“Urn.”

Urn’s eyes flew open and he rose from his bed, panting heavily. A deep and slow pounding sensation beat in his head like an unpleasant drum, and with it, a sense of dread…and ecstasy.

“Woah, did I do that? Urn, did I wake you up? HA, wait, it’s happening! Oh my god, oh my god!” The mysterious voice chattered frivolously, every word it uttered lulling Urn further out of sleep, and increasing the tempo of the pounding sensation in Urn’s head. Pulling himself out of bed, he whipped his head around as he searched for the source of the voice frantically. He couldn’t see anything in the darkness in his room; but he could feel that something was there.

An intruder? Who in their right mind would try to steal from us? Urn thought as he slowly but carefully slid out of bed, keeping his eyes focused on the origin of the voice.

“Finally, I was getting bored of waiting for you!” The voice said, and Urn slowly reached under the mattress of his bed, and pulled out a long messer with a wickedly sharp edge, and edged towards the dresser.

“Stop talking to me as if we’re friends, it’s pissing me off.” Urn replied bluntly, slamming his hand onto a white ball poised on top of the dresser. The ball blinked and then emitted a bright light which immediately illuminated the room, and Urn spun towards the source of the voice…and then dropped his blade.

“What the fuck?” Urn couldn’t believe it. The source of the voice was his sweet pet goldfish, and he wasn’t sure if he was more shocked by the fish’s deep voice, or the fact it was hovering in the air. “Ralph!”

“That’s me, that’s me!” The goldfish looped around in the air excitedly, moving through the air as if it were water, and then dived downwards. Hovering in the air right before Urn’s face, it’s beady eyes stared directly into Urn’s.

“Goddamnit.” Urn sighed, dropping the messer and kicking it underneath the bed. “That old psychopath still finds a way to prank me even from beyond the grave.”

“Figured it out already, didja? I knew you were a smart kid!” The fish said eagerly. “But then again, you are Banjoko’s grandson, so I guess it does make sense, in a way.”

“Don’t even insinuate we’re similar in any form, alright? Now shut up for a moment, I’m trying to think.” Urn groaned and rubbed his pounding forehead. His grandfather had always been an….odd man. When he was alive, he’d never say a word to Urn; only show up on his birthdays to give him seemingly normal gifts.

He’s so wack. That bastard gets normal looking gifts, but everytime they’re actually some sort of enchanted thingamajig. Like that ball he gave me two years ago…that was actually a lamp. Urn thought, sighing. And this year, a fun little goldfish that has the voice of a smoker.

“Yipee, just what I wanted!” Urn muttered, dryly. “You can flop yourself out now.”

“Wait, what?” The fish blinked rapidly.

“..Nothing. So what’s the message?” Urn asked blankly, stretching as he walked over to the window and looked out. The moon hung over the dark night sky, and ShoreCity was completely quiet.

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“Sheesh, kid, you adapt quickly. Aren’t you impressed?” The goldfish said, almost disappointed. “I’m a flying fish, how many of those do you see everyday??”

“It’s not that impressive, Grandpa just taught you a few commands. People do that with dogs all the time.” Urn shrugged his shoulders. “If that's all you wanted to tell me, I’ll head back to sleep now.”

“No, wait, wait!” The fish said, waving its fins around frantically before clearing it’s throat. He knew that this, if nothing else, would get the attention of Urn. “It’s not so much a message, but a delivery. A delivery of your inheritance.”

Urn turned slightly. Inheritance…could it be? “If it’s a shirt that shrinks when you put it on, or a dancing wallet, I’ll fry you.” Urn threatened and the fish seemed rather amused by this.

“No, trust me it’s not! It has to do with the legacy of your grandfather. The Orian Locket.” Ralph said, and Urn felt a probing sensation violently drive into his forehead. That thing…Urn thought. The sacred heirloom owned by my grandfather!

Urn stumbled, leaning against the wall as his forehead throbbed painfully; it felt like the room was spinning, as the same two words repeated over and over again in his head.

Refuse it.

Refuse it.

Refuse it.

“Urn? Urn, are you alright? I don’t wanna rush you but we kinda have to hurry this up! If you truly want your inheritance, you must receive it before your sister comes!” Ralph said.

“..Yeah.” Urn replied, scrunching his eyes. All his life, his sister had warned him a day like this would come. Hell, in every memory I have of her, she’s warning me. That if someone were to come and offer me great power, I should refuse it. That if I gave in, the power they offered me would swallow me whole. “I’ll be out in a second.”

“Gotcha! Don’t take too long, okay? Or else you won’t be able to make a choice.” The fish said, and then flew out hurriedly.

Finally, some peace. Urn sat back down in his bed and rested his head in his hands as he thought. He glanced at the portrait of his grandfather which rested on his dresser; at the time the picture had been taken, Banjoko was still young, and looked uncannily like Urn; the same dark skin, braids, and sharp black eyes. It always annoyed his sister whenever people commented on it.

Resting around the locket of his grandfather was an antique locket, which was wide open.

And within the locket, was an eye.

Apparently, Grandfather was an usurper. He’d used the power of the locket to try and conquer the entirety of the Northern Lands, but ended up being struck down by King Naadi and his council. Urn recalled, picking up the portrait and staring closely at the locket. Mother always said that he’d always been a talented Magician, but once he picked up the locket, his talent became ‘tainted’.

Urn put down the portrait, and then stared at the portrait of his sister; as carefree as always,she’d decided to wear her shoes on her hands. She had insisted, jokingly, it was a fashion statement, and a sophisticated stylistic choice. Yet despite the silly context of the picture, her eyes seemed rather serious in the picture.

Or desperate.

Urn turned away from the portraits, swiped at the elegant, white robes that had been left on the dresser, and pulled them on. Sorry. But I made my mind up a long time ago, sister.

He stepped towards the door, hesitating as he reached for the knob…and then gripped it tightly. I refuse to live this life of painful ordinance any longer. I must become a magician. Urn opened the door, and stepped into the dark hallway.

Or there’s no point in me living out this colorless dream anymore.