A pounding ache rhythmically slammed into Aldric’s head, dragging him from blissful unawareness on the tempo of his heartbeat. Slowly he opened his eyes, frowning at the harsh rays of sunset burning his retinas. His hands swept across his face, trying to dispel the fog that clouded his mind. The room gradually came into focus. Everything was clean, tidy, and well-kept. Aldric could not help but feel out of place. To his left was a window, letting in the light that bothered his eyes. To his right was an array of beds, each perfectly made with linens so clean they might have been freshly woven.

He climbed out of his cot, testing his limbs as he went, and then he paused. Slowly, he moved through his full range of motion again. Every movement felt smooth. His shoulders felt unburdened. Pulling up the cotton shirt he did not recognise, he studied his upper body. His legs followed suit. All his sores and bruises were gone. The scars that had accompanied him for most of his life had faded drastically. Looking out the window, he found the distant mountains jumping out at him. They were so clear he could count the trees that grew atop them.

Along with all of these boons, he noticed two more things. The first was an immense thirst. He found a large jug of water on a small table beside his cot, and quickly poured its contents down his throat, gulping greedily. It felt like the dryness in his throat might never fade, but as he saw the bottom of the jug some relief swept over him. That allowed him to focus on the second, significantly more concerning thing he noticed.

He positioned himself directly in the sunlight streaming in through the window, feeling it heating his skin. His hands traced a line from his chest outwards, over and over, each time more frantically. The fire would not spread. He could still feel it, the swelling inferno that lived in him, but it refused to flow along the paths he created. Suddenly the clinical environment he was in felt much more cold and threatening. He made for the door, electing to escape before whoever brought him here had a chance to return.

His natural quiet steps hid his movement as he ran out of the door and down the hall, looking for any sign of an exit. Each noise that met his ears sent his heart racing even faster. He kept navigating the halls, hoping he would not run into anyone. The corridors twisted around him like a labyrinth. It would only be a matter of time before someone found him. He did not even know where he was. He scoured his memories, but his mind only brought up fragments of his battle.

Memories tainted with pain, despair, desperation, and eventually resolve swam through his mind. It came to him in flashes. The blows he had traded with his opponent, his final strike, the barrier that stood between them, and from then on… nothing. He had left himself entirely vulnerable, and someone had capitalised. Now, without his power, he was entirely at their mercy, and as he turned yet another corner escape seemed even less likely, especially considering the woman halfway down the hallway. She was half-turned away, talking to someone he could not see.

“Why are you…” she began, but Aldric would not wait for her to finish. He turned and ran back, giving up on any sensible form of navigation and turning around every corner he found to remain hidden. “Wait, come back!” the woman yelled after him. He could hear her footsteps behind him, along with another pair.

“Aldric, do not run!” a man’s voice called. Aldric could list on one hand all the people who knew his name, and none would try to imprison him, let alone have the ability to lock away his magic. Whoever this was must have dug into his mind to find information about him. It seemed far-fetched, but so did locking away magic. He had to escape them, but his hopes were dashed when he turned the corner into a dead end. He was trapped, and the footsteps behind him quickly closed in. Nothing around him could serve as a weapon. His lungs screamed in protest at the exertion. Turning around, he steeled himself for whatever could come next. The man and woman rounded the corner, stopping short when they saw him glowering at them.

“Someone is feeling energetic,” the man said, quickly catching his breath.

“Why are you running?” The woman asked, struggling more to get her breathing back under control. Aldric felt like he could not get air into his body fast enough. His pursuers seemed to take note of this, giving him a moment to recover.

“Who are you?” Aldric finally demanded, raising his hands defensively. “Where am I? What did you do to me? And how the hell do you know my name?!”

“We saw it in your registration form,” the man explained calmly, raising his own hands to try to seem non-threatening. “I am the Royal Archmage, Eldrin, this is the High Priestess, Aeliana. We have been tending to you after you collapsed.”

“Why did you lock away my magic?” Aldric pressed, not letting up on his aggressive tone for even a moment. Eldrin and Aeliana traded a glance, both confused.

“We did not do anything to your magic,” Aeliana said. “We just healed your body. You were…”

“The way you used your magic damaged your body very severely,” Eldrin said, taking over for Aeliana. “During the tournament, something happened. Something we have never seen before, and could not explain. I… Aldric, I examined you when it happened. Your kiln was shattered, and your magic burned wildly all throughout your body.”

“What are you talking about?” Aldric asked, confusion and curiosity finally overtaking his anger and survival instinct.

“I know, it seems impossible,” Eldrin said, running his hands through his hair in frustration. “It is entirely unprecedented, but I know what I saw. Your kiln was destroyed, and your body and soul suffered damage when your mana rampaged. If it was not for the Saint repairing your kiln, you would have been dead.”

Stolen from its rightful place, this narrative is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

“I don’t understand,” Aldric said, lowering his hands. “I don’t own a kiln.” Again, Eldrin and Aeliana shared a glance, this time more shocked than confused.

“Not a physical kiln, it is the source of your magical power,” Aeliana explained, taking a gentler tone. “Like your lens focuses and colours your mana into spells.”

“Lens? I don’t know what you are talking about,” Aldric insisted. Aeliana was about to insist on her explanation, but Eldrin put up a hand to stop her.

“Aldric, have you not received any form of education?” he asked.

“No,” Aldric said, glaring. “I was abandoned for being too weak.” His response told the two adults all that they needed to know. Before them was not a power-mad renegade. He was a scared and traumatised child hiding behind his anger, the only weapon he could ever wield.

“Aldric, what is important now is that you know we are not here to hurt you,” Eldrin said. He took a step closer, trying to bridge the gap between him and the boy. “And I do not think you are weak. In fact, I know just how powerful you are. If you will allow me, I can show you.”

“Eldrin, are you going to…” Aeliana began, trailing off before she said too much.

“You saw how Hadrian looked at Roland,” Eldrin said. “I would be surprised if he had not asked the boy already. You already have the Saint, the two of us are entitled to apprentices of our own.” He turned back to Aldric. “Your power is unparalleled, Aldric. Will you let me help you master it?”

###

Across the square, Roland felt entirely out of place inside the ornate throne room. Marble columns contrasted with onyx floors, with golden and scarlet accenting framing all the luxury. Every direction he looked his eyes found some trinket or bauble that was worth more than all the money he had ever seen put together. At the end of the room two jewel-encrusted and cushioned thrones rested, the left one occupied by who Roland could only assume was the king. Flanking him to his right stood another man, the same one who had escorted Roland out of the arena on the day of the tournament.

“Step forward, Roland, we will not bite you,” Cedric said, motioning for Roland to come closer. Roland did so hesitantly. He had waited for days, insisting on an audience with the king, but now that he was face to face with the most powerful man in the kingdom, his tongue felt limp and heavy. He instinctively knelt to one knee and lowered his head when he reached the step onto the dias that supported the thrones.

“Thank you for seeing me, Your Highness,” he said, trying to keep his nerves from his voice.

“Roland, stand,” Cedric said, his tone easygoing. “You do not need to behave so formally in my court. You are one of my people, and I am happy to hear what you have to say. Please, speak freely.” Roland stood, but his stern expression remained.

“With your blessing then, Your Highness,” Roland said. “It is about my home, Soldeset, in the Krystadia Barony. We suffered an attack from the Northern front. I fought in the tournament so I could come to ask you, no, beg of you to send reinforcements there. If those barbarians from the Empire attacked again my home would not survive. We have already lost… too much.”

“The Rokeans are becoming bolder,” Hadrian sighed, stepping forward and bowing to Roland. “I did not think they would dare draw the ire of the Brotherhood, prancing around so close to the Nexus Wastes. Roland, I am sincerely sorry for the attack on Soldeset. It is my oversight, and I take full responsibility. I will see to it immediately that your home is protected. You can rest easy.”

“Commander, the responsibility for my kingdom falls to me,” Cedric said, standing and facing Hadrian. “Our forces are spread thin, you acted in the way you thought would protect the most people.” He turned to face Roland. “We will ensure that what happened in Soldeset does not happen again, there or anywhere under my rule.”

Roland was taken aback. He had expected a lot of things. Anger, ridicule, and outright malice were all possibilities in his mind. The humility and sincerity that he was faced with were far from the realm of his expectations.

“Thank you, Your Highness,” he said, resisting his instincts to kneel again. “I have wasted enough of your time. I will take my leave.”

“Wait just a moment,” Hadrian said, stopping Roland halfway into his turn. He twisted back and nodded to indicate he was listening. “I watched you fight in the tournament, and our Archmage saw beneath your outward appearance. We both agree that you have tremendous potential, and I would like to see you reach it. You could be one of the greatest soldiers this kingdom has ever known. I would like to make you my apprentice. You will learn directly from me so that you can help defend our kingdom against threats like the Empire.” Roland scowled.

“So this is your offer?” he asked. “I become a soldier for your army, and only then you protect my home?”

“Of course not,” Hadrian said, smirking. “It is wise of you to assume that anyone you interact with has their own motives, but I assure you that is not the case this time. Soldeset will see reinforcements whether you agree to my offer or not. This is your choice.”

His words stole the wind from Roland’s sails. His anger diminished greatly, and he took a moment to consider the offer. It was something he was unlikely to ever receive again. He knew being a soldier would mean fighting and killing those he could not capture. That idea weighed on him, but the weight seemed insignificant compared to the thought of someone he could have protected getting hurt.

“I have a condition,” Roland said. Hadrian nodded for him to continue. In response, Roland drew his mentor’s sword. “I fight with this blade, and no other.” Hadrian studied the blade. It was beautifully made, forged of steel that could only be rivalled by the steel in the soul of the boy who held it.

“I accept that condition,” Hadrian said. “Though we will likely have the Archmage strengthen it for you.” Roland nodded his agreement, sheathing the sword.

“One more thing,” he began, speaking before Hadrian could continue. “What happened to the man I fought in the tournament? I tried asking, but no one could answer me.”

“Last we heard, the boy was still asleep,” Cedric said, stepping in to give the information. “His injuries were fairly severe.”

“He fought so desperately,” Roland said quietly. “If he wakes, will you please hear his wishes too? If they are worth fighting so hard for, they must be important.”

“I swear, I will do my best to grant them,” Cedric said with a comforting smile. “Now, follow Hadrian to your new quarters.”

“Yes, boy, you will need your rest!” Hadrian said enthusiastically, stepping off the dias and leading Roland away. “Tomorrow will be a very long day.”