Rush. Everyday was a rush for Darren Kelly. Rush in the morning to train, rush to classes at the community college, then rush off to evening shifts at the giant superstore he worked part-time at. A place so large he would take small breaks here and there in the aisles, hidden from the managers amongst the bulk of products stacked on metal shelves on the gray concrete floor. After which he would rush home to work on papers whose due dates were sneaking up on him and study for tests that felt so meaningless he would actively forget information for, in some vague attempt at rebellion against the crushing weight of an average life. The utter monotony of it all bore down on him. He saw a few friends at work and school, more acquaintances really, and saw his parents every night for a few hours. The days all ran together. The rushing gave him stress, the stress gave him insomnia, and the insomnia gave him too much time to think about it all.

Darren covered it well, he always seemed happy despite it all. He masked his boredom and frustration with clever jokes and odd antics to make the days less identical. People enjoyed being around him when he didn't even enjoy being around himself. He always felt as if there should be something more, interest, intrigue, adrenalin. Yet he lacked the drive and opportunity to create any of those things for himself. Unsure if he had no motivation to find adventure, or if he was so sure that this world had none to offer that he didn't bother trying.

The only outlet he had that met his need for excitement was the brief hours he spent at the gym. He had originally gotten into fencing, but once he caught the combat bug he had branched out. Diversifying what he studied into grappling and kickboxing. Sparring and training was the only time he truly felt himself, but he struggled to afford it along with college. He was always told if he had to give one up it should be a pretty clear choice, but deep down he never agreed.

He lay in bed, a cool breeze came in the window, the light drapes waved gently. Darren shuddered against the breeze, feeling lonely as he looked through the opening in the drapes at the morning sky.

****

Sunlight crept in through a crack in the closed shutters of Silvia's room. The light fell directly upon her eyes, blinding them as they opened.

“Agh, why hasn't that been fixed.” she squinted her eyes and rolled across the oversized mattress in its ornate bed frame, far from the streak of light.

She didn't want to get out of bed, it was the one place where she had no worries. No rumors of her lineage, no expectations from her family, no envy or suspicion of the other nobles around her. In her dreams was the one place she could be the person she wanted to be. Able to help her uncle's subjects, able to use the magic that was the right of a child of the Chevalier family, basking in the awe of crowds cheering her name.

Silvia always woke late, without a guardian to wake her and without mandatory training to attend she had no reason for a full day. She would just wander the castle, spend some small time with her family. That was if her uncle was not too busy with official matters of the province, and her cousins were not off on some assignment for their father. Every day of the last five years had been a slow torturous endeavor. Every day since her tenth birthday, when normal children belonging to one of the nine arcane houses quickened, found their guardian, and could wield magic and begin their training. Every day since she had not.

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She had yet to even sit up in bed, but she already knew how her day would go. It was mornings like this when she wondered if she should even get up at all. Yet, every morning, she always did. She couldn't distract her uncle with some bout of depression, and if she failed to make some appearance her shrew of a mother would berate her for it. She felt empty and numb, after years of the constant disappointment that she felt every single day, she lost even the ability to cry over it. She realized how pathetic her attitude was, being upset with a lavish life in a castle where every obvious need was seen to. She felt like a child throwing a tantrum, a tantrum she couldn't help but repeat inside herself every morning.

Yet, she forced herself to rise from her bed and walk to the window, she threw open the large shutters that shielded her high room from the light of the sun and the view of the blue-gray sea expanding out from the cliff her family home was built on. She looked down the coast on the half of the town built directly into the cliff side, she could see small forms moving here and there on walkways, going about the business of their daily lives. Staring at the city she wondered how many mages were out that day, practicing magic, using it to help people, how much good they had all already done, while she had simply slept and felt sorry for herself.

“Oh, grow up.” she said to herself. She walked to the bathroom to ready herself for the same day she lived through over and over.

****

The soldiers stared at the ground, terrified of the mage standing before them. He walked back and forth as he watched them, the few survivors from the armored carriage. His palms glowed with a grey light as he charged an orb in his hands. He flicked his wrist and it slowly floated towards the line of men. They watched silently as the mage lazily waved his hand, causing the orb's path to curve to one side, then the other, as if it didn't know who to target. At the last moment he swung his hand and sent the orb to the end of the line. It struck the man there in the chest and his torso erupted in a ball of fire. Everything from the sternum up was gone, the remainder of his broken ribs lay exposed as he fell to his knees and collapsed in the dirt. The men next to him shuddered silently as blood spattered across their faces.

“What do you want?” one of the soldiers asked as the rest just stared at their dead friend.

“Someone with a voice. Rank matters less than someone willing to take charge.” the mage replied. “And we regrettably killed your captain during the little scuffle we had.”

The mage's guardian stepped forward and grabbed the man who spoke and pulled him from the line and over to his master. His bronze armor clanked as his large form dragged the man effortlessly before shoving him down on his knees.

"Where's the key?" the mage asked as he stared into the soldier's eyes. He began charging another orb of energy in his hand, the smoky mana churned angrily as he held it there.

The man stared back at him, hatred in his eyes. He didn't move and he didn't speak.

The mage stepped back from him and slung the orb slowly towards his chest. At the last second he flicked his wrist again causing it to launch over his captive’s shoulder and back toward his men. Another explosion rang out, followed by a wet slapping sound as entrails fell into a pool of blood in the dirt.

Another soldier screamed and tried to run. One of the assassins accompanying the mage spun, quick as lightning, and sliced with the edge of his curved blade. The fleeing soldier fell to the ground, blood spewed from his neck like a fountain and sprayed across the assassin's tribal mask.

The mage tapped the glowing rune covered chest sitting at his feet. "Where. Is. The key?" he asked slowly. "I can feel the amulet inside, and given enough time I can crack these spells open. The key would save me some time, and you some pain."

The soldier looked back at his men, their horrified eyes pleading with him to give up what they were protecting.

The mage began slowly charging another orb. "The first deaths were quick, merciful, but working that way I'll run out. So things are about to slow down."

"Gods-damn you, fine. Spare me and my men and I'll tell you."

"You haven't seen our faces, so your deaths aren't required. That's a deal I'll gladly make." the mage smiled under his bandana as he put a hand on the man's shoulder.