucky stars we didn't chop them off, boy,' he said sarcastically. 'Usually, we're less lenient with con artists.' His laughter echoed between the wooden planks, and the entire carriage seemed to enjoy that sound.

'They weren't scams!' I retorted, staring at him. 'Just... a slight oversight in the dosage. Nothing serious.' The guard turned completely, one eyebrow raised. 'Oh, really. And those medallions we found among your things? Those were a 'miscalculation'? I forced a smile, a little ironic, I admit. 'That? Just trinkets. If someone believes they can work miracles, well... it's not my problem.'

The guard burst into a booming laugh, so loud that the noise bounced off the walls of the carriage. 'I can't believe it! A con artist who confesses without batting an eye? This is a new one.' 'Con artist,' I repeated, holding up my bound hands. 'It seems like it's not exactly the time to deny it, is it? But if you had let me explain... all this could have been avoided.'

The guard looked at me for a moment, as if he were considering whether I was crazier or more desperate. 'And what would you have said, huh? That you're a poor, unlucky alchemist? That that 'potion' was just a measurement error?' 'Exactly!' I exclaimed, as if it were obvious. 'And who would have ever imagined that a noble would be distracted by... shiny promises? It's not my fault if people get carried away by a little smoke and mirrors.'

Another laugh, this time quieter, almost complicit. 'You know, maybe you're right. Nobles are famous for their lack of... common sense.' He paused, assessing me with a more attentive look. 'But that doesn't change the fact that we're taking you to the count. And he won't be so amused.'

'Yes, justice,' I snorted, leaning against the wood of the carriage. 'Such a... flexible concept. Who decides what's right? A count? A king? Or just whoever has enough swords to impose their version of justice?'

The guard was silent for a moment, as if he were reflecting. 'You're right. It all seems so... arbitrary. But for me, getting home is all that matters. There's my family waiting for me, and with everything that is said to be happening to the south...' He scratched his chin, thoughtfully. 'They talk about war, of armies preparing.'

'Yes,' I replied, as another jolt almost made me bite my tongue. 'And here we are, discussing philosophy, while the world is on fire.'

The guard nodded. 'Strange, life. And complicated.'

'Yes, strange and complicated,' I agreed, looking at the landscape that was scrolling past the carriage. 'But thanks for the thought. It's not the future I imagined for myself.'

The guard sighed, slowing his horse slightly. 'Nothing ever goes as planned, does it? Even I wasn't supposed to be here. But the pay was good.'

'And you?' he asked, giving me a curious look. 'What future did you hope for?' I looked down at my bound hands. Anything that didn't involve a carriage and chains would already be a start.

'Something different from this,' I said finally.

The guard seemed unsatisfied with my answer, but remained silent. After a while, I lowered my voice until it was barely audible. 'Maybe a future where I wouldn't have made so many mistakes. Where I wouldn't have hurt people who mattered.' There wasn't much else to say. The carriage continued its journey through the hills, and the sun began to set on the horizon. We stopped to camp, the guards set up a small fire while the noble remained lost in his thoughts, surrounded by his men. Night fell quickly, wrapping everything in a blanket of darkness. The nocturnal song of the birds, the rustling of leaves, and the distant gurgling of a stream created an illusion of peace. Too bad it wouldn't last.

Suddenly, a scream tore through the air. A shadow darted out of the trees, followed by other dark figures. The clang of swords broke the silence. The guards shouted orders, but they were overwhelmed. I remained motionless, watching the scene as if it were distant from me, as if I weren't really there.

I saw the guards fall one by one. The noble, surrounded, attempted a desperate escape, but was stopped in moments. 'I SURRENDER! I SURRENDER!!' one of the guards shouted before an arrow pierced him, causing him to collapse to the ground. The bandits searched the camp for loot, but I remained still. I felt nothing. Just a cold detachment, as if time had stopped. When the bandits left, the silence returned. My hands were still bound, my body was aching, but I got up anyway.

Three arrows pierced my body. With a deep breath, I began to pull them out, one by one, with slow and painful movements. Each arrow left behind a trail of warm blood that ran down my arm. The pain was acute, but liberating. I looked around, seeing the scattered bodies on the field. The moon illuminated the faces of the fallen guards, even that of the scar-faced one who had driven the carriage. Without a word, I began to walk, following the direction in which the bandits had retreated.