Hazen carried the bodies out of the woods, and set them down beside a boulder. He’d left them off-road, where no one would travel. The thought of anyone tripping over invisible corpses and walking with slime and blood without knowing where it came from was too unsettling.

Hazen tried screaming, to unbottle the storm of emotions building inside him. But even he couldn’t hear the scream, so it did nothing. He stamped his foot in the ground and left marks, but the effect was muted by the enchantment. He punched the boulder which he’d laid the bodies against and it cracked, dark gaps spreading out from the point of impact.

Hazen cursed at his stupidity. He wrapped his arms around the boulder before it could separate and crush the bodies. He let go gently when it stopped rumbling. The shards he’d created were held together by friction and the tight fit of puzzle pieces. It was a delicate balance that held it all together.

Hazen wanted to break his own balance, to punch himself.

Rosalia was gone and the spell hadn’t worn off. Not a few minutes later, not after an hour of Hazen sitting on his knees banging his helmed forehead with his fists.

She’d mentioned that death spells carried great power. This was her final illusion, making them all invisible. Hazen wondered for a moment if that was his punishment for surviving, for not intervening earlier- to be invisible for the rest of his life.

He could never be a hero if he was unseen and unheard.

Hazen began to pace, he needed to get rid of the spell. He focused on that thought, let it blot out the pain in his chest. He needed to get rid of the spell so he could be seen. He wanted Anders to frown and roll his eyes upon seeing him. He wanted to stand out in the crowd.

And he wanted the bodies to be visible. So he could bury them without anonymity. In marked graves.

Hazen spared one glance for the empty spot beside the boulder where the bodies were resting. “I’ll be back soon,” he whispered.

He headed straight for the Gate to the headquarters of the Order of the Half Moon. He didn’t watch his surroundings, and no one watched for him. He bulldozed through the crowds, ignoring people sputtering in wonder at what tripped them. He reached the gate, moved his hand towards it- and froze.

What would he tell his sister? That he was sorry about mom and he had gotten one of her colleagues killed? And could she please please make his problem go away?

He dodged a red-robed mage reaching for the door. She swung it wide open, and then moved to close it swiftly. Hazen closed his eyes-

And slipped in behind her. He stepped into an open courtyard, replete with a fountain containing the statues of a group of stone-cloaked men and women with their hands in the air, holding up a model of the half-moon. The water spurted out of their palms, and dripped against the half Moon before falling back into the fountain’s pool.

Hazen took a step forward towards the statue, towards the red-robed mage. There were runes on the sandstone cobblestones.

They began to glow orange, a blaring noise came from the wall behind him. The semi-transparent sheen turned red. The red-robed mage turned towards the gate, eyes searching for him but not seeing anything.

“Who got in? What’s causing this…”

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The statues lowered their hands from the half Moon model. It stayed aloft, floating despite the lack of their support. They aimed their palms towards the gate, towards Hazen and the red-robed mage. The water flowing out of their palms slowed down to a trickle, which then became steam.

Hazen grabbed the red-robed mage by the wrist. “A spell was cast on me and I was made invisible,” he said. “I need help. I need to talk to the Archmagus, grace, she’ll want to speak to me-

White hot flames burst out of the statues’ palms. The red-robed mage was reduced to cinder that crumbled in Hazen’s grip. His armor protected him from the brunt of the flame, deflected most of the magic, but it couldn’t save him from the heat outside it. He felt like he was in a furnace. He jumped to the left, lept like a horse over a stream, but many times further.

The statues palms followed him him relentlessly. He tried plowing through the flames instead, his skin sizzling, his magic armor reduced to a shiny metal grill. He rammed himself against the statues, position himself below their arms, away from the locus of the flame. The stone didn’t break. He tried again, putting the full force of his strength into the motion.

The stone gave way. The statues toppled back into the pool of vaporized steam. The half moon model above Hazen’s head began to hum.

Hazen looked up, and it exploded-

Hazen opened his eyes. The red-robed mage closed the gate and he didn’t follow. Anders had told him time after time to envision things before he did them. He didn’t know if there was a fountain, but if he went through the gate while under an illusion, a defensive spell probably would activate against him. And no one would be able to hear him, so he’d have a hard time stopping mages clamoring to protect their home.

He wandered the streets, thinking of who else might be able to help him get rid of the invisibility. The Mages of the Half Moon weren’t an option.. But were they the only mages around?

What about the rejects, the folks kicked out or who couldn’t cut it? Did the Order of the Half Moon have a true monopoly over the town?

Hazen walked off into the seedier districts of Harwich. He moved through drugged smoke, and walked straight between clandestine deals. He peered through show windows, unsure of what exactly he was looking for.

He found it at the end of a shabby back alley that made Tano’s bar look whole. The word ‘Magickers’ was written in permanent dust on the broken window of the small establishment. Through the window Hazen could make out the dried, shrunken head of something vaguely humanoid but hairier, he saw picked body parts, a venus fly trap that had ivory teeth, and what looked like a tiny chinchilla sleeping. A shop of illicit goods, run by a mage who’d fallen out with the Order… but whose business wasn’t stop because even the righteous mages of the order sometimes needed certain objects, no questions asked.

He pushed the door open. An offkey bell chimed.

“Welcome,” a scratchy voice said from behind a bookshelf littered with half-burned fluorescent candles and more than one skull propping up books. “Anything you need to buy, I can provide. And whatever the spellcraft you need, I will see what I can do…”

Hazen felt a surge of hope. Grungy and creepy as the place was, this could be it. Hazen reached for his coin purse within his green cloak. It wasn’t there, and there was no hole. He hadn’t dropped it in the woods, he’d had it with him at the gate…

Someone had stolen it in the seedy district, while he was invisible. Hazen cursed under his breath; feeling only the murmur of his words wasn’t as satisfying as the sound.

“Hello?” the resident ‘magicker’ said, appear from behind the bookshelf. He was as thin and pale as Hazen would have expected, with a skimpy goatee and bands of spotted snakeskin looped around his black robe. The Magicker squinted at the entrance where Hazen was standing. Hazen moved forward, reaching a hand out to touch the shopkeeper. That would be a lot faster than writing in dust on the walls or finding a quill and ink that didn’t spontaneously combust or the like.

He grabbed the Magicker’s hand and the man flinched, eyes widening.

“Who’s there?” the Magicker said, quickly, quietly. He repeated himself louder, “WHO’S THERE?”

“My name is Hazen,” Hazen began, “A spell was cast on me giving me total invisibility and-”

The Magicker froze as Hazen spoke, and looked around wildly.

“I’m right here,” Hazen said. “Invisibile, but I’m holding your wrist so you can hear me-”

The Magicker screamed. “A ghost! A phantom!” He pulled back, towards the back of the shop.

Hazen held the man firmly. “I’m not a ghost. I told you, invisibile-”

The Magicker screamed again, drowning out Hazen’s words. He pulled away as hard as he could. He pulled salt off a shelf and threw it around himself.

Hazen sneezed and the Magicker’s screams turned to tears. “I didn’t mean to make you angry,” I’m sorry please, please…”

“I’m not angry,” Hazen said. “I just need your help…”

The Magicker pulled out a knife from his robe suddenly, and Hazen tensed, his grip on the man’s wrist tightening. When the Magicker brought the knife down on his own arm, Hazen let go and threw the man’s hand back so he wouldn’t cut himself.

“Are you crazy?” Hazen said. “You don’t have to cut off your own arm to get rid of me…” But the Magicker could no longer hear him. He was curled up into a ball, propped against a shelf of skeletons of tiny creatures resembling dragons.

“Leave me,” the Magicker said. “Don’t haunt me, please…”

Hazen left the shop, glancing at the black fire lit in a furnace on his way out. The invisibility gimmick could be terrifying, but he didnt think a self-proclaimed ‘magicker’ running a business like this would scare so easily.