“Does it have to be this way? There isn’t another way?” Stavi’s voice held a note of concern, but seemed unwavering. He was crouched in the small tent of his teacher, the old crone who had been mentoring him for years, and whose name he still didn’t know.

“You’ve come as far as you can, unless we go this route. Just ask yourself if you are content to stay with the tricks I have taught you. Or, perhaps, you desire real power?” The witch’s voice held a touch of disdain, but Stavi knew she was just trying to goad him.

Power always has a price, that’s a lesson I have learned well, but sacrificing your teacher? That’s a hard pill to swallow.

The tent was filled with silence for a few moments, each of the occupants lost in their own thoughts. The air was redolent with incense, as always, but there was a sour smell just underneath the surface, and the cause was plain to see for all who entered. The old woman had her foot stretched out next to the fire, which for once was actually burning brightly; that foot was black in color, and covered in rotting flesh.

“How do we do this then?” The young man’s voice finally showed some emotion, it was thick with it, but this was not something coming from out of the blue. The old woman had been dying slowly for a long time now, and they both knew her end was coming, one way or another.

“First draw Hagamemnon’s Square, prepare the ritual dagger, and then anoint the quarters with blood. Invoke the spirit guardians and entreat permission to begin.” Her voice had a hollow echo to it now, as if she was already gone. That didn’t stop her from sounding pretentious.

“Yeah, I’m not doing all that.” One of the most disillusioning lessons that Stavi had learned so far is that most magical trappings are just that, decoration. They exist to focus the mind, channel the will, and ensure the manifestation of power to a set standard. Stavi felt that only the weak and squeamish needed their hands held thusly, and liked to extemporize.

He pulled a bone-handled dagger out of the sleeve of his robe, drew a shallow slice on his arm and quickly began using the fluid to draw a square on the floor in the center of the room. At prescribed points along the edge he drew magic sigils.

I hate all the formality, I’m not a damn priest, but you gotta at least make an attempt…

Once the magic square was created, the old woman got to her feet and slowly stumbled into the center of it, before collapsing back down to the ground. It was harder than he thought it would be to see her so decrepit, but he knew she had lived a long life. A life filled with tragedy, both hers and her people’s, and he comforted himself that this was probably a release.

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The dagger felt like a bar of iron in his handy, heavy and unwieldy, and Stavi was overly aware of how hot it was in the tent. He had never killed a person before, and the first was about to be a human sacrifice.

Not an especially ordinary way for one to begin a career, but probably not unique.

“Now when you strike, please strike true, I don’t wish to painfully choke to death on my own blood. What a terrible waste that would be…” The witch stared him right in the eye until he picked up her meaning and nodded his agreement. “Also, remember the steps. I know you can do it, you have recited them to me a thousand times, but it will feel different in the moment. Don’t rely on what feels ‘right’, rely on your memory.”

He nodded again and she sighed, a weight seeming to leave her. Her body sagged to the ground like a marionette whose strings have been cut, and Stavi was halfway convinced she might just die before he stuck the blade in her chest.

Well, let’s not waste this opportunity.

“Any last words?” It felt wrong to ask his teacher that, but it also felt wrong not to ask.

She coughed a couple times, her thin body heaving with each hacking breath. Taking a deep, gasping gulp of air in she pulled back her lips in a grim rictus of a smile, revealing sharp yellowed teeth.

“I do, actually, even though I am always the one who does the talking. I have passed on the lore, and power, of our people to you. At least, what you could handle. There is much more out there, and with the basis I have given you you might actually be able to acquire some of it, but don’t disdain the work of the Magi. They are strong, they are crafty, and above all they will do anything for power.”

The young man couldn’t help but find those words a little hypocritical, or at least ironic, since he was about to kill her to attain power. At least it was different because its what she wanted, but still…

He started to move towards her, but she raised a single bony finger in approbation. “Not quite yet, I have a few words left.” She let out a wracking laugh-cough when he sighed. “What I have taught you could be used for good or evil, but I think we both know its unlikely you will end up an ascetic in the hills. All I ask is that you not give this knowledge to the Magi, and in the event it might fall into their hands, please end your own life. Help our people when you can, and mete out revenge whenever possible.”

“You don’t ask for much, do you?” The words had a slightly sarcastic bite to them, and they both laughed.

“Well, I value my life at least this much. So, you heard me, follow my last commandments or not, nothing will happen. Hopefully I will pass on to an afterlife, but if I don’t check under your pillow for a homeless ghost.” She was just finishing her sentiment when he struck, stabbing the sharp tip of the dagger up under the bottom of her ribcage, and into her heart.

There was a massive welling of blood, like a spring had burst forth from the earth, and a flood of power filled air along with the tang of iron and shit. A mist clung to the air, one Stavi had sensed many times before, but never in such volume. He immediately put his dagger to the side, sat down in a meditative posture, closed his eyes and reached.

I only have one chance to do this right, and the most important person in my life just gave hers for me to have this opportunity!

Don’t fuck it up!