Someone is urinating on Alexander’s makeshift patio.

Although the young enchanter does not know who this intruder is, Alexander has no doubt that it is now his duty to teach whoever has dared to be this insolent a lesson; he does not like this one bit. How rude! the young enchanter thinks. How dare this fool ruin the state of my humble abode!

He retreats back into the very end of his cave, where he grasps a hooded cloak that soon finds its way over his blond tuft of hair.

The young enchanter marches out of his secret hideaway, only to find that his newfound enemy is nowhere to be seen.

“Curses,” Alexander mutters under his breath. His fingers curl into a tightened fist. Something rustles in the nearby bushes; the young enchanter waves away impish spirits. “Not tonight,” he tells the lost souls, that insist on floating around his figure. “Come back later.”

The wind grows colder against his bare arm, until the frozen breeze disappears, with a gust that sounds like the whisper of a young lady, who recently passed away, in a village not too far from this deserted place.

Alexander recites a myriad of ancient words. Slowly, softly—he feels his magic expand within his chest. So far, his spell is a success. His body merges with the shadows of the forest’s trees. He shuts his eyes and concentrates, on the presence of the intruder, and the metal in the man’s sword.

For the longest time, the young enchanter has been better at detecting objects—why, he cannot say, but it is quite useful in times like these, so, he will not complain.

He soon arrives before the man who is twice his size. Yet, Alex concludes with a smirk, that, regardless, this soldier will be no match for him in the art of deceit.

Alexander concentrates; he mumbles a silent prayer. Make me strong.

Give me power, he thinks.

Enough strength, to take down this stranger.

The young enchanter reaches for the man, who appears to be a mercenary.

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Alexander drags him out of the forest, then back, into his cave.

When he releases the mercenary, the young enchanter’s figure is still one with nature’s decor. The man before him quakes, and panics, as he asks, “W-who’s there?” Then screams, whilst he reaches for his arming sword’s handle, “Show yourself, coward!”

However, Alexander will do everything—anything, but that.

He steps forth, watches the mercenary’s face fall, as the sounds of his feet echo across the cave, bounce off hard stone, when not even his shadow is in view.

“P-please, I—”

Alexander slides his hand along the man’s shoulder; his foe whimpers at the touch.

“I was just looking for my friends! I didn’t mean to upset you, whoever you are!” the man blurts.

And, for a mercenary, Alexander thinks, he is not very brave.

The spirits return to peek in at Alexander from before the cavern’s entrance. Alexander hisses at them, in hopes that they will go away. He tries, to wave their essence back to where it initially came from, with a swift, motion of his arm—and this does in fact, work, for the mayhem-stirrers soon leave.

Yet, with this act comes dire consequences.

Alexander finds himself unable to keep his concentration intact.

This has a tendency to happen, every time—right about now, twenty minutes into his rituals—whenever he summons magic to aid him in mundane tasks. Alexander realizes, that he should not have thought it would have been different, when warding off an intruder from his lands.

The invisible shield which had once protected the young enchanter falls—not only that, but the energy from its barrier decides to turn on its master, too.

A crow cries into the night.

Alexander is thrown across the cave; his back hits a bed of rocks that dig into his spine.

The last sight the young enchanter sees is his foe rising from the depths of his fear, and stepping forth to meet him half-way. “Hey!” the strange man shouts at him; as if Alexander is normal. As if he has not just used magic. Forbidden spells.

“Hey, excuse me, madame! Are you all right?”

Alexander’s heart aches at the mere premise of being mistaken for a lady. Grey mist rises by his sides. Tears burn his eyes. On a good day, he would have done his best to brush it off as nothing. But this is not one of those better times.

He is hurting—physically, and mentally—and the world must know.

Lightning lights the cave in muted, white-cyan. Alexander smells fire. Hears a scream—a man’s scream—before he sees black.

If there is one thing the young enchanter despises the most, it is this curse of a greater power, that has been bestowed upon him. Never, he thinks, as he collapses onto the ground, will I be able to control this fiend that lurks within me.

Never, must I leave this place and harm another, again.