The floating rainforests of Marqir are the truest display of survival of the fittest. A never-ending orgy of death and sex. Competition at its most primordial. The Marqiry, like their floating islands, are shrouded in mystery. They interact with foreigners only for trade and rarely tolerate them on their living ships. - Observations of Cultures Opening Statement about Marqir

Darian’s face felt puffy and inflamed. He was exhausted, but the jolts of pain lancing across his face kept him alert. He was a mess. Bruised throat, aching head, and his slow shambling made him feel like a walking corpse. The effect was only amplified by a torn and bloody shirt. He grimaced every time it was illuminated by the soft light of glowing mage lamps.

The lights were a welcome companion. Guiding him home. Magic. What must it be like to be capable of warping the world, bending it to your will? To harness strange invisible currents of power.

He shook such thoughts from his mind. Only those with bloodlines touched by divinity were capable of becoming mages. I'm as far from divine as you can get. He more closely resembled the great evil—the Nameless—the first being to be without a name. Except he renounced his, I was never given mine.

The area of the town where his aunt and uncle lived was nice. Houses had multiple stories and private yards where people could keep a cow and some chickens. The streets of Mapleton were always clean, but they were kept nearly spotless in the Green District. As Darian neared his uncle's home, his tired thoughts were broken by a loud voice. Darian's uncle, Cedric Thistle, was using his foreman's voice as he bellowed. Uncle never yells like that at home. It puzzled Darian, and he picked up his pace.

Darian rounded a corner and stopped as he saw his uncle, tall, dark brown hair, broad shoulders, and imposing. He was in another man's face. Mage lights cast deep shadows over age lines on the man's face. Darian was surprised by the black hair and groomed grey beard.

"You agreed when you took him in," said the shadowed man. His voice was clear and unyielding.

"And I don’t think it's best for him?"

The shadowed figure leaned in, "His mother would disagree."

"She's dead."

"Why do you think she made arrangements?"

Are they talking about my mother? Darian knew that his mother had arranged for him to be raised by his aunt and uncle before she died. Darian began to sneak closer, not wanting to miss anything the two men said. Wincing as he moved, he kept his footsteps light and crouched behind low half-fences, staying concealed as he moved closer.

"We've raised the boy—not you! Not his mother!" His uncle's growl was quite enough that Darian almost missed it.

"Your 'raising' of the boy has been an exercise in deliberate neglect."

"Neglect," Darian's uncle scoffed. "We've housed him, clothed him, fed him. He's never been left wanting!"

"But you’ve never loved him."

Cedric rocked as if slapped. "I—"

"The boy has problems."

"We—"

“How much interest have you and Lana taken in raising the boy? Cedric was quiet. “From what I’ve seen, the boy has been emotionally neglected and acts out because of it.” Silence answered the man. “You don’t know how much damage apathy can do to a child, do you?” The hair on Darian’s neck stood on end. Something lurked in the man’s voice. Something unknown and dangerous.

Darian watched as his uncle's head sunk lower and lower. He had to strain to hear the words he mumbled next," It is not our fault that he's not right in the head."

His uncle's words struck Darian like a physical blow. Opening perennial wounds. Wounds that he thought concealed. Kept hidden out of shame and fear.

"It is a direct result of your and Lana's inaction."

"And where were you, just watching it all happen?" His uncle stood up straight and looked down at the old man. Darian could see anger starting to twist his face.

"Finishing the work necessary to fulfill my end of the deal."

"What about Lana and me? What about what we were promised?" Darian flinched at the volume of his uncle's voice. It sounded up the street and was loud enough for anyone awake in the neighboring houses to hear.

What is going on? Darian was perplexed. It was clear that this man knew his mother and his uncle. They were involved in some sort of business. But how am I involved? It was apparent it was because of his mother, but even that raised its own questions.

"Three chances, Cedric. I gave you three chances. I warned you, you would be lucky if you got one child. Hoping for more was setting yourself up for disappointment."

"If he ever runs into Triune Inquisitors, they could arrest and even kill him."

"Gideon Vandrel is a tyrant. Despite that, he is a smart man. His refusal to give the Triune church any legal powers in the Duchies was one of his smartest decisions."

Cedric’s face paled, “You will not speak ill of the king like that near my home.”

“I speak the truth.”

Cedric swallowed audibly, looking around to ensure no one was on the street."He'll be press-ganged into service," he said.

"By the time I'm done with him, it won't be possible for anyone to take advantage of him."

"The law—"

"Darian will fulfill all of his legal obligations." The shadowed man's voice smoothly rolled over his uncle's.

Darian could feel his heart beating faster and faster. What were his uncle and the man talking about? Dangerous thoughts raced through Darian's mind. He had ideas but feared the true answer.

"He'll be even more of an outcast than he already is." Cedric's voice was nearly a mumble.

"Outcast," scoffed the man. "He's as much an outcast as you’ve helped him become, but that is his issue to resolve. I will keep my promise to his mother. He will become a mage even if I must drag him there." Turquoise eyes turned to Darian, pinning him to the spot. With his face better illuminated, Darian could see his regal features despite their weathered appearance. “The hells happened to you, boy?”

Darian was struck dumb by the man's words. A mage, and what does this have to do with my mother? Exhaustion made his thoughts slow. Like loose strings, they all kept getting tangled together.

A small but bright light appeared in the man's hand, and he lifted it, displaying Darian's sorry state. Darian reflexively breathed in. He should have knelt or bowed, but shock and muddled thoughts kept him upright.

"Darian," asked his uncle.

"Braxton." Darian's voice was a croak, and he winced as he spoke. His throat was sore from where Braxton had tried to strangle him.

This content has been misappropriated from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.

"You've been fighting again," demanded his uncle.

Darian tried to move to enter the house, hoping that if he moved quickly, he would avoid the coming lecture. A hand, gentle but firm, grasped his shoulder. Darian flinched and tried to move away from the contact.

"Still, boy." Turquoise eyes flashed, and Darian felt a gentle heat embrace his face and neck. Darian relaxed as the heat soothed his angry nose and balmed his damaged throat. "Close your mouth and relax."

Darian closed his mouth and tried to relax. It amazed him how willing his beaten muscles were to listen. He wobbled on, only remaining upright because of the support of an invisible cocoon that embraced his entire body.

Sharp and intense pain broke the comfortable feeling as his nose snapped back into place. His vision blurred as tears filled his eyes. He would have collapsed if not for the gentle pressure enveloping him. He wanted to scream, but his mouth refused to open, and he only managed a garbled cry. A bone-deep exhaustion enveloped him, and despite the pain, his eyelids began to droop.

"That's anything that would cause long-term problems, fixed. Your nose will look funny until you fix it yourself. Healing magic takes a lot of energy from the caster and the person it's being cast on." Through teary eyes, Darian saw the man looking around. Lights inside a few homes had been turned on. "Let's move this conversation inside."

Darian could feel his uncle's eyes boring into him. " That would be best," he said, his shoulders slumped. Turning towards the door and opening it, he entered his home.

"Come." Darian walked in a stupor as he was gently led through the door and into the front room, where the man sat him at the dining table. Once Darian was seated, the old mage offered a hand. "My name is Lys; don’t bother with any titles."

Darian's uncle came into view, "Explain," he sighed.

"Mason and—

"You got Mason involved," groaned his uncle with his head in his hands.

"Mason got me involved," Darian said flatly. "Braxton and his friends were dragging a kid into an alley to work him over." He explained what had happened while conveniently leaving out the part where he’d been tempted to kill an unconscious Braxton. I would have if it weren’t for Mason. The thought disturbed him. Was he really willing to kill someone like that? He would have killed me.

"Neither of you should have gotten involved," said Cedric, wringing his hands.

"Hah," scoffed Lys, "You've always been a coward, Cedric, but I never took you for a fool."

"How dare—"

"The boy did what was right; he was nearly killed because of it," said Lys. "Your sister got all the spine in the family." Lys turned to face Darian, "I don’t give a damn about your fights, boy. I came here to see what material I had to work with. Can you read and write?"

Darian, puzzled, just shook his head.

"Math?"

Despite the heat from his nose, Darian felt his face flush. "Simple figures, sir." Darian's mind was only now catching up to the man's being a mage. It was perplexing. What is he doing here, and why is his uncle talking to him so casually?

"Simple figures," Lys said flatly. "Can't read. Can't write. Doesn’t know math." Darian winced with each proclamation. "You're brave, willing to stand with a friend." Lys nodded to himself. "You don't seem stupid." he said slowly, "I've worked with worse."

"Sir, I don't understand. What's going on?"

"It's Lys, boy. As for what is going on, you will become a mage. Hopefully, you'll be half as capable as your mother was."

Darian blinked, struggling to process what was said, "My mother was a mage?"

Turquoise eyes turned to Cedric, "You never told him." Lys' sounded astonished. "Fourteen years, and you never told him." Lys looked at Cedric with disgust.

"What point was there in telling him," he demanded. "It would have only put foolish, damaging, and dangerous notions in his head."

"You are an idiot."

"Magic got his mother killed," exploded Cedric. "You gave her magic, Lys, and it killed her!"

"Magic was the only thing that could have saved her," spat Lys before he turned back to Darian. "Your mother was a mage, the best of her generation, the most naturally gifted I've ever worked with."

Silence filled the small room. Heavy, like a blanket, it smothered everything but Darian's racing thoughts. If Lys was telling the truth, then the laws of the Duchies made her a noble. He was the bastard son of a mage. Nameless. He was nameless. Darian glared back at Lys. He's lying. This is just another joke. "How did she die?"

"A disease."

Darian's eyes narrowed. "That's not true." He knew he should guard his tongue. He was speaking to an old mage, considering how slow they aged, but anger and fatigue had driven any amount of common sense from him. He was sick of being lied to. "Disease can’t kill mages. Mages don't whore around, and they most certainly do not have bastards," Darian shouted.

Lys's face darkened, and slowly, deliberate step after deliberate step, he closed the space between himself and Darian. Darian gulped. Although Lys wasn't a tall man, he loomed over him. It felt like a mountain was bearing down on him.

"You make many assumptions despite knowing little. You have too much of your uncle in you." Darian winced and withered, his anger drained, leaving only fatigue behind. "I have not lied to you, and in time, you will come to see the truth of what I've told you." Then, Lys backed up, and a black onyx ring appeared in his hand. "This belonged to your mother." He paused, looking Darian up and down. "I was going to give it to you tonight, but after your display of astounding idiocy, you won't get your ungrateful hands on it until you've earned it."

Darian had to restrain himself from reaching for the ring. The simple black band gleamed like it was made of glass, and then, as fast as it had come, it was gone—vanished away to wherever Lys had it stored.

Lys turned to Darian's uncle, "You will keep the boy a little longer." He moved to leave, only pausing at the door. "I'll come for him soon."

"For what," asked Darian.

"To uphold the promise I made to your mother and to instruct you in the arcane arts." He looked sour. "It'll be a special little hell—one we can share."

Both Darian and Cedric sat in silence, staring at the closed door.

"Clean yourself up and get to bed. We've got an early day tomorrow."

Darian just nodded and lurched to his feet. Walking on trembling legs, he made his way up the stairs using the railing to keep himself standing. It's muster day tomorrow, he noted to himself.

While the men practiced formation drills and worked the spear stances, the rest of the town practiced emergency drills, ranging from fires to attacks from magical beasts. The second part of the day would include a community meal and friendly competitions of skill and strength. There would also be music and games.

Darian looked forward to none of it.

Darian topped the stairs and lurched to the door to his room. As he fumbled with the latch, he heard a gasp behind him. Looking back, he saw big brown eyes peeking at him from behind a cracked open door.

"You are supposed to be asleep," he tried to force a smile onto his tired face.

Ava's door opened, and she slipped out of her room. She was small, with a thin frame and long brown hair. Her usual radiant smile was gone, replaced with a face full of concern.

"What happened," she asked, "your nose…"

"Mason got me into some trouble, but It's handled." He shrugged while trying to conceal the weariness in his voice. Ava's face turned even more distraught, and tears began to form in her eyes. Darian opened his arms wide, and not missing the opportunity, Ava rushed in, embracing him in a tight hug.

Darian grunted; his bruised and battered body protested his cousin's best attempts to crush his ribcage. And when she released him, he had to stop himself from gasping in relief.

Ava wrinkled her nose, "You stink, and you're dirty."

Darian looked down at himself. His shirt and pants were covered in dust and dried blood, and he hadn't noticed the holes that had been torn in them. "You probably shouldn't have hugged me. Looking her over in the dim light illuminating the hall from downstairs, he tried to see if she had gotten any of his blood on her. Aunt Lana might notice I exist. If only to tan my hide. He couldn't keep the bitter thought from surfacing. Thankfully, he didn't see any of his mess on her.

"What happened," she asked again, more insistent this time.

"Mason stepped in to help someone. I had to watch his back." He couldn't help but chuckle bitterly to himself. He talked like he'd done something other than get his nose half smashed in.

"Are you okay," her soft hand reached up, stopping just before touching his face.

'That bad, huh?"

"It's… bent."

Darian smiled. Mason was as solid as stone, constant, and dependable, but his cousin Ava could always make him smile, regardless of how he was feeling. She's one of the only people that loves me because I'm me. The thought warmed him. He reached out and gently wrapped his knuckles on her head. "I'm going to bed."

She bristled, "When I get my hands on Braxton…" She trailed off into grumbles.

Darian couldn't help but laugh. Two years younger than him and as protective as a she-bear. "Goodnight, Ava," he turned and finally managed the latch to his door.

"Goodnight," Ava whispered behind him as he gently closed his door, doing his best to keep the hinges from squeaking. They'd needed oiling for a few weeks now. His room was small: a single bed with a trunk at its foot, a small table with accompanying stool, and a dresser. Slowly, he moved to the table and turned on the small mage lamp he kept there. It had been one of the first things he'd ever bought, and though it was simple in design and craft, he prized it.

He paused to puzzle at it. Could Lys be telling the truth? Would he eventually be capable of making such marvels? He shook his head. Of course not. He lacked the proper bloodline. He couldn't become a mage. My mother might have been one. The thought was treacherous, and he recoiled from it. Only if you believe the words of a stranger. But his uncle hadn’t refuted those words. He inhaled deeply and pushed the thoughts away. Exhaustion made it easy to clear his mind.

With the room bright enough to comfortably see, he fetched the small mirror he kept in the dresser and got a good look at himself. He winced when he saw his face. Ava had been kind in describing his nose as "bent." The degree of the twist and bend were impressive, and that's after Lys healed it.

He'd never been the best-looking; he had never considered himself handsome, but he wasn't entirely plain. Brown or red hair was the standard in Mapleton, and Darian's short tan, almost blonde, hair was another feature that set him apart. What was one more? If anything, the broken nose added a ruggedness to his features, slightly aging his boyish face. That was what he tried to tell himself as he stared into his green eyes, trying to ignore how lopsided his face looked.

Darian was tall for his age; his frame was willowy. He would have called himself skinny in the past, but work at the lumberyard had helped pack some muscle onto him. Sighing, Darian began to remove his dirty clothes. Using a small wash basin and a cloth from his dresser, he did his best to clean all the dried blood from his face and body. Finally, after he decided he was clean enough not to get his sheets dirty, he collapsed into bed.

Despite his aching body, it didn't take long before he drifted off to sleep, his mind whirling with the fight, the conversation with Lys and his uncle Cedric, and above all, his mother and the impossibility of her ever being a mage.