“And for my next trick,” Brian spoke as he brandished a cheap lighter, “an ordinary lighter that produces flame.”
He sparked it twice before it caught. The crowd oohed and aahed with wide mouths where they sat opposite the garbage bins, but there was no sound other than the flickering of the flames.
No, he thought with a sinking heart. No, that wasn’t the trick yet. He had just shown them how it worked. He had the sneaking suspicion he could just set different things on fire and let them burn to entertain this crowd, but a [Magician] needed to strive for higher arts than that.
They also needed a little flair.
He wiggled the first lighter to draw their attention—in so far that he could, anyway—and said, “And another, that produces no flame.”
Then he whipped his other hand forward in a smooth motion that should have made it seem like the lighter had appeared out of nowhere, but he didn’t know if it worked. The crowd didn’t seem to notice. Or care.
A lighter that produced no flame? Had they heard that right? Why pay attention to that? Their eyes were stuck to the first one he held. Maybe he should have let it disappear? Maybe he should go back to entertaining kindergarteners …
Either way, there went days of practice for that simple sleight of hand. He should have known they wouldn’t follow where he led.
Brian made the working lighter disappear and wiggled the empty one again to catch their attention. His audience shrunk down and glowered at him, as if they had their hackles raised, what passed for mouths pursed.
The question was obvious—why was he making them look at a lighter that produced no flame?
“But!” he added with a bold smile. “Observe what happens when I hold this card near the lighter anyway.”
He did and rolled the wheel at the same time as he thought, Candle. The card ignited and he pronounced, “Behold! The phantom flame!”
The crowd surged and whipped, cackling loudly in excitement. Their mouths were wide and their eyes stretched. They would have applauded if they had hands to applaud with, or rushed forward to inspect if they had feet to carry them.
They had neither.
Alas, they were three poor fire elementals he had summoned, burning on cans of fire potion on the ground. Too simple to appreciate or even notice a sleight of hand, awed by simple lighters and good sticks to burn, and his favorite beings in existence. Better than most people, anyway.
That being said, he only had enough mana to enjoy their company for about … a few minutes longer, so he really had to get on with the show. Cantrips were a poor man’s illusions.
Brian made his preparations behind his back, though his crowd didn’t seem to care. He suspected they could still see his hands, actually.
“That is not all there is to the phantom flame, however, my friends,” he said, bringing his hands forward. Two of the elementals trembled in anticipation and he almost frowned. What about the third?
He held another card about ten centimeters higher and pushed on. “Because not only is it invisible …”
This time he didn’t rely on magic. He simply hid the lighter’s flame a millimeter behind the card, just long enough to ignite it in from the center out, and killed it before anyone could see. A straw had made its fumes rise high enough to carry it there.
Brian peered through the burning hole, hoping he wouldn’t lose an eyebrow to this, and grinned.
“... it is also everywhere.”
The crowd went wild—
—and died.
He’d run out of mana. He stumbled to brace himself with one hand against the wall and pressed the butt of the other against his eye, groaning. He almost burned himself on the card and shook it away with a grimace. He hated when that happened. It felt worse than any headache.
When he looked at the cans of fire potion, his vision was spotted. The outer two flames had sunken down to ordinary surface fires. The middle one still hovered, looking at him. Brian frowned and with a half-spin of crackling flames, it puffed out of existence entirely.
Flair.
He shook his head—must have been the headache—and crouched down to quench the other two with their lids. At the same time, his step-uncle Renz’ stepped past the far end of the alley. In his guard uniform.
Brian kept still, hoping the man would walk by without noticing him. He was half-hidden behind the large garbage cans and shade, so he shouldn’t have been visible. The fires were. He slowly slid the lids further.
Renzo moved his head.
Brian grabbed his cans and fled, one almost tumbling out of his grip before he caught it. He passed the corner when the man called after him, voice picking up investment as he picked up the chase.
“Oi! Kid! Get back here, son! Are you playing with fire again?!”
“Ow, stop that! You’re ripping my ear off.”
“Shut up. You’re lucky I’m bringing you back to your mother.”
“Lucky how? Just let me— Stop that!”
His uncle dragged him through the front door against his protests, hauling on his ear like he wanted to pull it off. Brian could feel his face flushing red as he led him through the hallway, the shed, and into the workshop where his mother was working on a table leg with a file.
Sawdust was littered everywhere, tools and spare wood piled on surfaces or in corners. Her project was pale, but it looked she was adding the finishing touches before she treated it.
When his uncle called, she looked up, took one look at him, and asked, “What did he do now?”
“Nothing!” Brian insisted.
“I caught him playing with two lighters and three cans of fire potion in a back alley two houses from here.”
His mother sighed and stepped around, taking off her gloves. “Again, Brian?”
The disappointment in her voice stung. He avoided her gaze and mumbled, “I was practicing …”
“Practicing? Brian, you’re supposed to do at school where people can watch over you. That’s why we signed you up. Or do I have to remind you what happened the last time you ‘practiced’ at home?”
Her stance subtly shifted toward the corner and he made the mistake of following the movement with his eyes. He caught a splotch of black on the wall and immediately looked away, cringing.
“That was an accident. I already said I was sorry.”
“You did. But accidents happen when there is a lack of proper safety. Playing with fire is not safe.”
“You were right next to the goddamn trash cans,” his uncle said, ganging up on him.
“Why do think I was next to the goddamn trash can?” Brian snapped. “And not in my room or anywhere else near the house? It was an accident. I’m sorry. I’ll do better in the future. Can we shut up about it now?”
They had to know how guilty he felt. What else was he supposed to do to get them to drop it? And why hadn’t they covered the mark or fixed it already? It was like she didn’t want him to come here anymore.
“No, because you clearly haven’t learned your lesson,” his uncle insisted. “What if one of those cans had tipped over and the fire spilled underneath the containers, huh? You can’t put it out. The trash lights on fire, that lights the wall on fire, and then the house connected to it, and—do you get what I’m trying to say? Is getting through that thick head of yours?”
“I was careful! I put the cans far enough away!”
“Not careful enough.”
“Screw you! If you hadn’t interrupted, everything would have been fine. Can’t you leave me alone?”
“Hey. Don’t talk to your uncle like that,” his mom told him.
“Step-uncle.”
“I’m still your family, kid. Whether you like it or not.”
“You wish.”
The comment stung, Brian saw, and he felt a twisted sense of satisfaction in that. The man might have been family once, they both knew, but he wasn’t anymore. Not since his brother had married in.
“Where did you even get those fire potions anyway?” His mom asked and shot a glance at her brother-in-law. He got the cans out to hand them over one by one and she inspected their labels. Her demeanor shifted into a scowl directed at him.
They were expensive. Brian had thought it might help him level if he pleased his audience with good seats.
She held one up. “Brian. Your father and I—”
“Step-father,” he interrupted her.
“—we do not give you allowance so you can spend it on fancy crap like this,” she pressed on. “You’re a fire mage, for god’s sake, why the hell do you even need fire potion for?”
“I’m a [Magician]!” he snapped back. “You know that. And I paid for those myself.” Just because he knew a single fire cantrip and half a fire spell, that didn’t mean he was a fire mage. He was a performer.
“With what money?”
“My money. Money I earned.”
“What would you know about earning money, little bugger,” his uncle jabbed. His idea of a joke.
His mother ignored him. “Doing what? Card tricks in the street? People will think you’re a beggar.”
“No, people will think I’m a performer, like the countless people doing shows during festivals. How else am I supposed to level?” He paused. Maybe now would be the time to tell them? Give them something else to think about? “Look, mom, I’ve been practicing—” he started, putting on a slim smile.
“Well, not anymore,” she interrupted him and put the cans away.
“What?”
“No more allowance. No more practicing. No more of this—your uncle or one of his colleagues having to drag you home. You’ll go to school, you’ll learn, you’ll come straight home. Just wait until your father hears about this.”
He opened his mouth and closed it again, lost. Did she mean he was under house arrest? She couldn’t do that. Just because he bought some fire potions with his money? Just because he wanted to level? What was wrong about that?
He didn’t know what to say for a moment. Then he clung to what he knew.
“Step-father.”
She whirled on him and snapped, “Stop calling him that!”
“Seriously, Brian,” Renzo said. “You need to stop doing that. You think he doesn’t have it hard enough?”
He almost laughed. “What?”
He was supposed to have it hard enough? In what world? If anyone was supposed to have it hard here, it was Brian. But when he looked at the people who were supposed to be his family, all he saw was chagrin and support for his poor, poor step-father. They were staring at him like they were expecting something. Shame? An apology?
Brian grit his teeth and snapped, “Well, maybe he shouldn’t have shagged his best friend’s wife the moment he kicked the bucket then!” Before they could respond, he turned around and ran.
Renzo lunging after him, so he slammed the door in his face and ignored the shouts as he ran up the stairs. He stepped in his room, around the surprised bird woman, and barricaded his door with the dresser.
They called after him and hammered on the door, telling to open up, warning him to move the dresser away or they would knock it over—they had talked about this.
Brian ignored them and huddled in the corner of his bed, up against his wall. They started apologizing, saying they just wanted him to be safe, then got angry again when he didn’t respond.
Brian stayed quiet. If he just held out a moment longer, they would go away. He already couldn’t hear his uncle anymore. It was just his mom shouting. Had he left?
The bird woman sat down on a chair in the corner, watching him. One leg folded over the other, hands folded on her knee—they ended in black birds’ feet, like charred wood. The same color as her long straight hair that hung to the small of her back.
Wings descended from her arms to cover her waist, with feathers in crystalline colors like the range of flames. Her eyes were red, her skin as pale as her robes, exempting the bands of patterned colors woven in.
She tapped a finger in consideration.
When his mom went silent, too, Brian waited a few minutes to make sure she had gone away and stood up to tiptoe to the door. Was she gone? She was. He turned around and didn’t know what to do, now. He would have to leave his room eventually. They would hear him move the dresser.
Then what?
Best not to think of it. He got out a stack of cards and practiced tagging a card when someone put it back in the deck—without them noticing of course—then shifting it to the bottom of the deck all the same. He used his mirror to be mindful of their line of sight, but the flipped image annoyed him.
The bird woman was watching him with interest, head cocked like a parrot’s.
Then he tried practicing some fancy shuffles, some through the air, and scattered his deck four times before he gave up.
He got out a box of matches instead and just lit them one by one, the flames something to distract him. His window was still cracked from the morning airing anyway. It should get rid of the smoke.
When he had enough mana for it, he used Candle and pushed more into the flame to summon fire elementals, each only living seconds until the match burned out. He didn’t have enough to sustain them with. Yet.
Scrape, light, burst. They glanced at him and looked around his room for stuff to burn before they died.
Scrape, light, burst. One stared at him, eyes only flickering to the side in hunger.
Scrape, light, burst. Was it the same one? It did a spin, a flourish, and died in a puff of smoke.
Scrape, light, burn. It was the same one. It turned around to the corner of his room, where his old chair was and the woman sat. Did it want to burn the chair? It might have a tough time eating that, though.
Brian almost smiled—
Someone knocked on his door. “Brian, open up.”
Another voice. Deeper. He was older than his brother. A little older than his father had been. Marco.
Brian cursed as he burned himself on the match and shook it out, offering a mental apology the elemental. He could smell the smoke in his room despite the window and rushed to open it all the way, then hide the evidence.
“Brian? What was that?” his step-father asked.
“Nothing.”
“What are you doing in there?”
“Nothing!”
“Are you—” He cut off and waited a moment before he said, “Come downstairs in ten minutes or I’m coming up again. Wash up and change your clothes if you have to. Your mother and I want to speak with you.”
Brian hesitated in his frantic movements. Had he known? He shook his head. No. No, or he would be shouting at him again for playing with fire. He did wash up and change his clothes, though, and waited until the last minute, pacing in the hallway above the stairs, before he walked down to the kitchen.
He’d thought there might be food, but his mom and Marco were just sitting at the small table waiting for him.
“Sit,” she said.
He sat. His three cans of fire potion were waiting there on the table and he wondered if they might give them back. They didn’t look as angry either.
His step-father spoke first, something that irked him. What right did he have to decide anything in this house? He’d moved in.
“Your mother and I had a talk and … you know how the summer festival is coming up soon, right?”
He nodded, unsure where this was going. He’d wanted to lease a spot somewhere to do card tricks and minor illusions for passersby this year. If he hurried, he could level quick enough to be a firebreather next year. That would be awesome. Getting the spell beforehand or a fire resistance one would ease his worries, but he knew a lot of people did it without either, drinking fire potion instead. That was hardcore.
Of course, he’d also have to work out and practice his agility for that—which he had barely done yet—and practice his dexterity for this year. But if he did and leveled a lot, that could open a lot of doors for him. Theatres, bars, clubs. Even just working as a waiter in a shisha bar when he was done with classroom, between gigs and school, would be awesome. Maybe at one of the Madin bars if he was good enough.
He had it all planned out. He just needed to hurry.
“And you know how the Chores offices get busy around that time for kids your age?” Marco added. “Well, we were wondering if you wanted to maybe work with Yasir, then, instead. Do what your old man did?”
Brian blinked. “What?”
“Of course, you wouldn’t be able to organize like he did, but you could help out. Set up stages, chairs, carry around the equipment—get to know people, you know? See some familiar faces. They’ve been missing you hanging around and bugging them like you used to, kid.”
His mom took his hand on the table and smiled. “What do you say? It could be a chance to reconnect.”
They wanted him to work with his dad’s old crew? During the summer festival? But then— Brian was a level two [Magician] already. He didn’t want to become an organizer or worker. He— What about his plan?
Sure, he would have loved the idea of working with his dad, back when he had been alive, and … even now. But he couldn’t. He shook his head.
“No.”
“What?” her grip went slack. “Why not?”
Oh, now she wanted to know? No matter how often he explained it, she couldn’t even remember that he wasn’t just a [Mage]. How was he supposed to explain this? “Because I don’t want to, okay?”
“You don’t want to work during the summer festival?”
“No, I want to,” he said. “Just not with them.” That came out wrong. Brian knew it the moment he saw his mom’s face and he rushed to put it in different words, but she cut him off before he could.
“That’s it.” She got up and placed one hand on the table to lean over him. “I’ve had enough of your behavior lately, young man. You’ve been a pain in the ass to everyone you know. Your family, your friends, your classmates. Yasir was kind enough to make this offer. Tomorrow, you’ll march down to his office and accept it.”
She was going to force him? “No,” Brian said. “I won’t.”
“Yes, you will. Some hard work will do you good. You need to remember common decency and respect.”
He tried to lean back from her gaze, but there was nowhere to go. “You can’t make me.”
“Ohh, yes, I can. I am your mother and you will do as I say.” She picked up one of the cans. “And until you do, no more card tricks, no more fire, no more allowance. I don’t care if it’s your Class or not. You got a year head start. You can wait a few more months to practice. And if you don’t go tomorrow?” She smiled briefly before settling back into anger. “No more school in the afternoon either. Am I understood?”
No more school? “But how else am I supposed to level—”
“Am I understood?” she repeated.
He stared at her helplessly and glanced over to Marco but the man just stared at him. So much for his help. He had no choice. He couldn’t not go to school. So he looked back and glowered at her. “Yes, ma’am.”
She pointed away from herself. “Now, go to your room. And don’t you dare put your dresser in front of your door again, young man, or you’ll have to keep your clothes on your floor, do you hear me?”
“Yes, ma’am.”
He stomped up the dark staircase and didn’t look back.
----------------------------------------
Brian set his bag on his desk and kicked his shoes into the corner. He thought of his lamps on wall and tables and fire sprung up in each of them. Out of curiosity, he pushed a little mana their way, but the two elementals that took up the invitation practically ignored him as they inspected his room for stuff to burn.
With nothing else to eat, they jumped on their respective wicks and started gnawing.
Because of course they did.
He sighed and headed for his bed. It was Saturday evening, his first week of working at the Cinderal Lounge had passed, and he was pretty sure he was going to level his [Worker] Class again.
That was fine. He remembered how he’d done nothing but fight with or ignore his parents for the first few months after getting it, how he’d hated them, but if he had to have a subclass, he supposed it was a pretty great one to have. He loved the [Lesser Strength] it had given him, anyway. Which guy wouldn’t?
Plus, he was getting experience interacting with people, and his manager didn’t mind if he did simple tricks to earn an extra tip. If the guests agreed, of course, and as long he didn’t make a fool of himself.
Still, he couldn’t help but feel like the Class was slowing him down, that the two levels in [Worker] could be two more in [Magician], even if he knew it was nonsense. Cumulative levels were easier to get than linear ones. You didn’t have to be a Registrar to know that. It was just in the long term where things got tricky.
He let himself fall on his bed with a sigh and wondered which Skill he might get from [Worker] three. Or if he would even get one at all. Two hadn’t given him anything and getting a Skill on three wasn’t a guarantee, just the norm.
He’d barely been lying there for a second when his mom chose the moment to call up, “Brian?”
Because of course she called then, or the moment he reached the top of the stairs, or just after he got out of the door. He took a deep breath, a moment’s respite, and wanted to get up to answer, but in just a short second, she had already called up a second time, louder this time.
“Brian?!”
He turned toward the door to call back, “Yes?”
The bird woman was in front of the lamp, teasing the fire elemental with a feather just out of its reach. It snapped as it tried to get it.
Brian frowned at the sight. Why was it snapping at nothing? Weird elementals. Either way, he cut off his mana supply. He could dismiss it with a little push, but without a good fuel source it would banish itself soon enough.
Pushing them out felt wrong, like pushing someone out of the front door after a visit. Impolite.
“Bri— Did you see the letter you got?”
This story originates from Royal Road. Ensure the author gets the support they deserve by reading it there.
“No, wha—”
“I put it on your table!”
Table? He glanced at his desk, stuffed to the brim with classroom notes he’d need for the final classroom exams. Six years worth he notes he might as well throw out in a few months. Though, of course, he wouldn’t.
A plush letter lay atop one of them. He caught a glimpse of its seal and jumped up, heart racing.
“Did you find it?”
“Yeah! Yeah, I found it, mom. Thank you!”
His hands shook as he picked it up, then scrambled to find a knife, or letter opener, or a pen—anything that was a little more dignified than tearing it up in triangle shreds. He found a dagger in his props chest and slipped it in, cutting a smooth edge along the opening so they seal would remain intact. A memento.
The letter lacked a formal header, which made him slow down. There seemed to be a pamphlet of some kind in there as well, so it wasn’t official then. Who would have sent him a personal one?
He read.
Hey there, kiddo.
Sorry—Brian. I know how much you hate being called that. It’s James. I’m leaving town for a few weeks and wasn’t sure if I would catch you, but wanted to apologize in case you go snooping around the music hall while I’m gone. I know I said I might be able to get you a gig at Blackwood, but—
But. That one word said enough. He glanced down the rest of the letter, resisting the urge to crumble it into a pulp or tear to shreds while he did. His other hand set the dagger flat on his desk and pressed down.
… level respectable, but you lack experience …
… maybe try in another year? I threw in a pamphlet for the Magician’s Guild, because of course, you’re going to apply there, right?. I bet they’ll let you in now that you’re fifteen and some experience there …
He made some jokes and told him he’d be back in about a month.
Brian swung his arm down and ran a hand through his hair, hissing as he walked in circles. He could feel his cheeks heat up in anger and cursed to let it out, “Fuck.”
He’d promised. James had fucking promised he could help him out and now he was just bailing on him right before it mattered.
What was he supposed to do? An actual stage performance at a respectable music hall might have been his last best chance at getting another level up before school applications started up and he was out of options.
Sure, he could do more stand-ups. He could rent a spot during the summer festival this year, in a few months. He’d planned on doing that anyway. But what could he do then that he hadn’t done before? Everyone knew repetitions gave jackshit toward level ups.
New tricks? How many more could he really learn in two months? New spells? He’d always spurned the spell side of his Class.
There was still fire-breathing … but he’d have to do a billion push-ups before he could do that, [Lesser Strength] or no. There was no fucking way he was going to paint himself from head to toe like he’d done during the Day of the Dead last year. It hadn’t come off for days after and he’d a rash for weeks.
Plus, that wasn’t the type of magic he wanted to do. He wanted a stage. He wanted an audience.
Maybe in another year? Was that it? Was he just not old enough? Again? Not old enough, not tall enough, not respectable enough to be taken seriously. Fucking hell, he hated it.
He picked the letter up again and read through it, thinking about his options. And of course, he was going to level as a [Worker] again soon. That would just make things more difficult in the long run.
“Angry, are you?”
A voice behind him spoke and he spun around, hands on his desk. The letter and its seal crumpled against the wood, but he didn’t care.
A woman sat there, on the uncomfortable old chair he’d never gotten around to putting in the shed. She looked at him with a hint of a smile on her face and he glanced down. No, not a woman—
He caught a glimpse or red feathers, glowing like embers, and heard the crackling of flames instead of the rustling of cloth when she shifted, moving one leg down and folding the other on top in a motion that would have made him blush in a normal circumstance.
He felt revulsion instead.
She had pitch black chicken feet.
“Who the fuck are you?” Brian asked and amended the statement. “What the fuck are you?”
A monster? No. Those coming out of the Tower, that was just bullshit people said to scare children and distract people from the massive wall and plaza that took up so much space in a crowded city.
A Northerner? Here? In the heart of Hadica, in his room? His hand subtly groped around on his desk for the dagger, thinking to defend himself. If he had to kill her, would he get a level in the [Fighter] Class? That would just be great.
The woman took a deep breath as if savoring a scent, and he glimpsed her chest rise and fall in the cleave of her robes. Everything that was human about her was beautiful. Even her feathers looked ridiculously rich. But even if she were human, he had a hard time reacting to that right now.
She was a stranger in his room.
He found the dagger behind him and gripped it tight, unsure if he could even use it if he had to. How hard was it to stab someone?
“That anger. That passion,” she said with closed eyes, head tilted slightly toward the ceiling.
He could see the curve of her neck, the softness below her chin. If he attacked her now or ran—
“Like kindling to a flame. I love it.” She opened her eyes and looked at him. “They took away your stage, did they?”
His fear faltered. “I— What?”
“A performer needs a stage,” she spoke and put her leg down. The wood creaked as four toes pushed into it and she leaned forward. “And they took yours away, just like they have taken so much from you, haven’t they? Your father, your autonomy, your dignity. You’ve received blessings you have no desire for, but struggle for those you want. Who needs an illusionist in this day and age—this city? They have magic.”
“I— It’s about the dexterity,” Brian mumbled. “The wonder.” It was about so much more. The grace, the skill, it was something completely absent with spells that were rigid and kept in capital letters.
“Yes,” she said, pointing at him. Her fingernails were long, filed almost to a tip.
Sharp.
He knew he should be calling for help, booking it, or lynching the stranger, but he found himself entranced for no reason he could understand. He wasn’t even attracted to her. There was something else. Something in her movements, the sounds of her feathers like the fireplace in a quiet room.
Her voice had the slightest accent, like a parrot that had almost learned how to speak perfectly human.
The sun set outside his windows, the Tower began its evening glow, and his mom was downstairs, probably reading. It was ridiculous that this person was here. Fuck, he had to warn his mom somehow, didn’t he? Get her out of the house?
He thought of the lights downstairs and pushed the rivers made by his mana’s flow as far as he could in the hopes of lighting them. Maybe she would notice something was off. If she came up the stairs, though, he’d have to make a run for it.
Brian inched closer to the door at a snail’s pace.
“And your friend?” she asked. “They took it from you, did they not?”
He blinked and stopped. His friend?
Candle.
“Yes,” she spoke, as if she had guessed his thoughts. “Your friend.”
He hadn’t seen that same elemental in almost a year now. One day, it had just … stopped showing up. Good, he remembered himself thinking. It had been time that he moved on from pyromancy anyway.
Playing with fire was childish.
She got up slowly and hugged herself in a way that made her feathers cover her like a waist-high skirt. Brian slipped the dagger behind his leg, under no illusions about her perception of it.
Those same feathers glowed and he found himself asking, “You didn’t answer my freaking question. Who are you? What are you doing in my room? What to do you want?”
“Me?” she asked, eyebrows raised. She quirked a smile and held a hand to her chest. “That somebody ask me my name—my, what an honor.” She sounded slightly sarcastic, something that irked him. “Unfortunately, I cannot give it, little flame. But if you had to call me something … I suppose you could call me Bal.”
“Bal?”
She chuckled, a rich sound that came from her entire chest. “Yes. Choosing a three letter name—how arrogant of me.”
“Arrogant? What?”
“Nevermind me,” she said and took a step toward him. She was tall. Her eight toes only served to make her taller as she never fully set her feet down. “I would appreciate it if you kept this little offense between us.”
Brian backed up against the desk and tightened his grip. If he was fast enough, he could throw a fire elemental in her face and make it to the door. Those things could do damage, he knew. He didn’t have to kill her.
“As to your second question—or fourth and fifth, actually—I came here to make you an offer, little flame.”
She looked at his hair while she spoke and he grimaced. “Brian. My name is Brian, Bal.”
She froze where she moved and took another savoring breath. “Good.”
A shiver ran down his spine, but he didn’t quite know why.
“Now, Brian. What would you say if I offered you a place on the grandest stage of your time?”
He answered without thinking. His grip on the dagger almost slipped. “I would accept. In a heartbeat.”
The crackling of the flames grew louder as she moved ever closer to him, fluid step by fluid step. There came a crack, like a snapped twig, and she paused. “It seems someone wants to protest.”
“Who?”
She smiled. “Your friend. A relative of mine. We’d been hoping you would be more of a negotiator, but you did claim ours your friends, did you not?”
He remembered when he’d first started practicing, he’d called people in his audience “my friends” simply because he needed to call them something. He’d also called the fire elementals that for the same reason.
“That?” he demanded. “Seriously? That is why you’re here?”
She cocked her head, eerily reminiscent of an owl, and raised a delicate hand flat up. Red feathers grew from the bottom of it. It was almost almond-shaped. Delicate. “Did you not mean it?”
Was that some kind of gesture?
“I mean, I—” Brian thought back to the little fire elemental with the flourish, the way they, all of them, would just gobble up any trick he performed that had to do with fire, and how it had made it easier to perform those in front of others later.
In some ways, it had been a highlight of his day. Practicing things alone could get tedious.
“Of course, I meant it.”
“Then I’m sure she will be glad to hear it,” she smiled.
“She?”
The woman stretched her right arm back and out. Her wing fell like a cloak and fire crackled underneath—actual fire, that poured heat into his room. A girl stepped forward from the depths to smile at him.
She looked like a younger version of the woman herself and wore a red, sleeveless dress. Her daughter? The first thing she said was, “Brian!” as she jumped at him.
He scrambled away and almost fell to the ground in his rush toward the door. “Who the fuck are you, now?”
The bird-girl-thing froze and the older version of her scowled at him from where she towered above it. The actual Tower shone through his window in the distance behind her, a silver monolith in the sky.
“Your friend. Don’t you recognize her? She traveled all this way here to meet you.”
The girl glanced down at him with a trembling lip and heart-broken eyes. “Don’t you?”
“I—”
“I always came when you summoned me, remember?” She had a hopeful look in her eyes.
He frowned. Had she? The fire elemental he remembered had seemed proud, arrogant, a little playful. It had even performed tricks on its own, like biting off more fuel than it could chew and rolling down whatever way the rest flew, even if it meant it would die as it was separated from its can.
It had no compunctions about burning things, was constantly hungry like fire always was, and only graceful where grace was needed.
This girl … she just seemed petite. Attractive, too, aside from her gnarly feet. She was about his age.
Why would a fire elemental be his age? Why would an elemental even have an age at all?
He glanced up at the woman and frowned—then panicked when he realized something. Not once since they had come into his room had either of him looked around for things to burn. Their eyes had always been on him.
They weren’t fire elementals. Or if they were, he was the only meal they were interested in consuming. What were they then? And why were they lying to him?
Brian shook his head and took a step back, trying to remember the exact position of the door handle, “No. I don’t remember. I’m sorry.”
Bal’s lips twisted into discontent and looked as if she wanted to leave. Her younger self looked truly heart-broken, letting her shoulders fall.
An act, he reminded himself and thought back to the fire elemental he did remember. Prideful, hungry, overdramatic. He could almost see it. On a whim, he lifted a finger from the handle of the dagger and thought, Candle. He poured as much mana into the cantrip as he could—an invitation.
Something took him up on the offer and the flame swirled inward, twisting around almost like a spinning cloak. The cloak grew larger and larger, and Brian backed away from it to the door, half a mind to run at that moment.
A perfectly polished, black shoe stepped out of the flames and a humanoid being with a body made of them suddenly fell into a crouch on his hardwood floor. It wore dress pants, a shirt, and a jacket—a suit.
The first thing it did was point a burning finger at Bal and guffaw in a much too loud voice, “I told you he wouldn’t fall for it!”
Its voice was deep, with a faint rasp like an oncoming sore throat.
Bal broke into a grin and followed suit in his laughter, voice trembling as if two people were laughing at once.
Brian panicked. His mom had to have heard that. “Quiet!”
They looked at him for a second before their faces split into grins and they laughed even louder, the suited one slapping his leg. Thankfully, he explained in a choked voice because Brian was about to have a heart attack.
“Nobody can hear us, Brian!”
“Wait, what?”
Bal was still laughing as she spoke, “I’ve been visiting you for almost two years now and you never noticed me. You think somebody will now?”
“Two…?”
She pointed at his befuddled face and tilted her head up as she laughed. It sounded almost like an old crone, now.
The fire man lost his balance as he doubled over and stumbled into his desk, making the wood rock, then suddenly went still with panic.
Brian did, too, but he was worried about the wood. Wouldn’t his touch set it on fire? He scrambled around to look, but it seemed fine.
The elemental was staring at him, though.
“Brian?” his mom called up.
“Oh, what? She can hear that?” he hissed.
The man nodded and its face looked almost afraid. Brian frowned. Had it even had a face a moment ago?
“Brian what was that?”
“Nothing!” he scrambled to call down. “I hit my toe!”
Bal looked at both their panicked faces and tried to hold her breath.
He frowned and glanced around, missing something. “Where did the girl go?”
That seemed to push her over the edge, because she doubled over, wheezing for breath, “He wants to know where the abomination went! Oh, my lungs. I can’t breathe, I can’t breathe.”
Brian felt another shiver go down his spine when she called the girl “abomination.” He was suddenly very glad he hadn’t let her hug him. But he couldn’t even be properly scared. There was something strange about seeing a grown woman—or thing close to a woman—on the floor, clutching her stomach in laughter.
“Can you stop laughing already?” he asked. “Me not knowing these things seriously can’t be that funny. And it’s freaking me out. Just tell me what you want already.”
“He’s right,” the man of flames said and got up. He walked over to Bal and held out an arm to help her up, pulling her to her feet in one strong motion. “It really wasn’t that funny. Plus, you’re breaking character.”
Bal’s face went from residual laughter to rigid in a split second and she slapped him. All of the noise faded from the room with the sting of it. Three red lines tore into the man’s skin and he grunted in pain.
Brian stared. Just one wrong comment and she’d basically scarred his face. To set her off that easily, it seemed almost over—
It clicked for him.
Overdramatic. Everything they did, it was over the top. Like some kind of stage actors. What did that have to do with fire elementals?
The man hand a hand to the wounds and Brian remembered something he’d seen a [Summoner] once do during an arena fight. They’d repaired their monster with mana. Could he do the same?
He shoved some in his general direction and saw the wounds knit themselves together in a second.
The man seemed genuinely surprised and gave him a shallow bow. “Thank you.”
“Oh, uh— No problem.”
Bal was back to her composed self, staring down at him with none of the ridiculous amusement she had shown a moment before. How much of what she did was an act?
“You wanted to make a deal?” he asked.
“Yes.” She placed a single nail on the man’s chest and started circling him slowly. Halfway around, she glanced back over her shoulder and spoke, “Payment, for your performances.”
The man went rigid and Brian gaped in open horror.
“Payment? What are you, a slaver?” He shook his head. “No.”
“A slaver?” she asked and shook her head once, in disgust. “No. I am more of a … scout, you might say. Your friend has—”
“What’s your name?” Brian interrupted her, tired of this.
She glared at him, but didn’t seem entirely displeased.
“I don’t have a name,” the man said, looking slightly lost. “None of us do, or we wouldn’t be what we are. At least, I have none that I can give you.”
Brian frowned, remembering the importance of names in plays and stories. He was about to ask something when he stared up at the woman in sudden realization. Had he given her his name or only told her it?
He didn’t remember. Was there a difference? She didn’t seem to be doing anything with it right now, anyway, so he focused on more important things. “Can I give you one?” The man began to shake his head and Brian rushed to add, “Temporarily? Even as a nickname or something?”
He paused and glanced back at Bal. “I suppose you could?”
Brian nodded. “Is there one you want?”
Suddenly, he looked rapturous and licked his lips. “I— There’s many I want, but—”
“None that any of your kin already have,” Bal interrupted behind him. “Envy is a sin, remember?” She made a face. “Supposedly.”
He scowled. It looked almost like he was pouting. Brian frowned. Had he had eyebrows a moment ago? His eyes searched the floor for a moment in obvious thought and then lit up.
He looked at Brian and said, “Eh.”
“Eh?”
“Ey.”
“Ey? Like, you want to be called ‘ey’?”
He smiled. “Yes.”
“Why?”
“It means fire.”
“In which language?” he demanded.
“All of them.”
“What? No. I mean— In our language, it’s an abbreviation of ‘hey,’” he said, thinking there had to be some kind of misunderstanding, “and, uhm, a sometimes rude version of it? Well, not often. But you call it to get someone’s attention?”
Ey frowned and then shook his head. “Ey, not ey.”
“I don’t …”
“A.”
“A?” Brian didn’t get it.
The man’s broad shoulders slumped. “Just call me Hugh.”
“Oh, Hugh,” he said awkwardly. “Yeah, that’s cool.” He glanced at Bal. “So just to be sure, you aren’t a slaver?”
She nodded and pursed her lips. “That was a poor choice of words on my part … I suppose. But I am no more a slaver than an employer picking a …” She frowned at Hugh. “Once beautiful magician’s assistant for you.”
He glanced at Hugh. He was ruggedly handsome. “He’s supposed to be my coworker?”
The man nodded eagerly and Bal quirked a smile.
“And this stage? Where would that be?”
And more importantly, what would be his audience?
“See for yourself.” She turned her back on him and walked to the edge of his room, in front of his window.
Brian hesitated before following. There wasn’t enough room there to stand anywhere but beside her. Sparks still clung to her nails like blood and she glanced at him before directing her eyes past the glass.
“The grandest stage of your time.”
Brian sought the city, but couldn’t see anything new. It was just the same old buildings and roads dimming in the sunset, spots of them lit up by street lamps as it got darker. The Tower shone almost like the moon over it all, but it was the same sight he had seen for over a decade.
He glanced over at Bal and saw her looking at the Tower in awe and something almost like … hunger. Its light was reflected in her eyes.
Wait, was that it? The Tower? He frowned. That wasn’t a stage. It was … It was like a mine. People went in, fought mindless monsters, and harvested foodstuffs from the Gardens. Sometimes, someone died to an unfortunate accident. Some people went in to satisfy a primal need for violence and adventure. It was something he had wondered about when he was little, but not something he’d ever wanted to go into himself. No more than he wanted to go into an actual mine unless he had to.
It was just a fixture in the distance, like a wall or … or the moon.
Bal scrutinized his expression next to him and smiled. Flames crackled as she leaned over to whisper, “Can’t you see them?”
He furrowed his brows.
“Look again.”
The flames didn’t die when she moved away. They seemed to spread to his other ear as well. Brian felt a phantom heat, but saw no fire. He didn’t know what he was supposed to be looking for. Something flickered in the corner of his eye and he focused on the glass, found shifting lines of light and shadow there. Almost like flames.
And when he looked up again, he saw those same shadows and lights shifting on the night sky as the last drops of red sunk above the horizon. And suddenly, he understood.
A thousand different characters in phantom lines crowded the night sky, humanoid and monstrous, large and small, some titanic, most with masks, black eyes hungering beneath. They danced, and laughing, and howled, a thousand legs and scales slithering around the corona of the Tower’s light.
It was carnival of shapes and colors clawing toward it as they wanted in.
“They’re waiting in the wings,” Bal said.
“Actors?”
She smiled. “No need to be so afraid. Do you accept?”
Brian did, in a heartbeat.
[Pretender Path discovered!]
[Skill — Spirit Guide obtained!]
Hugh let out a deep breath behind him and Brian could feel him smile. It was the subtlest shift in the heat of his flames.
He looked over to the woman and asked, “What are you?”
She smiled and blinked. When her eyelids moved, they revealed black in their entirety. And when she smiled, she revealed a pitch black mouth—teeth, skin, tongue. All of it. She was one of them.
Just another pretender waiting in the wings.
“Will you be there?”
She shrugged. “It may be.”
Will I have to fight you, too?
He couldn’t ask her the question. She was gone and Brian found himself staring at a bare wall over his bed. The strain too much, Hugh said the beginning of a word before he was banished behind him. Brian’s mana had long since reached zero. He hit his bed halfway when he fell unconscious.
----------------------------------------
“Brian,” someone spoke next to him as a phantom feeling shook him awake. The feeling of being shaken away. “Brian, wake up.”
“Mm?” he opened his eyes and glanced up to see Hugh crouched next to his bed, one burning hand on his shoulder, and flung himself away.
“I told you not to do that,” he hissed, quiet in the hopes that his roommates wouldn’t hear. It was bad enough that most people he passed on the street thought he was crazy. He didn’t want to be dubbed that in school.
The large man crossed his arms and frowned. “You also told me to wake you up when it was time.”
“Time? For what?” He glanced around until he found the clock. It was half past eleven on a Saturday. Who got up this early?
“For your performance,” Hugh said.
“Wait, what?” Brian was suddenly awake. “How long do I have?”
Hugh scrunched up his face for a moment and turned to stare at the clock on the wall.
“Oh, for fuck’s sake, Hugh. You’re shit with numbers. Just tell me in … in … is it more or less time than for you to burn through a can of fire potion?”
“Whose fire potion?”
He pressed his thumb and index finger past his eyes and squeezed the bridge of his nose. “I don’t know. Greg’s?”
“Mm … slightly less.”
So slightly less than half an hour, then? Brian went still for a moment before he hissed, “Fucking hell, Hugh. Wake me up earlier. This is the big day and I—”
“Might want to hurry if you don’t want to be late?”
“Yes!”
He jumped out of bed and started picking through his pile of clothes, looking for underclothes to wear. Something he could sweat in. Bag? Bag? Where was his bag. And he needed socks, food, water—
He should have prepared emergency gear. Hugh had told him it would be longer than a day, so he needed to be prepared for roughing it. He had his armor and short sword, he frantically stuffed some other things into his bag, odds and ends, packed an emergency healing potion he kept in his drawer, and walked up to his thin wardrobe.
Last thing.
“Are you copying me?” Hugh asked as he strode down the Guild hallway.
“What? No. If anything, you’re copying me,” Brian said, fixing his bowtie a little. He couldn’t help but feel like it was crooked.
“That’s preposterous. I came into this world wearing a suit and I will go out in one. You’re clearly imitating me, Brian.”
“I added the coattail.”
“You—” The large man tried to turn around and look at his own butt as he walked and grumbled, “You added nothing. I always looked like this.”
“Aha. I’m sure. And the beard?”
He scratched his beard. “I’ve always had a beard.”
“You mean you always stared at people’s beards so I gave you one.”
“They’re flammable! I can’t help but stare.”
“How’s my hair?”
“Perfectly fine.”
“Meaning?”
“Also flammable.”
“Everything’s flammable,” Brian hissed.
Hugh scowled and looked ahead. His eyes tracked something through the walls as he grumbled, “Not everything.”
Brian let out a huffed breath and took an awkward step to shift his clothes a bit. He felt uncomfortable wearing chainmail underneath his suit, but he didn’t have a choice. Better that than getting mauled to death by a horde of tiny monsters.
Had it been this uncomfortable when he’d bought it? Maybe he’d grown. That would be good, as long as it didn’t make his suit look shrunken.
“Are you sure you do not want to go with the full armor?” Hugh asked him. “I quite like your [Adventurer’s Act].”
“No,” Brian said. “I want to make a good first impression.” He walked past two employees in one of the hallways and gave them a shallow bow as they looked at him strangely.
What? It was just a suit.
“But what about the play. You could pretend to be a proper adventurer for a while—sword and shield. The might of your arms and the grit of your teeth! You’ll fight your way through flesh and terrain and come out the other side bloody, but standing.”
Brian quirked a brow. What might?
"And then in a pinch, you reveal it with a flourish—you were a [Magician] all along! The crowd goes wild and you defeat the guardian with an uncanny style. Jubilations reign upon your head. Levels aplenty. Haa! Haa!”
The man mimicked the sound of a wild crowd with voiceless breaths.
Brian shook his head and grinned. “I’m going start big and leave them wanting for more. Next time they see me, they’ll be expecting magician’s play again and I’ll stab them with a sword. They’ll be befuddled. Then I’ll mix it up with a bow and arrow, maybe. Some daggers. Night and shadow. And only when they deserve it, when they can’t handle it anymore, will they get the Magician.”
“Ah. How arrogant of you.” Hugh smiled as he said it and Brian smiled back. Arrogance wasn’t a bad thing, in both their books.
“In comparison to holding my hand until the last moment where all sorts of things can go wrong?” he asked, though. “I think not.”
His [Adventurer's Act] was just that—an act.
He rounded a corner and joined the main hallway out. More and more people began to frown at the teen in the suit with a black backpack and sword as he passed them, but he didn’t mind. He was used to people watching him.
In the plaza, he caught a glimpse of a much larger crowd gathering in front of the Tower’s portal and cursed under his breath, picking up his tempo a little. He really didn’t want to be late.
He thought he saw some of his classmates in the crowd as well. That one guy. Fuck him, if he knew his name. Ryan, maybe? The one with the scores so perfect, he'd been invited to speak at the opening ceremony—not someone he’d ever hang out with.
He and his friend disappeared out of sight and Brian caught a glimpse of that blonde girl. Saga? His attention didn’t stay on her, because just like the rest of the crowd, he looked up when it happened.
A silver flame was burned words into the stone above the portal and Brian stared for far too long before he snapped to Hugh, “Translate.”
Thank god the elemental spoke all languages. He was his ticket to getting a perfect score on his Dwarven Studies.
“You stand on a shore,
Ungiven, given.
Step forward.
Destroy that which stands in your way,
Take what you need, in order to
Ascend.
- the little girl with the oh-so-mighty beard.”
“Wow.” Brian wandered through the crowd, still looking up.
“Indeed.”
“This is really happening, isn’t it?”
“Yes. It is, Brian.”
He felt a tingle in his limbs and shook himself to get rid of the excitement. He could do this. "And it really says 'oh-so-mighty'?"
“Start thinking of a place to go,” Hugh distracted.
“Oh, shit. Where should we go?”
“It’s your call.”
He pressed through two groups of climbers standing close together and frantically thought it over, “Is there … is there any floor with an actual stage, you know? Something like an old, abondoned theatre or carnival or something?”
“Of course, there is.”
“So do I just think of a stage?”
Hugh grinned and said, “Just think of nothing. I’ll help.”
“Thanks, man.”
“You’re welcome.”
With a final few steps, Brian had squeezed through the panicking climbers and took a deep breath. He glanced up at his guide one last time and got a nod in answer. Step forward.
He did, and found himself elsewhere.