> “The Golden Age of Magic ended, not in a blaze of glory, but with a slow, inevitable decline. With every generation, fewer were born with the ability to naturally attune. The Great Wizards of the Ronean Empire, the backbone of the empire’s power, became unable to find apprentices and pass down centuries of specialized knowledge. The most brilliant minds of the era sought other methods to attune future generations to the elements. They developed rituals, potions, and training regimens with varying degrees of success and safety. The most successful, of course, were the five Awakening Stones that have allowed the remnants of the empire to maintain small, but sustainable, populations of mages, each attuned to one of the elements granted by each stone. ”

>

> -Professor Calder Raycroft, excerpt from The Fall of the Great Empire.

Alarik Faber sat on the roof of the lecture hall, gazing upon the bustling capital below. The morning’s rain had left the cobblestones glowing in the afternoon sun. Carriages and wagons moved along, street vendors peddled their wares, and children played. Among all these people, he had never felt more alone.

One week before Al's graduation from the Academy, a message arrived at the school informing him that his parents and older brother had fallen ill with the Purple Death. They were already dead. No one survived for more than a day with the mysterious disease. An hour earlier, he had finished his final exam and was looking forward to the four months of time off he had before the awakening ceremony and his life as a university student. He had been thinking of his father’s wonderful cooking while eating the bland academy slop. He would never taste that food again. He would never see his brother’s sly grin or listen to one of his mother’s stories again.

Before Al could continue the depressing list of things he would never do with his family again, the door to the roof opened and a familiar voice called out, “He’s up here!” Al turned around and saw his three closest friends step out of the door.

The first, and source of the voice, was Heron. Large and muscular with tanned skin and bright red hair, he stuck out from the other academy teenagers. Unlike most of his peers, Heron had not grown up living in a country house or city manor. He was the son of a carpenter who had been learning the trade until an instructor paid a visit to his village and tested the local children. The carpenter’s son had taught himself how to read, write, and do basic arithmetic. Heron was a genius worthy of a scholarship to attend the prestigious Corrin Academy in the capital. His working-class beginning had put him behind his classmates but he was catching up. His class ranking rose every year. Al had been sure that by the end of their first year at the University, Heron would surpass even him, though Heron’s humble personality would never let him agree.

Zored, Al’s best friend, was next. He was skinny, with unkempt wavy brown hair, pale skin, and an infuriatingly handsome face. It was particularly aggravating because Zored could almost pass for being Al's slightly better-looking brother. They had similar hair, similar builds, and had known each other for their whole lives. While Al had been the more outgoing and energetic of the two growing up, Zored was more introspective and serious. Zored enjoyed Varin poetry and Aragilian philosophy, becoming more eager to engage when the topics were morality and the arbitrariness of human traditions and institutions. Despite his penchant for pretentious lectures on his favorite topics, he had a good sense for when to turn it off when the situation called for it.

The third was Talia. She was pretty with short black hair, caramel-colored skin, and bright green eyes. While born in Caldyn like the other two, her parents were from the far-away kingdom of Sania. Her upbeat nature worked well to balance out Zored’s more serious demeanor. Despite being intelligent enough to follow any of Zored’s boring lectures and be his equal in academics if she desired, Talia was more interested in painting and music.

While the other two stood, considering what to say, Talia jumped into action and brought Al into a warm embrace. Heron waited his turn and did the same. Zored, breaking from his aloof professorial facade, followed.

“Thanks, guys,” Al said, trying to sound less downtrodden.

“Will you be going back home tomorrow?” asked Talia.

“Yeah, I have a carriage taking me to the station in the morning. You guys can tell me about the graduation ceremony when we see each other again, whenever that is,” Al replied, failing to hide his dour mood.

“I was saving this for after graduation but now is a good time,” Heron said, pulling a large bottle of his village’s signature whisky out of a bag.

Al paused and considered the bottle. “Alright, let’s treat it like how we would have celebrated graduation, well you three anyway. Talk about all your plans for the summer, what element you want, what classes you want, whatever. That’s all I want,” Al said, hoping this would bring him a sense of normalcy, if for a brief time.

“Yeah Al, we can do that,” said Zored with a reassuring smile.

For the next few hours, the friends sat together on the roof, three of them talking about their plans for the next year and the fourth silently appreciating their companionship. Heron earnestly discussed his preference for the fire element and a focus on crafting and runes. He hoped he would do well enough in the field to spend the next summer in Isaz working on airships and motorized carriages. Talia made fun of Heron for choosing an element to match his hair color before discussing her plans for air magic, which included using it to amplify and spread out sound from musical performances. Zored claimed that it did not matter which element he got because they were all beautiful and would suit him perfectly. He then went on a rant about various professors at the university, insisting that the group only take classes taught by certain worthy intellectuals. Al appreciated every distracting word of the pretentious lecture.

A case of literary theft: this tale is not rightfully on Amazon; if you see it, report the violation.

Early the next morning, Al boarded the train at Merchant station for the day-long journey East from Vantrind to Flynt. There were no delays and Al arrived late in the afternoon. Unfortunately, there was no one there to greet him upon his arrival. For a moment, Al had fallen into old habits and was scanning the crowd for a familiar face.

He paid for a carriage to take him north, out of the coastal city and towards his home. It was dark by the time he arrived. Though the stone two-story building was small for a country house, this type of home would typically have half-a-dozen employees cleaning, cooking, and landscaping. His parents preferred a more modest approach, filling up the grounds with trees to blend the property into the forest and doing the cooking and cleaning themselves.

Waiting at the door was a greasy-looking middle-aged man, the last person Al wanted to see. Al’s uncle Timalt had always been a seedy character, spending most of his life in gambling halls and brothels. It was this behavior that led to Al’s grandfather handing over the family business to Al’s mother Shaena, Timalt’s younger and more responsible sister. Timalt had always resented Shaena for this and was not sophisticated enough to hide his feelings. While the man’s mouth was neutral, his eyes were smiling. “Hurry up, boy. The magistrate is waiting inside,” he said instead of a normal human greeting.

The local magistrate was one of Timalt’s gambling friends. Al did not like where this was heading. “Hold on, where are they?” Al asked in confusion.

“Where are who?” Timalt asked with genuine confusion.

“My family, you absolute dolt,” Al spat, losing his temper.

“Oh, I had them buried in the family plot after they croaked,” Timalt replied as if this should have been obvious to Al and ignoring the fact that it was customary to hold an actual funeral. “Also, never speak to me like that again,” he sneered. “As the magistrate will soon inform you, I am now your legal guardian and have full control of the entire estate until you turn nineteen, which, last I checked, is almost two years from today. We do things my way now and you will show me the proper respect.”

It did not take a genius to figure out what Timalt was planning here. He was going to use those two years to make himself wealthy and leave Al with as little as possible. The odd part was how fast this had all happened. Uncle Timmy, rarely sober enough to do anything during a day, had somehow arranged for the court to grant him full guardianship over Al and the estate in the two days since his parents had fallen ill. Al wondered how big of a cut this corrupt official was getting because he was sure his parents would have had someone more trusted listed as a potential guardian in their will.

He sighed and went inside so the crooked magistrate could inform him of the guardianship situation.

The next morning, Al walked to the family cemetery and saw the fresh graves marked with white stakes himself. After a long pause, he collected himself and walked to the nearby village to speak to the doctor. He couldn’t trust his uncle’s word for it. The old doctor expressed his condolences and verified that they had contracted the illness two days earlier and he had tended to them in their final unconscious moments. Unlike Timalt, this man was trustworthy and Al had to accept the truth of the situation. It hit him hard as he walked back home.

Al returned to find the manor being emptied of furniture, paintings, clothes, and kitchenware by a group of men to be taken and auctioned off in the city. Timalt worked fast. Furious, Al sprinted to his room and began packing anything he could carry. Clothes, books, soap, and letters were all stuffed into his camping bag. Short of murder, there was nothing he could do to stop the man so Al decided that he would not be witness to any of it.

Next, he went into the basement and let out a sigh of relief at the sight of the untouched wall. He found the stone hiding the family’s emergency stash, removed it, and put the gold and banknotes in his pack. This was more than enough to pay for food, books, and housing for his first year at the University. He was on his own after that.

Al heard the door open and a familiar angry voice called out, “Boy, what are you doing down there?”

He ignored his uncle and exited through the back door, which took him directly to a set of stairs outside. He wasted no time and sprinted away from the house and into the forest.

A few hours of brisk walking with the heavy bag took Al to the small cabin his family maintained, which his uncle was conveniently unaware of. In his haste, Al had forgotten to bring candles or oil to light the lamp. He wasn’t going to go back for them. He couldn’t stomach it.

For the next few weeks, Al grieved. He shed tears. He spent his days foraging for mushrooms and fishing in the stream. Some days, he did nothing and was surprised to find that the entire day had passed without him noticing. He spent his nights without light, finding strange comfort in the darkness that seemed to match his somber mood.

As the weeks passed by, Al’s grief was replaced by a mix of rage and confusion. Anger towards Timalt and what he was doing, both to his family home and the forest. Within a week, Timalt had taken over the moderately-sized lumber company and turned it into a clear-cutting operation. Al had seen it while foraging. Timalt had paid off some local officials to allow it and stopped the replanting practices they had previously used to avoid soil erosion and replace what was being removed. Timalt was milking any money he could get from the business as quickly as possible. Too quickly. That was the confusing part. None of it made sense unless the man knew of the deaths ahead of time.

There was little information available about the strange disease known as the Purple Death. Over that last decade, it seemed to appear a few times a year in unrelated parts of the country. It would spread to a handful of people, kill them after turning their skin purple, and then disappear without infecting anyone else.

Was it possible for someone to predict when and where it would appear? Was it possible to intentionally inflict someone with it? Maybe it was for someone much more intelligent than his uncle. Was a benefactor guiding the incompetent man?

Al knew he couldn’t continue this cycle of wasting away his days. He needed to investigate. He resolved to leave the cabin and go to the city tomorrow. In the meantime, he had one more night in the dark, which he now found as comfortable as a warm blanket in the winter. He relaxed and took a deep breath as if inhaling the darkness around him. At that moment something strange happened. The darkness seemed to somehow flow into him. He did not have time to consider what was happening to him as more energy seemed to enter his body until he couldn’t handle the strain anymore and fell unconscious.