Aelric stared at the ring on his finger, his mind racing with questions. The dull metal didn’t look like anything special, but there was something about it that unsettled him. With a furrowed brow, he slipped the ring off and held it up to the light. The metal was unrecognizable—unlike any of the materials he had worked with as an apprentice at the blacksmith’s. It looked like simple, dull iron, but the feel of it was different, ever so slightly off. It felt heavier than it should, almost as if it were drawing something from him, something he couldn’t quite place.

Aelric turned the ring over in his hands, inspecting it more closely. The surface was smooth, devoid of any markings or engravings, yet the strangeness of the metal lingered. He could feel it—there was something wrong with this ring, something that didn’t belong.

As he turned it in his palm, he noticed something else—something even more troubling. The magic he had sent back to his chest earlier, when he was suppressing the flames in his hands, had begun to move again. Without any effort on his part, it was drifting toward his burned hands, as though it were instinctively trying to heal him.

“Huh…” Aelric muttered, frowning. “So… you don’t prevent me from using magic… but alter some functions of it? I’ve never been burned before by my own magic…”

He stared at the ring for another moment, his thoughts swirling. The ring didn’t block his magic, but it changed the way it worked, manipulating it in ways that Aelric hadn’t expected. He had never been hurt by his own flames before, not like that. Was the ring responsible for it? It seemed likely.

Deciding he needed to understand his magic without the influence of the ring, Aelric set the band aside and returned to his practice. Sitting down in the middle of his small home, he closed his eyes and began to cycle his magic once again. The familiar warmth surged through him, moving from his chest to his arms and hands. The burn marks on his palms still throbbed, but the pain was duller now.

As the magic flowed through his body, Aelric noticed something remarkable. The more he cycled the magic into his hands, the faster the wounds began to heal. The blisters slowly faded, and the raw skin knitted itself back together, as if the magic was speeding up the natural healing process. But with each cycle, Aelric felt himself growing weaker, more drained. His reserves of magic were being eaten away by the healing, leaving him feeling tired and worn.

Two hours passed, and by the time he finally stopped, the burns on his hands were almost completely healed. Aelric flexed his fingers, watching the last traces of the wounds fade, but he could feel the cost of it in his bones. His body was weaker, his magic depleted.

Only one day remained until the council meeting, and Aelric knew he had no choice but to be there. He would have to stand before them, advocate for his innocence, and face Calder’s accusations head-on. The thought of it weighed heavily on him. He had made progress with his magic, but it wasn’t enough. The town’s fear was still growing, and Calder’s lies were pushing them closer to condemning him.

As the afternoon faded into dusk, Aelric decided he needed a break. His stomach growled, reminding him that he hadn’t eaten since the night before. Pulling on his cloak, he stepped out of his shack and made his way through the darkening streets toward the tavern, hoping for a quick meal.

Taken from Royal Road, this narrative should be reported if found on Amazon.

But as he turned the corner onto the main road, he nearly collided with Calder.

The town guard was patrolling the streets, his hand resting on the hilt of his sword. His eyes narrowed as he spotted Aelric, suspicion flickering across his face. Calder’s gaze lingered on him, studying him like a hawk eyeing its prey.

For a moment, the two men stood in silence, the tension between them palpable. Aelric could feel Calder’s eyes on him, watching his every move, waiting for him to slip up.

Aelric clenched his fists, his heart pounding. He couldn’t stand the way Calder looked at him, the way he acted as if he already knew the truth, as if he had already judged Aelric guilty. The frustration, the anger that had been building up inside him for days, finally boiled over.

“I know you’re watching me, Calder,” Aelric said, his voice low but sharp. “You’ve been spreading your lies to the council, telling them that I’m some kind of witch.”

Calder’s expression didn’t change, but there was a flicker of something in his eyes—satisfaction, perhaps, or smugness. “You’ve got nothing to hide, right?” Calder said, his tone mocking. “If you’re innocent, you’ve got nothing to worry about.”

Aelric’s hands tightened into fists, the memory of his burned palms flashing through his mind. “Innocence doesn’t matter when people like you are spreading lies,” he said, his voice shaking with barely-contained anger. “You’re going to get someone innocent killed if you keep this up, Calder. Do you even care? Do you even understand what you’re doing?”

Calder stepped forward, his gaze hardening. “What I care about is protecting this town from people like you,” he spat. “I’ve seen enough to know something’s wrong with you, Aelric. And soon, everyone else will see it too.”

Aelric took a step back, his breath coming in sharp bursts. He wanted to lash out, to fight, to make Calder understand, but he knew it wouldn’t help. The council meeting was tomorrow, and that was where his fate would be decided. No amount of shouting in the street would change that.

“You’ll see,” Aelric said, his voice cold. “At the council meeting, you’ll see that your lies have consequences.”

Calder didn’t respond, but the smirk on his face told Aelric everything he needed to know. The guard was confident, too confident, and it made Aelric’s stomach churn with dread.

With a final glare, Aelric turned and walked away, his heart pounding in his chest. The ring still weighed heavily in his pocket, a constant reminder that someone out there knew more about his magic than he did. And now, with the council meeting looming, Aelric knew that his time was running out.

As the street vendors had long since packed up and left, Aelric wandered further into the town. The restaurants, taverns, and bars were still open, their lights glowing warmly in the early evening. He thought about returning to the tavern from the other night but quickly dismissed the idea. After what had happened, he doubted he was welcome there.

Instead, he made his way into a different restaurant, one he hadn’t visited before. It was quieter, with a few scattered patrons keeping to themselves at their tables. Aelric sat down in a corner and ordered a simple meal. He ate slowly, trying to settle his nerves, but the weight of the upcoming council meeting hung heavily on his mind.

As he finished his meal, a figure approached his table. The person was wearing a hood and a mask, their face completely obscured. While not entirely common, it wasn’t unheard of—some travelers preferred anonymity, and others were on missions where secrecy was paramount.

Aelric tensed as the figure sat down across from him. For a long moment, neither of them spoke. Then, through the muffled fabric of the mask, a voice broke the silence.

“How’s the ring?”