I will protect humanity from threats within and threats without. Even should it cost me my life. - Knight Oath of the Lucentine Order.

Fire engulfed Darian's vision. He closed his eyes, trying to shut out the flames. A blaze of heat washed over him. His hands and forearms erupted in burning agony. The wash of heat receded, and he dared open his eyes. His hands were ablaze. The sap and blazeleaf had been lit, their flames clinging to his skin like water droplets.

He stared in stunned horror as the flames jumped from his flesh to his shirt. He struggled to kneel, but his left leg refused to respond. He looked down at it in confusion.

A large splinter of wood jutted out from the center of his thigh. There's so little blood. A manic chuckle escaped his lips.

Reality came crashing back as fiery pain gripped his hands and forearms. Ignoring his leg, he desperately started swiping his hands against the ground, trying to smother the flames. His eyes fell on the sack of sand he had dropped. It lay on the ground, split open, its contents spilling out. Darian plunged his hands into the sand, hoping it would be enough to put the flames out.

His hands burned, and every grain was agony against his burned flesh, but they were no longer aflame. The fire smothered.

Darian gulped air down. He realized he'd been holding his breath as acrid smoke filled his mouth and lungs. The taste and smell almost made him puke.

How fast is the fire spreading? The air was filled with dust and smoke. Already, much of the lumber yard was occluded from sight.

Breathing was becoming difficult.

He tried to push himself up with red-blistered hands, but they and his leg refused. His body was betraying him. He tried to drag himself. Using his good leg to push. Again, his hands failed him, flaring in pain as he touched the stone ground.

This can't be happening. Darian didn't understand, couldn't comprehend what had happened. Blazeleaf isn't explosive. This had to be a bad dream. He'd overslept. Any second, his uncle would bang on the door, demanding he get up. He'd wake up from this nightmare. He waited, and seconds stretched by.

Smoke was filling the air.

No one was coming.

It crushed him. He could hear something… muffled shouts under the roar of the fire. They were so close. But no one came for him. Hopeless. The bitter taste of his impending fate made him wretch, emptying his stomach on the ground. His head was spinning.

Under the roar of the spreading blaze and muffled shouts, Darian could hear a discordant melody—soft and harsh—grating already raw nerves. I'm dying. A small heat bloomed in his chest. His heart was pounding, blood hammering in his ears. How is this fair?

Orphaned. Neglected. Distrusted. Nameless.

"Why me?" He could barely hear his own voice. "Triune, what have I done?" He thought of Mason. He'd be upset. He'd be the only one.

That's not true. Ava will miss me. In truth, she'd be heartbroken at his death. The idea enraged Darian, and the heat in his chest spread.

Again, he attempted to stand. His scorched hands and wounded leg screamed at him, and Darian yelled defiance into the smoke and flames, adding his own scream to its song. The discordant melody grew in volume as he stood, suppressing the muffled shouts of the men fighting the blaze.

His entire body trembled as he stood, and his lungs burned as he inhaled smoke. He didn't care. He’d stood. He took a step. Placing one trembling leg in front of himself. He would walk out of the smoke.

One step. Then another before he collapsed. He growled in pain as he landed hard on one knee.

"This isn't fair!" After everything he'd endured. The taunts, the bullying, the fights. "Why," he yelled into the flames, and the song grew in volume.

Darian hardly noticed.

No family.

Rage flared in his chest, and the heat spread, its unpleasant warmth threatening to consume him.

No friends.

He thought of Lys and his offer.The first ray of hope he'd ever been offered.

Nameless.

Darian pushed back at the thoughts. They were not his words, and he refused to give them any credence. He had Ava. He had Mason, "And I will be whoever I damn well please," he coughed out, fighting the smoke that eagerly filled his lungers.

The music rose to a crashing cacophony that rang in his ears. The heat in his chest began to pulsate in time with it. It burned with every beat. Demanding release while reverberating throughout his body.

Gossamer trails of violets, oranges, and reds faded in and out of the smoke. Dancing among the swirling smoke and flames. They called to him, whispering quiet melodies among the cacophony of sound assaulting him. Darian's head spun, and he screamed as the heat in his chest reached a crescendo.

He felt like molten metal had been poured down his throat. Again, his eyes caught the trail of colors, and instinctively, he reached for its calm melody. He fell, coughing, and landed face-first. He was so tired. He could barely move.

Darian groaned, reaching again, willing his body to move. It refused him, but something else moved. A tiny thread of energy. He didn't know how to describe it. On instinct, he willed it to reach out to the power in the air. Unlike the swirling patterns, he couldn't see what he was moving but could feel it. Taught, thin, and infantile.

It barely responded. Its movement was sporadic. Slowly, Darian moved it from the core of his being until it sat just underneath his skin. As it moved, it branched off, following the thousands of blood vessels scattered throughout his body.

The fire at his core had lessened, becoming a soothing balm as it spread, and the riotous maelstrom of music ringing in his head had quieted. Still, it wasn't enough. The smoke was killing him. Blackness encroached on the edges of Darian's vision. I refuse… to die here. He forced the thread from his body.

Darian's back arched as a jolt of energy charged through him, stampeding along the tether. He tried to scream, but his mouth refused to open. Every muscle in his body was clenched so hard they felt like they were trying to tear themselves apart.

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He had to force it out.

Darian, directionless, tried to halt the stampeding fire in his veins, but unlike the thread, it refused to move. His mind was beginning to slip, panic, and smoke threatened to drag him into unconsciousness.

I refuse… Darian thought of the fires around him, the smoke filling his lungs, and the burning energy coursing through his body… I refuse to die here. This was just one more fight, and he'd been fighting his whole life. If I had power…

He couldn't help but imagine pushing the smoke away, freezing the flames. The tether responded to his will.

Magic coursed through him like a river of molten light, searing and soothing in equal measure. A wave expanded from his body, dissipating smoke wherever it touched. Even as the smoke was dispelled his vision blackened, and unconsciousness took him to the distant hum of a quiet melody.

Darian drifted, lost in distant music that echoed along the tether. Heat and cold ebbed and flowed through him like the beating of a heart. Jolts, and soothing caresses emanated from those haunting melodies.

The aloof ache of pain heightened and faded, and finally, his eyelids fluttered.

Battling through exhaustion, his eyes opened, and he took in the room. It was small but familiar. My room. The realization surprised him.

A finger snapped in front of his face. The sound brought Darian's focus to the hand. He followed it with his eyes, traveling up wrist, arm, shoulder, neck, and face. Turquoise eyes framed by black and grey hair looking down at him. The man's lips were moving.

"—waking up."

Darian tried to speak but only succeeded in drooling on himself.

"Do not speak," Darian recognized the voice and the face. It was Lys. A cup of water was pushed to his lips. He wanted to sigh in relief as the cool liquid trickled down his throat."Relax and breathe," he said.

Darian rolled his eyes around. His little room was full of people. Ailis, Brawn, Lys, his uncle, and Lord Blackwood were all crammed into the small space. He nearly lost consciousness again at the site.

What's going on?

"My lords," Ailis said. We know what happened. The boy is responsible." Darian furrowed his eyebrows in confusion. "His carelessness resulted in this catastrophe. If not for the grace of the Triune, many would have died. Lord Blackwood, I beseech you; this boy has been a menace since the day—"

"It's my mill, Preacher. I've heard Merssing's side; I will hear the boy's." Darian had never heard Brawn's voice so grave.

Images of the fire and the explosion filtered through Darian's mind. "What… happened…" his voice was barely audible even to his ears.

"You—"

Lys raised a hand, cutting Ailis off, "Speak again, and you will be leaving." He turned back to Darian, the hardness in his eyes fading. "One of the kilns exploded. Something cleared out the smoke and dealt with the fires. Do you have any idea what did that?"

"Magic…" Darian whispered the words through cracked lips. It was all coming back to him. That fight between life and death. The warm heat that had burned him from the inside out. The music. Even now, he could feel something pulsing in his chest, like a second heart, beating away in perfect rhythm.

"You've done it now."

Fear spiked through Darian, "What… do you mean?"

"Whether you want it or not, you are a mage."

"Preposterous, the Truine would never entrust magic to a namelesss!"

Lys turned to the preacher, and as tired as he was, Darian could still see the rage burning in Lys's eyes. "Get out."

"Surely, my lord, as blessed as—" A translucent barrier slammed into the preacher. The wall rattled, threatening to break as Ailis was slammed into it.

"Go," growled Lys.

Ailis got to his feet; his face had gone pale. "I will see justice done. The divine demands it," he spat as he left the room, slamming the door shut.

Lys turned to Brawn, "Ask him your question, then get out."

Brawn nodded and swallowed. "Did you put blazeleaf in the kiln furnaces?"

Darian remembered the brown, crunchy moss. "Merssing told me to."

Brawn's face went red, and he let out a low growl. He was practically vibrating in place, barely controlling his rage. "You are done," Brawn spat, "Never come back to my mill." He stalked out of the room.

Darian looked at his uncle in confusion. Cedric looked nervous, rapidly wringing his hands, his shoulders were hunched forward. He jumped when Lord Blackwood broke the silence.

"It wasn't Darian's fault, Cedric. Kointh sap can be very dangerous under the right conditions. I doubt anyone knew, let alone your boy. I will ensure that Brawn knows and takes precautions in the future." He turned to Lys. "The law requires he be trained and registered. I don't want crown agents here."

"I'm going to take him. He'll be registered and trained."

A knot in Darian's chest relaxed at Lys's words. He hasn't changed his mind then. It surprised Darian just how much that meant to him.

Blackwood folded his arms. "I take it you will still refuse to answer my questions?"

"I don't wish to lie to you. So yes, I will be refusing."

"I'm done here then. Do what you need to, but don't stay in Mapleton any longer than you have to."

"That's best for everyone," agreed Lys before he turned back to Darian. "Cedric, I need a private word with Darian."

His uncle just nodded and left the room.

"What's going to happen to me," asked Darian.

"We can discuss the specifics later, but the short version is: you will be my apprentice. Right now, I need you to describe exactly what happened. Spare no details."

Darian told him. Leaving nothing out his voice growing in strength as he spoke. When he got to the string, Lys interrupted. "That is what is called a tether. Think of it like a bridge."

"A bridge?"

Lys shook his head, "important, but not at the moment. Continue."

He continued finishing his story with, "Then… I woke up." Darian was exhausted. The more he spoke, the harder it became to keep his head upright. At some point, he'd noticed that he couldn't move his hands, and looking under the blankets, he'd seen that they were tightly bound in white wraps. "How bad are my hands?"

"Your hands will be fine. At worst, there will be some light-scarring. What is more important is that it sounds like you successfully formed your tether. It's good but presents a short-term problem."

"I don't understand," said Darian.

"I wasn't going to make you a mage until you were sixteen.”

A jolt of surprise shot through Darian. Why wait that long?

“What happened today significantly shortens our schedule." Lys shook his head. "For now, you need to rest. I'm going to let you go back to sleep."

"But I have…" Darian trailed off. He felt something dissipate as energy drained from his body. "What did.. You do?"

"Removed the spell that was keeping you awake. Get some rest. You need it."

Darian struggled to fight the wave of tiredness that overtook him, but his neck refused to support his head, and before it hit the pillow, sleep had claimed him.

Lys looked down at the boy and sighed. I thought I knew better than to make plans. The current situation had him vexed. Lys's time was running out. He couldn't help but chuckle at the fact. You live for centuries, and now, here at the end, you want more time.

His situation was becoming worse. In the past, he’d been a mage of the fourth circle. He’d had enough power to change landscapes. Now, healing Darian's wounds taxed him. Dangerously stretching the spell that kept his own shredded tether intact. Still, there was one more thing to do. One spell that might give the boy precious time.

The glyphs flew together, forming a winding chorus, which he held in the palm of his hand. Even after all this time, Lys marveled at the beauty of magic. The glyphs glowed in different colors, and as he let power flow through the spell construct, it began to sing. He had to stop himself from humming along with the sweet melody the spell produced.

“Avoid incantations!” Lys scowled; even after all this time, the voice of his old master still echoed back to him from wherever it rotted beyond the veil of souls.

Lys released the spell, allowing it to take hold over Darian. The spelllock clicked into place. His tether was barely formed and still needed time to develop. The lock would simply slow that process down. Months. It was extra time the boy wouldn't have had. He will need it if he is to survive.

Lys surveyed the room, mindlessly twisting the obsidian ring on his right hand.

I hope… I am not making another mistake.