9:27 Dragon, Farm on the Outskirts of Highever

The templar comes in the early morning. Cadeyrn sees him loiter beyond the wood fence, a pale shadow in the fog. He lets him wait. He checks the next sow as she eats; she is in good health, as are the others. The two sows at the end have a spat over the remains of the trough while the others drift off, content to rest after their meal.

Wiping his hands on his trousers, Cadeyrn walks to the front of his house. He picks up the small bag of belongings he had packed the night before and makes his way to the fence gate. The templar greets him, voice muffled by the helmet.

“Ready to leave?” The templar pauses, looks around. “Wait, where is your father?”

Cadeyrn shakes his head.

“This is your last chance to say goodbye. Do you want to see him before we go?”

He shakes his head again. The templar shrugs under his armor. Cadeyrn opens the gate and slips through, ignoring the intrigued grunts of the pigs. The templar nods and starts on the long road toward the town proper.

They arrive at the Chantry, where more templars stand outside.

“This is him.” The templar puts a heavy hand on his shoulder. Cadeyrn wants to shrug it off, but doesn’t. Instead, he observes the others. Of the three, one wears no helmet. She looks to be a weathered and stern woman, with cold eyes and heavy brows. She stares at and through him, searching for the demons which lurk within. Eventually she nods decisively.

“Then we depart for the Circle,” she declares. The templars salute. The one who brought him returns to the Chantry, while the three others guide him to a caravan. One of the templars - the shorter of the two with helmets- climbs up the back and offers him a hand, which he takes. He struggles to get his leg up, but the templar easily pulls him to the floor and to his feet.

The templar takes him to a bench at the side of the caravan and motions to sit down, so he does. Cadeyrn notices the shackles on the floor and on the ribs of the caravan. The other templars climb up and sit on the opposite bench. The woman watches him unflinchingly; he looks away from her piercing stare, observes the inside of the caravan. There are tall stacks of boxes and some barrels, along with a few heavy bags of grain. He supposes they wanted to restock whilst picking up their new charge.

The taller templar walks to the front of the caravan and opens the cloth flap. He mutters to the driver. The sound of reins on skin whips in the air, and the caravan rolls into motion. Cadeyrn closes his eyes.

He hears the sound of roosters crowing in the air. The townsfolk are waking up; the merchants set up shop while the farmers haul in their latest crops or their livestock of the day. The smith has begun his work, the clangs of metal and iron piercing the morning ruckus. He can smell fresh bread and pies from the bakery, a welcome change from pig shit. He probably won’t ever smell this again, so he savors the aroma of food he will never eat.

His stomach grumbles. He had packed half a loaf of hard bread for the days’ journey. He’ll get to eat some in the next morning.

The templars murmur amongst themselves. Their words are lost in the rising sounds of the market. Cadeyrn lets out a deep breath and sinks back further. Perhaps he should try for a nap. But the caravan slows and stops, and he opens his eyes. The tall templar leaves, the caravan rocking under the loss of his weight.

He wonders if something is wrong. The remaining templars continue to watch him. He grows anxious. Worries that they see something in him. He breathes out deeply again, and sees the breath frost.

It’s happening again.

“Calm down.” The short templar presses a hand to his shoulder. He feels the unease filter from his body, a different kind of cold settling in his bones. A low groan escapes him as he shudders. The hand leaves, and he is left feeling tired, his body loose and limp.

The tall templar returns now, carrying a small and delicious-smelling sack. Cadeyrn’s mouth waters. The templar reaches in the sack and pulls out a meat pie the size of his palm and about as big as Cadeyrn’s face. He holds it out to him, and Cadeyrn stares at it.

“Eat, child,” the short templar says gently. Cadeyrn glances up at the tall templar and gingerly takes it from his hand. It is hot, almost burning his fingers. The tall templar takes a seat next to the woman templar after ordering the driver to depart once more.

The caravan rocks forward. Cadeyrn raises the pie to his lips, overwhelmed by the heavenly smell. He takes a bite, and another, and before he knows it the pie is gone and his hands are covered in crumbs. He blinks slowly.

The warmth spreading through his body leaves him in a stupor. At some point his eyes slide shut, and then he sleeps, unaware of his departure from Highever and from the life he had once known.

You could be reading stolen content. Head to Royal Road for the genuine story.

They arrive at Lake Calenhad after a week of traveling. Cadeyrn marvels at the sight of the faraway spire rising from the earth, surrounded by a web of arches and cleaving the moon. A strange mist hangs in the sky. As beautiful as the place is, it is also unsettling. When he blinks, he sometimes thinks he sees something else just before his eyes close.

The templars take him into the tower after ferrying across the lake. They pass him on to a woman in robes - a mage.

The mage brings him to a large room with many beds, all of them with another stacked on top, and leads him to a corner. This is where he will live from now on. He can put his belongings in one of the chests, the mage says. She tells him when and where to report for classes, where the meal room, washroom, and outhouses are, and tells him he is welcome to ask for assistance whenever he needs it. Finally, she says that First Enchanter Irving, the head mage of the tower, will want to see him and that one of the templars will escort him when he is ready.

He nods yes, yes, and then he is left alone.

He inspects the bed. It’s better than he had expected. Cadeyrn slept on a pallet back in Highever, but this bed has an actual mattress and pillow. He pushes down on it with a hand and finds that it’s surprisingly soft. He hesitantly sits down.

It’s nice.

He gets up. He hides his bag underneath the mattress; the chests have no locks, and he refuses to leave what little he has out where anyone can take it. He exits the room, and as the mage said, a templar is waiting outside.

“Let’s go,” the man says.

They walk through the round hall and enter a gigantic library. The bookshelves are taller than houses and filled with tomes. There are long tables covered in paper and books, and chalkboards with strange and grotesque diagrams. One of the mages sets himself on fire while another shakes his head and blasts him with ice.

The templar hurries past them all. They go up a set of stairs to a circular room on the second floor, then enter another hallway circling around the tower. The templar ushers him into one of the rooms at the end of the spiral. It is an office lined with bookshelves, and in the center, behind a table covered in papers, is an old man with a thick grey beard.

The First Enchanter rises from his seat and greets him. “So you’ve arrived safely. I am glad to meet you, child.” The man introduces himself in a rasping voice and explains that he oversees the tower and its mages.

“I am certain you must have many questions. For the most part, you will learn all you must about magic and your responsibilities from the Enchanters, who will do their best to teach you the ways of the mages. If there is anything else you wish to know about the Circle, however, you are free to ask.” The man smiles kindly down at him.

Cadeyrn hesitates but he gathers his resolve and asks, “Are there animals here?”

Irving’s eyebrows rise. “There are a few specimens for research and experimentation, as well as cats who chase down the rats, but otherwise no.”

Cadeyrn’s shoulders drop, and he asks another question. “Can I practice swordsmanship?”

“Certainly not, child,” the man says sharply, but not cruelly. From behind Cadeyrn hears the rustle of the templar’s armor. “You are a mage apprentice, and only after years of dedicated study will you be a mage. Our powers lie not with swords, but with our minds.” He sighs. “While I am sorry to tell you that whatever ambition you once had as a swordsman is now impossible, you should not be disheartened. Magic is a power far greater than any blade. Now that you wield it, you must train to control this power lest it destroy you as well as those around you,” he warns.

Cadeyrn looks down at his scuffed, muddy boots, and doesn’t respond.

The First Enchanter sighs again. “I am sorry. In time, you will come to accept the gift given to you by the Maker.”

“Can’t you take it out of me?” he asks. Immediately he sees the rejection forming on the old man’s face, so he changes his question. “How about if I - if I learn to not use magic. I won’t really be a mage that way, and I won’t get demons, and…” He trails off as he sees the bafflement on Irving’s face.

“Child, whatever you know about magic and what you are is unfortunately incorrect,” he says gently. “Magic is not a tool you can drop or pick up as you please. It is a connection to the Fade. Do you know what that is?”

Cadeyrn inhales and shakes his head.

Irving motions for him to take a seat. He walks to his own chair behind the table as he explains, “The Fade is another realm, an illusory and ever-changing place; it is the one we visit in our dreams. All people except the dwarves have a connection to the Fade, but in mages this connection is especially strong.” He sits, and continues, “We are able to channel energy from that realm to this one. It is by using the Fade’s energies that we may reshape this world in ways beyond true understanding. In many ways it is a blessing, but it is also a curse, for our abilities will draw the attention of the demons residing in the Fade. When a demon takes notice, it will attempt to possess the mage through temptations. If the demon succeeds, the mage becomes an abomination and must be slain by the templars.”

Slain like pigs.

An intense cold spreads in Cadeyrn’s chest. He swallows roughly, clutching his arms around himself to stave off the chill.

“There is a way,” the man continues softly, “for a mage to cut his connection to the Fade, but it is not the salvation you seek. You will see in the Tower a group called the Tranquil. They were apprentices who did not wish to undergo the Harrowing - the test one must pass to become a mage - or they were apprentices who were very likely to fall prey to the demons. When one becomes Tranquil, they lose their emotions, as well as all of the passion and hope that comes from being alive. It is not a terrible fate, but...”

Cadeyrn grips himself tighter. Becoming one of those Tranquil did not seem so bad if that meant he would live free from the demons, and he tells Irving this. The man merely looks saddened.

“Perhaps you will think differently when you meet the Tranquil,” he says. “Now, there is one more thing we must do before you go for supper. I must take a few drops of your blood for your phylactery.”

He lets out a shallow grunt, no longer willing to talk. He does not know what a phylactery is but doesn’t bother asking. He remains silent as the First Enchanter drops his blood into a small glass vial, and wordlessly follows the templar who leads him to the dining hall.

There are dozens of mages sitting around the tables. They are all of different ages, from old and bald men to small girls younger than he. There are even knife-ears amongst the mages.

He sits at the edge of a table and eats. The mages talk at him, but he does not respond. When he is done eating he stares at the table without seeing, and when the mages turn in for the night he lies on his bed and stares into the darkness. He digs underneath his mattress and pulls out his mother’s amulet, clutching it hard in his fist until the shadows creep over his eyes and drag him deep, deep, into the den of demons.