Fire, water, earth, air, light, shadow, life, death, harmony, chaos, time, and destiny. These twelve runes make up the basic building blocks of all magical constructs. Your first assignment is to master these twelve runes. They are every mage's foundation and while being individually simplistic. Combined into chords, melodies, or symphonies, they can create wonders. - Royal College of Lucendia, Introductory Lecture on Magic. Professor Byant Cole

"Lift!" Darian strained under the weight of the heavy wooden table. Muster day was ending, and the older boys had been tasked with dragging chairs, tables, and cookware out onto the town green for the regular communal dinner. It had been a long month and a half, but Darian's body had mostly recovered except for his nose. It remained bent and twisted.

"Come on, crooked face, lift!"

Five. Darian grunted under the strain of lifting the table; it felt like he was the only one lifting. The jabs had become familiar since the fight with Braxton. Same target, different reason. They would have been insulting him for some other reason. At least with his nose being an obvious target, the jokes were predictable. After the first week, he’d started to count the most common ones. It made him grin when he realized how unoriginal most of them were.

He strained under the table's weight as they shuffled across the green. They dropped the table in place with a collective sigh of relief. He leaned against the table and let his arms rest from the strain. That's the last of them. Already, the boys around him were dispersing. Their task was done, and they were free for the rest of the day.

Darian looked around. The green was bustling with people. Large clusters of cooking stations filled the green, and the aromas of cooking food made Darian's mouth water.

"Darian."

Darian turned towards the sound of Mason's voice. Mason was still walking with a slight limp. His foot had not quite recovered from the fight. Darian couldn't help but smile. They had yet to catch up since that night. There had been brief conversations. Intentionally, most likely.

Mason's father had never been fond of Darian or his son spending time with him, but he'd allowed it for some reason. That tolerance might be coming to an end. The thought hurt, and Darian tried pushing it away as Mason walked up.

"All done," asked Mason.

"Yeah, this was the last table." There was a brief pause in the conversation as both boys just looked at each other.

"How is your nose?"

"The insults have all been so unoriginal I've started to keep track of the repeats," his smile was bittersweet.

Mason's face hardened, "I don't like how people treat you."

Darian just shrugged. He didn't like it either. It was unfair to the point of being cruel, but there wasn't much point in complaining. Maybe once I leave in the army. When I'm around people who don't know me. Maybe in the bigger cities, people wouldn't care as much. He might just be another face in a much larger crowd.

"How's your foot," he asked.

Mason winced, "It wasn't broken, just sprained. It's mostly better, but hurts if I'm up on it too much. If I was going to hurt myself, it was the time to do it, though. I've been mostly working on my reading and writing. Father has me managing paperwork now." He wrinkled his nose in disgust, "I never would have let him teach me to read and write if I knew that I would be stuck digging through old books."

Darian couldn't help but chuckle, "I've never been happier to be illiterate." A thought hit him: how long would that last? He hadn't seen Lys since that night. It's been over a month. Maybe he had been lying. Why do I even care? One conversation. That was the extent to which he knew the old mage, but for some reason, the idea that his mother had been a mage had given him… something. Not quite hope, but a fleeting feeling that for once in his life, he might… matter.

When he reflected on his words, that was why he'd lashed out. That was why he'd called Lys a liar. Why he'd repeated Braxton's words. Why, for a brief moment, he'd revolted at the idea of his mother being a mage. I was afraid that once given, it would be taken away. Should I tell Mason?

He was surprised he even had to ask himself that. He wouldn't have hesitated to tell him anything in the past, but for some reason, he hadn't yet. Maybe because it was all so unbelievable. Oh hey, that night when I got my head hit a whole lot and almost got choked to death. I met a man who told me my mother was a mage and that he would train me to be one to. But I haven't seen him since, and I don't know when I will see him next.

It sounded crazy, and Darian had considered more than a few times that he really had hit his head too hard and hallucinated the whole thing. Only the way his uncle refused to answer any questions gave his memory any credence. Still, the entire affair sounded insane, and Darian wasn't sure how Mason would react.

"Darian!"

Mason's voice made him jump, "Sorry. I… got lost."

"I could see that. You went from laughing at me to looking like someone had drowned your cat."

"I have a cat?"

"The Richens just had a litter. Want me to get you one?"

"Daughter, protect me; my uncle would tan my hide," A thought struck him. "Ava would love it." Her radiant smile floated through his mind, "It might just be worth it."

"If you're serious…"

Darian shook his head, "I better not. I'm still in hot water from our last adventure."

Mason winced, "Still?"

"It's why he's kept me so busy. He doesn't want me to have enough free time to lead you astray. How about you, are you all good?"

"Mostly, my dad has been keeping me busy, but I don't think it's much more than I would have been. I think in his mind, me dealing with years of backlog paperwork is punishment enough…" Mason trailed off sheepishly.

"What is it," Darian knew that look. Fidgeting hands and feet, eyes downcast. Mason was embarrassed about something.

"He agreed with why I stepped in to help Lucas," Mason said in a rush all in one breath.

"I assumed it was because of your naturally righteous spirit," Darian couldn't help but jab at him. It was rare that Mason was embarrassed about anything. What kind of friend would I be if I didn't take advantage… "You know, defending the weak. Protecting the innocent." He couldn't keep the grin off his face as Mason's cheeks grew pink.

"It's because of his sister. I—"

"Nameless!" Darian let out a groan. "Just the idle hands I need." it was Preecher Ailis's peevish voice.

Darian turned to see Ailis striding towards them, his long grey robes swaying around him. His hopes for a pleasant rest of the day died. Seeing the tall, thin man made him clench his jaw. It was reflexive, a learned action to prevent him from saying anything stupid. Stay calm; maybe it's something small.

"With the storage shed mostly empty, I've just realized how dirty it is. Since you're not busy, you will help me clean it."

"Preacher, might it not wait another day," asked Darian.

"It will not wait for another day. You've been given a task. Now, see, it's done," commanded Ailis.

"I'll come help, it'll be—"

"You've helped enough." Ailis's harsh tone softened, "Your foot is still recovering. I wouldn't want to push it more than you already have today. Me and the nameless will manage without you." Ailis turned to Darian, his pleasant voice turning hard. "Move, nameless."

"I can help, preacher," protested Mason.

While trying to keep his tone polite, Darian shook his head and said, "Preacher Ailis has the right of it, Mason. You've been on your foot too much." He turned to Ailis. "What needs cleaning?"

"That is the right attitude, nameless. Follow me." Ailis walked briskly, leading Darian back to the storage shed.

Darian held in a groan when he entered the shed. When they'd been moving the tables, he'd noted that the shed was cluttered; only now that he was faced with the prospect of spending the rest of his night cleaning it did he realize just how messy it was. Tools leaned haphazardly against the walls; old pews and chairs, in various stages of disrepair, were stacked one atop another. Spare furniture and boxes. The layers of dust grew thicker and thicker the further back he looked.

"You'll start with the old pews and chairs. I want them moved, wiped down, and then their place dusted."

"You are a prick." Darian closed his eyes slowly. Why had he said that? It had just slipped out. Ailis's casual degradation of him always made him combative. You just gave him exactly what he wanted.

Ailis halted and then turned a wicked grin back on Darian. "There's a demon in you. You conceal it well, but I see it." He slowly approached Darian, taking up his personal space. Darian refused to give ground.

"Why do you single me out?"

"With name renounced, and now nameless, he struck down the Caretaker, his divine parent, with the Sword of Rebellion."

"Scripture doesn't answer my question."

"Scripture explains a great deal. It's our guiding light, our pathway to the side of the Daughter, the Son, and the Caretaker. Scripture has given me sight into your soul, nameless, and all I see is black."

Darian clenched his fists. He doesn't know a damn thing about me.

"I single you out because the Daughter, despite your affliction, teaches that all are redeemable, but redemption is a long and difficult road." He leaned in, almost touching Darian. "You are so lost that I must lead you by the nose if you are to stay the course, and for the sake of those that live in this town, you will be redeemed or driven off." He sneered, "I suspect you won't be here many more years."

“Fundamentalist,” spat Darian.

"You seek to shame the guiding light of your Gods? Should we not learn their teachings, or would you have us pick and choose which of their tenants to follow?" Ailis curled his lip. "You believe yourself capable of dictating where only the Caretaker and his children can. You are not doing yourself any favors, Nameless. Now," he motioned towards the old pews, "work."

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Darian glared at the sneering man and turned back to his task. Ailis had trained in Aurelis. He bragged about their shining spires and great cathedrals whenever he got the chance, and for as long as he could remember, Ailis singled him out. Used him as an example of what not to be.

Moving the pews by himself was hard work. Both heavy and awkward, it was slow going. Minutes turned to hours, and Darian grew more restless as the seconds ticked by, slowed to a crawl by Ailis's sharp eyes.

Every time Darian saw the slight smile on Ailis's face, his annoyance grew. It didn't take long before annoyance turned to rage. Still, he managed to keep it bottled up, refusing to give the preacher any satisfaction of knowing he was getting to him. I'm going to miss dinner at this rate. It wouldn't be long until the tables would be brought back into the shed; at least then, he'd have to move. He paused, looking at the pews. How easy would this be with magic? The idea made goosebumps appear on his skin, and for the briefest of seconds, he pictured himself as a mage.

Powerful and capable. Darian shook the thought from his head. He disagreed with Ailis on many things, but they would have both agreed that Darian becoming a mage was improbable.

As he worked, he forced his mind to other things, ignoring his insistence stomach. He thought of his work at the mill. The timber forts had been doing a terrible job of ensuring everything dangerous was out of the trees before they floated the timber downriver. The men who managed the kilns had been finding Blazeleaf Moss.

He thought of magic and Lys, of how simple it would make his life. He could clean this entire shed with a wave of his hand. He thought of being a soldier, moving from place to place, seeing more of the world than anyone he knew would believe.

Maybe I could become a mage knight? A chill ran up his spine at the thought. It was a dangerous fancy. Heretical even. He glanced at Ailis, hoping his thoughts hadn't been showing on his face. Luckily, the man was looking out the door, a content smile on his face.

The quiet sounds of the dinner filtered in through the open door. Darian continued to clean, even as the sounds of dinner turned to song, dance, and the cheers of games well played. He worked.

His thoughts were interrupted by the sound of a bell. Then it rang again. And again. Three rings. It had been a long time since Darian had heard the bell ring three times in sequence. Was it a mistake or another drill? It was muster day, after all. They'd spent the morning drilling; Lord Blackwood might have decided on one more.

The sounds of people running and yelling told Darian otherwise.

"Inside the church." Ailis's command surprised Darian.

Darian didn't hesitate to drop the pew he had been dragging and head for the door, close on Preacher Ailis's heels. Everyone outside was moving. The men of the militia ran for their weapons. Everyone else, the old, the young, women, and children, were all doing what the bell commanded: seeking shelter. Darian froze in the doorway, watching people move. Everyone knew what to do; there was a reason they ran drills once a week.

Many were headed for the church, as it was the closest location. They ran towards its open doorway. With its warded stone walls and reinforced doors and windows, it was the most fortified location in the town.

I wonder what's been spotted. It could have been many things. Situated in the foothills of the Red Ridge mountains, they were considered a frontier town. Lord Blackwood will keep the town safe. It was his duty as Lord of Mapleton. It was his primary role as a mage lord.

Darian plunged into the crowd's noise, trying to avoid brushing into anyone as he entered the large church. He passed through the melded stone arch of the door and into the main prayer hall. The room could comfortably seat hundreds, but it was filling fast. His traitorous heart began to race. He did his best to avoid touching anyone as he went deeper into the hall, trying to find a spot where he would have some space. Where he might be left alone.

Thankfully, his status in the community kept his fellow townfolk at arm's length. He drifted through the hall, a silent ghost in a room almost painfully loud. Finally, he found an open spot at the feet of a great statue of the Daughter. The statue was beautiful, depicting a flawless female face with long hair, wearing simple robes with her hands clasped in prayer.

Ava! The realization that he hadn't even been looking for his cousin in the turmoil of the moment hit him. His aunt rarely let his cousin out of her sight. She'd make sure she was safe. Still, Darian worried.

This wasn't his first time in the church, but he'd been here a few enough times that he still marveled at the beauty of its construction. Statues of the Triune stood in a triangle around the room, all facing an altar. Enchanted banners gleamed with the different symbols of the faith. Silver mage lamps lined the walls, and looking down from above, painted onto the ceiling, was the most beautiful artwork Darian had ever seen. Despite not being the first time he saw it, it still stunned him.

Painted in black, white, and shades of gray, it depicted the Fall. Three figures, the Son, the Daughter, and the Caretaker, knelt in a triangle, their hands clasped. They were being consumed by a cloud of shadow, the embodiment of evil. The first Nameless.

"There are ships!" the shout was barely heard over the crowd's noise. There was another indiscernible shout, and the room slowly fell silent. "Ships from Thralos. They’re attacking the docks!"

The room erupted into noise again. With it being primarily women and children, Darian was surprised at the volume. He heard questions, condemnations, cries of fear, and curses. It all blended together into a mindless cacophony.

What am I doing here? He realized with a jolt that even if the fighting spilled into the town, it would be better to be out there than huddled in the church. Not even Thralosians would dare attack a church of the Triune. It would be safer here. They might not worship the Triune in Thralos, but the ramifications of despoiling a Triune temple could be severe.

As he looked around and more people arrived, he decided he would be better outside than in the church. He moved further back into the building. He knew there were other entrances. Hopefully, they aren't blocked off.

Darian entered a side hall, passing small rooms that could have been offices or dorms he didn't know. He'd never been this far into the church. The building was the biggest in the town, looming over most of Mapleton, and was able to fit a quarter of the town's inhabitants into its prayer hall. Thankful he didn't run into any of the staff as he silently crept through the halls. There's an exit on the North side. He knew it was there because of the outside complex connected to the building.

It wasn't hard to find. While the church was grand in construction, it was simple in layout, and straight hallways were easy to navigate. He slipped through the door and into the small complex of walled buildings. There were people here, but they were fewer in number. He approached the cracked open gate.

A hand grabbed his shoulder. Darian twisted from its grip and took off, pushing through the opened gate before anyone could stop him.

"Wait! It isn't safe!" The shouts didn't follow him for long as he rushed towards the docks. He kept to the shadows. The town was still active as people rushed to their homes. Darian avoided any direct attention by continuing to move.

I can't stand out if I'm running around like everyone else. Still, as Darian neared the west side of Mapleton, the streets became quieter, and the only people running around were men with spears in hand wearing thick padded jackets. They all moved in the same direction: the docks.

Darian stayed out of their way. He'd decided that while he would fight, it would only be if necessary.

Distant shouts grew louder as he neared the docks. The cries found his ears. Screams of pain. Men bleating their final guttural words into the uncaring evening. Darian halted at the sounds. He'd never heard anyone make sounds like that. Darian's stomach clenched, and a chill crept up his spine. He looked around at the two and three-story buildings. He made his decision quickly.

Climbing was something he'd always been better at than Mason. Mason despised heights. Darian clambered up the side of a shop using a stack of empty crates next to it to reach the first floor. He scrambled his way to a balcony and from there to the roof.

Darian moved quickly, jumping the gap between buildings and reaching the top of the next house. The shouts and screams were much clearer up here. His vantage also gave him a view of the docks. One ship was moored to the dock, and the raiders, for that is what they had to be, had already disembarked. It was difficult to precisely determine what the raiders looked like in the dim light of the setting sun, but one thing was obvious. Their skin was dark brown. They had to be from Zarinia or Thralos…

The realization chilled him. He'd heard rumors of how men from Thralos would don the guise of Zarinian raiders to capture their neighbors across the border and make a profit selling them into slavery. Two miles of river. That was all that would have separated any captives. It might as well have been a world away. There was another ship holding not far from the docks.

But how would Zarinian raiders have made it up the Lucent and then the Spur? Thralos controlled the gap and guarded it jealously if the sailors who transported Mapleton's lumber spoke the truth.

The raiders were being pushed back. Slowly but surely, the guard and town militia were gaining ground. Hemming them in. Forcing them from the surrounding buildings and onto the open streets that lined the docks. Flashes of light and the blasts of sound drew Darian's attention.

Men parted around two figures moving with exceptional speed, blades flashing. That's Lord Blackwood! Darian thought with excitement. Lord Blackwood was young for a lord, but he had ambition. He'd have to, to agree to be sent here.

Frontier towns like theirs rarely had a mage lord living there. While they might be ruled by one, most would rule from the comfort of a baronial or ducal capital. Only traveling to their lands when necessity required.

A blast of invisible force slammed the two apart. Both men were sent sprawling. Darian couldn't see their faces, but surprise was evident in both of their stances. A figure seemingly materialized out of a shadow next to Lord Blackwood. Darian's eyes widened in realization. Thats Lys.

Darian jumped to the next roof. He needed to see what would happen. What is Lys doing? He's going to get himself killed! Lys was a mage, but what was the chance he knew how to fight? He was only getting in the way of Lord Blackwood. It scared Darian. Lys had given him a lifeline. Thin and tenuous, but it was there. It's all a lie, anyway. I shouldn't care. Still, he couldn't help himself as he neared the rooftop overlooking the dock.

"What are you doing?" Blackwood demanded at Lys's back.

"Ensuring the safety of Mapleton."

Ignoring Lord Blackwood yelling at him, Lys walked towards the raider's mage. The man readied himself, raising his sword while a flame appeared in his free hand. Darian watched Lys flick his hand at the man. A wall of force ripped stones from the cobbled street as it tore toward the Zarinian mage.

An opaque barrier appeared in front of the blast. It met the wave of force and shattered like glass. The man was sent staggering back.

Darian was stunned. It had happened faster than he could process.

"My name is Lys. Whom do I have the pleasure of fighting?"

"I am called Lucan."

"Take your men and leave."

"I will not flee from an old man." Balls of flame sprung from his hand and shot toward Lys. Darian's chest tightened as he willed Lys to move out of the way.

The balls of fire spread out as they flew, each coming at Lys from a different angle. Lys stood there awaiting his fate as Lucan's mage fire bore down on him. They flew past Lys, barely missing him, arcing around, and heading straight for Lucan. Darian saw his eyes go wide. Another opaque shield slammed into place just in time for the orbs of fire to wash over it. Sending liquid flame cascading across its surface.

"In the Shah's name, who are you," demanded Lucan.

Lys just shook his head. "You declined talk." Lys reached out an empty hand as if grasping for something. Darian blinked, and a sword was in his hand. Its silver point gleamed with ethereal light. The blade was elegant, its single edge tapered to a fine point. Faintly glowing patterns resembling vines flowed along the flat of the blade.

Lucan stumbled back, his dark skin paled. He brought his own blade up into a guard. Lys stepped towards Lucan.

The Zarinian mage thrust out his hand, shouting a discordant noise. Like dragon fire, an inferno washed from his hand. The noise of the fighting and the injured was drowned out by the roar of the conflagration.

But as it neared Lys, its flow wavered, then flame and sound were snuffed out. It's vanishing, left spots in Darian's vision.

Darian could see fear in Lucan's eyes. His chest was heaving, and sweat dripped from his brow. Still, Lys walked towards him. The fighting had stopped as men watched the mage duel in amazement.

Just as Lys entered his sword's reach, Lucan lunged for him, lancing his blade at Lys's heart.

Lys sidestepped the lunge, his own blade casually moving to Lucan's throat, whose own momentum carried him through the slash. He staggered, dropped his sword, and grasped at his neck. Darian could see blood oozing from between his fingers. He was stunned.

Everything Lys had done had been slow. Deliberate. Not once had he been pushed by Lucan. And Lucan had fought toe to toe with Lord Blackwood. A chill crept up Darian's spine. Just who is he?

Lys stepped up to the man and gently placed a hand on the back of his neck. He spoke softly in a lilting melodic language as if singing a prayer. A pulse of blue light shot into Lucan's body. Lucan looked to the sky and froze in place, blue light flickering under his skin. He smiled faintly before he erupted into blue flame.

It consumed him from the inside out. There were no screams. He stood there silently for the seconds it took the fire to consume him. His armor and weapons clattered to the ground, unmarred.

"Get back on your ships and leave." The fighting had stalled, and the two sides were moving away. The raiders broke, running for their ship.

Insults and jeers followed them as they ran, but none of the men of Mapleton moved to follow. What would be the point? They had won; there was no need to risk more of their lives. It only took minutes for the raiders to get their ship unmoored and pushed off the docks. The second ship was already moving downriver.

They watched the ship clear the docks and make it to open water. Lys's sword vanished as he raised both hands, one directed at each ship. Orbs of blue formed between his fingers. They shot from his hands in blinding streaks of light. Darian watched in stunned silence as turquoise flames splashed across their hulls.

The inferno spread like wildfire, and these flames didn't ignore men and their equipment. It consumed the ships, turning them into raging bonfires that floated down the Spur towards the Lucent. As the vessel moved down the Spur, Darian could see figures aflame jumping overboard, seeking to douse the flames. Even as they submerged themselves, the flames still raged. Refusing to be snuffed by the river.

Slowly, the boats and their men faded into tiny dots of glowing light that dotted the surface of the Spur.

Darian wasn't sure how long he sat there, but it was well into the night, and he was only roused by the bell ringing signaling the all-clear. He'd been stunned by how Lys had handled himself.

Judging from the rumors, Lord Blackwood was supposedly an accomplished mage knight. He hadn't even compared.

Magic. Darian licked his lips. Despite the cool night, beads of sweat lined his forehead. How in all the Hells am I supposed to ever learn magic?

It just wasn't possible. It was obvious that Lys was divinely blessed. It would explain the way he acts. That had to be it, but that still didn't explain why Lys planned to teach him. It had something to do with his mother, but he couldn't even begin to guess how she had become involved. He didn't know much about her. His uncle had always avoided answering his questions.

It didn't make sense. Mages were born. Products of bloodlines closer to the gods than others or, in the case of commoners, the result of divine blessing. Can he really make me a mage? A shock ran through Darian. Was he really considering this? At some point in the fight, his opinion of Lys had changed.

Lucan had never even posed a threat to Lys. The fight had been dramatic but for different reasons than the stories. Mage duels in the stories involved pillars of flame, gusts of cutting wind, and the very ground cracking apart. Not even Lord Blackthorn's duel had been like that, at least, from the little Darian had seen.

Blackthorn and Lucan had dueled with blades, using their magic sparingly.

He thought of the power Lys had wielded. It made the hairs on Darian's neck rise. And like that, he had his answer. He was born to fight.

If he will teach me to fight like him, then yes, whatever the cost, I will become a mage.