My name is Felix, I have no last name and I've always hated my name because of how masculine it sounded. Sure in dwarven culture having a masculine name is the highest honor especially when that name is chosen by the council. Hogwash if you ask me. I Was only named by the council because I had no parent who was willing to bother. My family had written me off the moment I was born, why bother naming me just because I actually managed to live to five and had a naming ceremony.
No one really expected me to live. Even dwarven children who are born with an earthen affinity had a 50-50 chance of dying before they were five years old, hence why dwarves are only named if they live past five. Beyond that age the chance of dying to your own mana are almost nonexistent and by the age of ten there is no chance since a child's mana pool is finally developed enough to support them.
My chances to live as a child born with an affinity for fire were astronomically low. But I did. That is why the council decided to name me lucky, or Felix.
The pride I felt just for living until ten and getting enrolled in school to learn magic filled my body almost every day. The sense of superiority I felt having to have a foreign teacher brought to the school because no one else knew fire magic. I felt special. I felt like I was gloating over the people who doubted. I felt like I was gloating over my past self, and I could only gloat more the better I did in class.
It was no coincidence that I was the first to receive a grimoire from my teacher and was selected to be guided to a mana convergence point deep in the mines before most of the rest of my class. We started our journey inside the dead space. The space between the two massive stone doors that sealed us, and our light, from the true depths of the planet.
“Alright listen up” Mr. Steelsong, the combat instructor at stonewill academy, barked out at us. “This is just a simple gaunt down to the nearest mana convergence point, no need to piss your pants, but!” the instructor paused to emphasis. “No light. Let me say that again, no light!” the instructor said as he made eye contact with each of us individually.
“Before we leave we will get dark vision cast on us by the watchmen. This spell should last for 48 hours so we have plenty of time. Don't expect your vision to be as good as it is normally. If at any point your spell goes out for whatever the reason don't panic. You won't attract the neirik shouting but whatever you do, NO LIGHT!”
The instructor continued to give his speech as he was required to by the academy's guidelines. Only one member of the group was truly listening as this was all information we had gone over in class. The older student always told us that the adults exaggerate the threat the depths proposed. Most of them only had stories of peaceful walks in the dark followed by hours of good meditation.
“Do you all understand?” I heard the instructor say as I finally started to pay attention to his speech. The instructor was staring right at me waiting for my response so I gave him the brightest smile I could muster and gave a crisp “yes sir” that was soon echoed by my companions.
As the doors started to open I felt like I was walking on clouds. This is what I lived for. This had to be my purpose, going into the depth to become a great mage. This had to be my purpose, what else did I live for? Why else wasn't I allowed to die?
“So I hear you use fire magic, felix?” One of the boys pulled me from my thoughts as he gave me a bright flirtatious smile. I believe his name was Stev Ironwood but I always confused the Ironwood brothers, he could have been Irwen. No matter his name I appreciated him in that moment as I took the chance to talk my worries away.
“Yes! I love fire magic, its so fun! One time when my instructor was demonstrating a phoenix arrow spell and he lit madams appel’s toupee on fire! And then this one time…” I continued to bombard him with a wall of noise. I took an inner sadistic joy seeing his face slowly lose his smile and a look of regret began to develop. Doesn't mean I stopped but I knew he regretted getting me started.
I lost myself in regaling my trapped audience with the wonders of fire magic as we slowly traversed the depths. Just as I was about to tell Irwin, or was it Sven?, about the time my instructor made a sentient cat out of fire that burned down the school's storage building trying to hunt rats that it couldn't eat, when instructor Steelsong interrupted me and called for a stop.
I didn't let the interruption stop me for long and continued to tell the story of the cat while I ate.
“Wait how did the cat only burn the building when it was trying to hunt? It was made of fire, shouldn't it just burn everything?” Sven asked as I chewed on my dried chestmu mushroom and Nickory nuts mix. I felt myself begin to bounce as he continued his question and barely managed to swallow my food before I launched into an explanation.
“That's one of the most crucial skills of a fire mage! We can control the aspects of the fire we control or summon and the first thing we learn to control is the heat. While it is possible to control minor aspects of fire unassisted, most mages need their grimoire to cast more complex spells that have more components to control.” I grabbed my grimoire to show him while I turned to a certain page. “This page relates only to the heat of summoned fire, on its own it only affects that, but add in another page and you can control both the heat and light produced by a fire. You only just have to send you mana into the page you want while holding the desired effect in your mind.” I turned to the two pages in question as I placed my hand over them. “For example, I call this “flowering flash!”
“Stop” instructor Steelsong barked out as I raised my hand but I only realized that looking back on this event. At the moment no thoughts were going through my head except the excitement of showing off as I raised my hand, snapped my fingers, and sealed my fate.
“Falsha”
…
When I was young the pain of being alive made me wish I wouldn't see tomorrow. Dwarves are the closest a mortal being can get to being an elemental but that comes at a large cost. As children our magic is too much for our mortal shell to handle. It carves its way throughout your body, fixes you back up if you're lucky, and does it all over again. As it carves away at us and we age we eventually reach an equilibrium by the age of five Lorien years.
At that point we receive our names because only then will we live long enough for it to matter. However it was of fierce debate on whether or not to “reward” me with a name among the council. They didn't know how I had managed to live this long, could it really be guaranteed that I would live long? The most damning piece of evidence, that I tried my damndest to hide in any encounter with the council but word always reached their ear, was the still constant pain from my mana burning within me.
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Up until I was ten my mana continued to burn through me. The pain in my earliest memories is like having magma coursing through my veins with anger. The path my mana traced seemed to pool and spend extra time wherever it hurt the worst like it had it out for me. My only lifeline was the constant almost imperceivably decline in pain every day.
That's why I hate that name. I'm not lucky, I knew I wouldn't die. Even when I wished too I knew I couldn't die because I knew tomorrow would be better.
But now I would die. But goddammint I'm gonna take as many of these fuckers down with me as I can.
…
I felt like I was in a daze after that. I continued to fight against the neirik piled on top of me but I couldn't feel any of the pain anymore. I was even beating a neirik with my mangled arm at one point in my blind fury. My focus only came into sharp relief when the face of a neirik appeared before me. I felt desperate when we locked eyes but strangely I could almost feel a feeling of pity.
What truly confused me was what the neirik did next as it covered me with its body, which I now notice was missing an arm, and dropped my bag on my chest. The events that followed felt surreal, like the events from a dream. A neirik helped me, and I put my faith in it to keep me alive. I didn't believe such a thing was possible, for many reasons, and yet there I was.
When the neirik collapsed on top of me I truly expected we would die together. Somehow that comforted me in a way, but it still filled me with anger. I wanted to choose when I would die and I didnt want it to be here. I almost didn't believe it when I felt light was over me again. I felt like I knew that I must have been dreaming but I felt grateful that it was a good dream.
Even as I fed the neirik a potion and laughed at its amazement I felt like I was asleep. It wasn't until much later, after the neirik had left me, that I finally realized it was real. I don't think it truly hit until one of the soldiers who went to retrieve me asked me if I knew any magi-tech prosthetic makers.
It was at that point I began to cry.
…
It was many years later that I met that neirik again. I had spent the last 90 years serving the same army that had come to my rescue all those years before. I had just recently been sent to help teach at the academy's magic hall. I was taking a group of youngin’s out on the very same mission I had been on, when he was just sitting there.
I had never seen an old neirik before but this one's age was obvious. Its ears and skin seemed to hang on its bones heavily, almost like its own weight would drag it to the ground. It sat collapsed against the wall, its chin resting on its chest, barely breathing enough to be noticed. I never would have recognized it if not for the missing arm and leg along with a familiar grimoire.
“I got this,” My resident fool declares. I already forgot his name but I knew he would be trouble.
“Wait” I demand drawing the sound from deep in my chest before spiting it out like it personally offended me, just like instructor Wilso taught me to.
“What? Why should I wait? That a neirik isn't it” the fool declared as he swung his sword around like it was a toy. A mythril-adamantite alloy sword specifically designed to easily slice trough the hard skin of a neirik. Like a baby with a toy.
He puts up as much of a struggle as a baby letting me easily step into his guard and disarm him of his weapon.
“Because I told you too.” I growl like a blind mole bear woken up during hibernation, in honor of captain Herlan, as I slam his sword back into his sheath. Feeling an internal satisfaction seeing him stumble, I turn on my heel to face the old neirik.
It was confusing to me. I had thought over that day many times and I still found myself questioning if the neirik was real. Many people I had told didn't believe me, how could they? I needed some answers or else I may never rest in peace.
“You, Neirik” I said “Are you the one who helped me?”
The smile of the neirik was objectively creepy but somehow managed to have a gentle feeling to it. It felt similar to the smile the old librarian would greet everyone with.
“Yes”
I kept waiting for more but that was it. “Why?!” I screamed as years of almost cold embers of confusion and anger flared to life. I felt my emotions overtake me for the first time in years. “Why did you protect me! Even if you wanted my grimoire you didn't need to save me! WHY?!” I sucked in a breath to continue -
“I was lonely” it said, cutting me off. It then went on to challenge everything I thought possible for a neirik and truly change my perspective on life. I didn't know a neirik could feel emotions so deeply as to fall into a depression. I didn't know that they could ever communicate that. I never even believed they could cry. But it did. It told me its story of feeling so lonely it wanted to die while silent tears fell down its face.
“ I am dying. That is okay. I just didn't want to die alone. I'm so tired of being alone.”
The neirik grew silent now and seemed content to lay there and watch. The silence stretched on as we simply stared at each other. I didn't know what to say, what to do, I froze.
“... um… I'll stay with you.” A small voice said. One of the boys from my group had stepped forward towards the neirik. He flinched when he locked eyes with the neirik but approached anyway and sat beside it leaning against the wall.
“Thank you” it said once again bearing its creepy but gentle smile. “Will you tell me your name?”
“... uh my name is Kilre… Its nice to meet you?” the boy answered hesitantly, a look of uncertainty on his face.
“Yes! It's nice to meet you too!” the neirik practically chirped back with a look of creepy glee. It even seemed to sit up straighter once it responded with joy oozing out of his being.
“My name is Irene Mountilla” the young lady of our group said as she came to sit beside the neirik. “It's a pleasure to meet you.”
“What a beautiful name! It's my pleasure Miss Irene.” The neirik responded even going so far as to lean forward into a light bow before collapsing back with strain visible on its face.
“My name is Nichola Ironwind” another dwarf introduced himself with a bow. “I thank you for granting me a truly unique opportunity today”
“And I thank you for spending your time with me Nichola” the neirik responded in kind but settled for only a deep head nod instead of a bow.
“Well I don't want to be left out! My name's Stev Ironwood jr! Sorry for trying to stab you earlier. We cool?”
“He heh…e. Yes stev “we cool” no hard feeling, and its a pleasure to meet you” the neirik responded with a small laugh
The silence starts again as they all turn to look at me seemingly waiting. I resist for only a moment before I sigh and sit on the ground with them.
“My name is Felix… thank you for saving my life.” I say simply as I stare at the neirik.
“Hello Felix. I'm glad to see you again. "it said with a gentle smile.
For the next few hours we sat there with the old neirik having a simple conversation. I asked him to tell us of his life and that contained the bulk of the conversation with a few questions raised mainly by stev. It was a pleasant conversation, nothing more than that, but somehow I could feel how precious this was to him. He simply radiated his feelings around him and he seemed so content and happy over this simple thing.
At one point he began to pause for stretches of time telling his story. At one point he stopped entirely. At one point he died, never losing that smile of pure bliss.
The Neirik died.