The Tree of Liberty must be refreshed, from time to time,

With the blood of Patriots and Tyrants.

"What is it you'll stand for? Pray tell, what is it you wish you were standing for? Is it for the oppressed people? Is it for the masses starving around you? Or is it for that woman? Or that child? Or your mother, or your father, or your brother, all who've bled with you in chains? History tells a different story that is not of men fighting for ideals, but instead, for those that love them. Truthfully, there are no altruists; only foolish idealists."

Viper.

"I have watched the all-too-real demons lash out at innocent people and drink the blood like rivers of wine. But more than that, I have seen the so-called righteous turned against only those that threaten them and leave the rest unabated. They have left us defenseless against a foe greater than ourselves to bolster their own power, and in the process save themselves with greater assurance. As for us in the meantime? We're are little more than a convenient distraction."

Draken.

The impact of his pounding feet ached painfully through Draken’s whole body. But at this point, stopping would be impossible. Terry was close behind, his black hair waving behind his stupidly apathetic grin. Farther behind was the problem.

Twelve boys were in fast pursuit and looking angrier than ever. “Slow down, damn you!” the pursuers yelled over of the crowds they passed in the streets. They were in the market district now, and some of the locals watched them with sincere amusement. The guards looked far less pleased, though. Things didn't look quite so funny to them, thought Draken.

“How is it back there,” Terry yelled over his shoulder. “Dad too poor to be able to fix that scar on your face?” Draken glared at him, but the damage had already been done. The pursuit was gaining ground, slowly but surely.

“They won’t be able to patch you enough when we’re done bleedin' you cowards! Get back here and fight!”

Their daring to question his bravery urged Terry on, and he spoke angrily between gasps as he ran, “Hey, Draken-“

“No Terry! With Achilles’ entire gang chasing us- he might be right!” Gods, I can’t take much more of this. His legs were heavy, and the wind seemed to beg him to slow down. The end of the Market district was coming up fast, but Draken was unsure which direction they were even headed anymore and had no idea where they were going to end up. The old and weather worn buildings of the market were changing into larger homes too big and too rich for even merchants. The few people out and about wore colorful clothes and disgruntled expressions, even so few as they were. There more guards than anywhere else in the city. “Not good! Terry?”

Terry ran silently for a few moments. “Terry?!”

“I know! The ol’ left and right then, right?”

Immediately, Draken veered and started left. The side street he had taken ran upward into a main street, and off toward the castle. He avoided the wealthier class as often as he could, but he quickly retraced his steps and got his baring again. He managed to place himself, and grimly realized where he was. Wait, that means Terry is-

Draken turned his head, looking past the four boys tailing him. Far in the other direction he could see the darkened forest, and at least eight others following Terry. He could hear those that were chasing him gasping close behind, and he could see them reaching at his back with outstretched hands, only a fingers’ length away. Damn! They’re going to-

The whole world was thrown suddenly, and nothing seemed to make any sense. Draken had slammed hard into a solid wall of metal in the middle of the street, and his whole body burned with fatigue and pain. Bright lights swam in his vision, and after a moment, the light seemed to go out, and he slipped away from reality.

“Get up, boy!”

A metal boot nudged Draken’s stomach. Suddenly awake, he tried to say several things at once, none of which he meant to be curses and coughing, but it was all he could manage. His head still pounding, he pulled himself to his feet. Looking back, apparently not a single one of his schoolmates seemed willing to confront the man he’d managed to tackle at a full run. Preparing himself for another miserable lecture, Draken turned to face the man he’d run into, who would likely be a guard knowing his luck.

“Oh, damn it all to hell,” the words slipped from his mouth before he could catch them. The man before him didn't wear the normal ringed mail that most of the cities’ watch clad themselves with, but instead, he wore a long tabard with royal symbols and a large red dragon beautifully spun on the front. Where there should be leather on a city watchmen, there were plates of hardened metal instead, and where this might have been a noble or another guard on patrol, this was definitely one of the notorious ‘castle guard’, whom were only out in armor on serious orders. “Erm, sorry ser, you see I was-“

“I’ll have none of that, boy.” The captain’s commanding tone seized the conversation, and he looked down at Draken with impatience, who quieted himself without question. “No excuses, you hear me? I saw your little… well, friends, shall we say? Bounding up the road there.” The captain was actually smiling a little, and hope grew in Draken’s heart all at once. Oh thank the gods, some mercy! “I was once very much like you myself, and let me tell you…“ He pointed a single gauntleted finger at Draken, speaking in the tone of a father to a child now. I’d give him four minutes, at the most.

Abruptly though, the guard’s eyes and mind seemed to lose focus. He stopped talking and looked around on the ground, but found nothing. Slowly, he brought his narrowed eyes down on Draken, who couldn't help but smile nervously. “Erm, what exactly are you looking for, ser?” Then he was not in fact looking at Draken anymore, who immediately quit speaking, but past him. Draken turned.

Standing in the road behind the two of them was Terry, who barely noticed them as he was busily gasping for air. He looked up, suddenly aware of his being watched, took one painfully long look at the captain, then started into a run in the complete opposite direction.

As if in slow motion, several things seemed to happen all at once. Why? Draken thought, turning to look at the captain glaring at him, full of rage now. Already, Draken had begun to run as Terry had, but he then tried to stop himself as he started. Wait, I didn't actually do anything! He thought to himself. This is all just a misunderstanding.

The distinct sound of a full length sword being unsheathed came from behind him.

Actually on second thought, never mind. Draken started into a run again.

In all of two breaths, Draken was on his feet, then suddenly in the air kicking at nothing, and finally writhing on the stony ground from the impact of being slammed to it. He found it increasingly difficult to breathe, and like hitting the guard at a full run, he felt paralyzed and barely clinging to consciousness. He yelled out against the cold iron grip of a hand on his shoulder, and felt horribly insignificant to this inhuman speed and strength. The guard jumped over him and ran down the road, and there was no doubt he would catch his prey. Draken tried to get to scramble to his feet, but he found something held him in place he hadn't noticed. “When did he do this!?” Glowing shackles were wrapped around his torso, and his legs and arms were bound in powerful shimmering metal that glimmered unnaturally.

Gods, what sort of man uses magic so quickly and soundlessly? Draken’s mind began to fill with fear at the thought. “Terry!” Both the captain and Terry were gone. Why did that bloody coward run? He’s going to get us both killed! Royal guards had a reputation for interrogations and prisoners who simply cease to exist. The very idea of mercy was silly to them, as justice knows only the punishment of the wicked to protect those that rule. At least, that’s what Draken had always heard anyway.

But something else felt strange. Draken shook his head, all the fatigue of the run and tight magical chains building into a terrible duo of agonies, but he still felt like something was immensely wrong. He was being watched, he knew that much somehow, but the street was completely empty around him. Quite suddenly so actually, now that he thought about it. Before at least a few nobles walked the streets, but now, nobody was around at all. He felt afraid. He was entirely helpless after all, laying in chains in the middle of the street.

Some movement caught his eye, and Draken’s heart sank. His whole body shuddered in surprise at a figure standing on a rooftop in the distance. A cloak billowed about them in the wind, and all the details of the figure were lost in the distance, except for the distinct shape of a mask under a black hood. The mask was in the shape of a snake’s head, with big, bright, and yellow eyes that were staring directly at Draken.

Viper! He mouthed wordlessly.

Immediately the figure turned, walked off the roof, and was gone.

“…Are you even listening to me, metal head?!” Draken turned to see the captain walking toward him, looking miserably annoyed. Terry was in front of him bound in familiar magical shackles. Terry was furious, though just as entirely helpless as Draken was. While he clearly had it under control, the guard captain’s patience was visibly wearing thin, his face screwed up in anger and his feet pounding against the stones with loud click klack noises as they walked and Terry continued to protest. The captain all but hurled Terry to the ground face first, and then kicked Draken, rolling him onto his stomach with no small amount of pain. A steel boot rested itself square on Terry’s back, who groaned, and the captain’s eyes relaxed, looking to and from his two prisoners before sighing and addressing them properly.

“Alright boys, where is it?”

“What are you talking about? We didn't take anything!” His sword came out and flashed in the sun, ordering their silence, which was followed without even a grunt from Terry.

“The ring, boys! You’re the only living thing that has come within ten feet of me today, which has more to do with rank and common sense than anything else. Though you should know better than to outright lie to a guard regardless of their rank, because I can tell you that it will lead you to far worse circumstances than you are now experiencing.” The noble guard was slowly regaining his composure as he spoke, taking on a more regal and controlled tone of voice.

“I can promise you this much, however: I am very quickly running out of my already short supply of patience.” The threat was cold and emotionless. Draken caught Terry’s eye, and was relieved that finally, when it came down to it, Terry knew when he should be afraid. “We didn't take a damn thing,” he mouthed the words metal head, but surprisingly withdrew the comment. “Search us all you want, but you won’t find anything, ‘specially no bloody rings. See, I know Draken here doesn't steal, and I sure as hell didn't take anything from a guard.” Why?!

The metal boot in Terry’s back shifted, purposefully grinding his body against the ground. He gritted his teeth, but didn't yell out. “You will address me as Captain or Ser, and never metal-head.”  Draken could see the front of Terry’s clothes tearing under the weight the guard put down on the small of his back, his steeled leather boot pressing ever harder against his spine. “Look, we didn't take anything, ser, let off him, please!”

Suddenly, the both of them were lifted to their feet by their chains and made to walk, with both his hands held tight on a shoulder each.

“Why did you try to run?”

“You drew a sword! By the gods, what did you think I’d do?” Draken leered past the captain to shoot Terry a nasty look at his insolent tone, but he was busy looking elsewhere.

“When a guard draws a sword, it means you stand very still and specifically do not run, lest a blade need to stop you,” spoke the captain stiffly. “This is a rule every person living in or near the castle is expected to follow from an age younger than you.”

“Oh yes, that sounds right brilliant, doesn't it? Somebody pulls a weapon out, and I’m supposed to lie down on my face and wait for him to stab at my guts!”

“Terry, would you shut up?! You are not helping!” Draken had finally had enough, and Terry was suddenly very quiet. He looked hurt, and much more hurt than Draken had intended originally intended. “Sir, please, we didn't take anything. We were running from those bastards from our school, and-“

“Why were they chasing you?”

Suddenly, what once seemed like innocent schoolyard fighting felt like a damning case of assault. Words had come to rocks, and when rocks came to blows, Draken and Terry both made a run from odds of twelve to two. The painfully long silence following the question spoke for itself. “That’s what I thought,” spoke the captain plainly, pushing them forward to a brisk pace.

The three of them didn't speak for the rest of the walk to the holding cell that awaited Draken and Terry. Luckily, the two boys rarely came around this part of the city around the castle, thus few people recognized them covered as they were in more chains than even the most heinous of criminals. At least, that held true until they came by the schoolyard. The dirt road leading out of it was nearly empty, though several of their pursuers stood about pretended not to recognize them at all. “Achilles! You coward!” Terry yelled out at him specifically, but the brown-haired boy pretended not to notice. Not that he would help our case you idiot. Terry had gotten worse about yelling curses and insults at the drop of a hat, and it bothered Draken immensely.

Finally they arrived at the small jail in the eastern parts of the city. Many of the city watch were switching out now since it was nearing the evening time; some finishing documents or delivering them, others turning in or out for the day. Any laughter or good nature was choked out the minute the royal guard walked in, and it turned instantly into dead silence. City watchmen went from friendly protectors, some of whom the boys were on a first name basis with, to military men of an embittered nature. Eyes turned dark and judgmental on them from everywhere, and suddenly Draken felt very embarrassed to be caught up as he was.

The two of them were quickly led off to the back of the jail. Dark and cold even in midsummer, it sat empty tonight. The cells were small and without windows, with only two iron beds and the sick smell of drunkards. As they walked in, their shackles dropped away in a cloudy mist. The cell door slammed shut and locked behind them. Then, they were left alone.

“Well, isn't this fantastic!”

“Shut up Terry.”

“What? I can’t talk about the wonders you've landed us in this time?” Terry oozed sarcasm, but he still avoided Draken’s gaze.

“Me!? You’re the one who started running from a royal captain!”

“I wasn't the one that ran into him in the first place!”

“I was busy looking after you!”

“By running into a royal captain? Well great job, there! Gods, that really helped me out.”

“You were running into the forest! You know how dangerous-“

“Oh, so I can’t take care of myself all of a sudden?” The two finally locked eyes for the first time since their capture.  Draken saw anger in them certainly, but tears were welling up too.

“Actually, I’m pretty sure you very well can’t, considering where we are!”

“We wouldn't be in here at all if you hadn't started running from the fight with Achilles and his lot!”

“They’d have beaten us to a bloody pulp! There were TWELVE of them, Terry!”

“They would have been down in a second!”

“Oh yeah, great idea! Let’s just start fights with everyone! We should get everyone chasing us, so we can fight all of them, and prove that we’re tougher than all of them, right?!”

Draken turned away from Terry, glad to have silence between them. His mind strayed away from Terry though, and on to something he hadn't thought about until that moment.

What if they find out? Father told me never to let anyone know, especially about Terry! If they find out, they’ll kill him. I know Dad says his kind never stays right, that they never get the chance to be good people... But he’s okay. He’d never go wrong.

Draken recalled the fights, the endless arguments, and all the horrible things Terry had done lately. None of it made sense. His friend was changing, and they both knew it.

 Gods help us, please…

* * * * *

Hours passed in silence between Draken and Terry. Eventually a guard came by their cell, unlocking it and holding the door open for them to follow him. “Come along, kiddies. It seems the good and noble captain has some questions for you lot.”

Draken shuddered involuntarily. They both got up and followed quickly, neither one looking in the direction of the other. The guard leading them looked backward with the occasional awkward glances, but remained stony faced.

“This them here then, aye?” Another guard standing before an iron-clad door looked down on them piteously. He shook his head and bent low, whispering quietly, “Look here lads, he might out rank us in there, but you will both be fine, on my honor. Jus’ be honest.” He waited for a response, but neither one even looked at him. After a moment, he nodded, opened the door, and motioned inward. “Right then, in you go.” The two of them were pushed in, and the door clanked behind them, locking tight.

At a small table sat the same man that Draken had run into on the street, who seemed to have regained the rest of his usually royal composure. He sat in rich looking robes with a short sword at his hip, but otherwise clad in normal clothes. He gestured to two seats across from him, which had various latches and sharp hooks buried in the ugly metal, so that one could only sit carefully and not be stabbed or cut. They each sat nervously.

The captain glared at them uncomfortably, measuring his words before speaking, and only adding to the tension as he waited. When it was clear they had nothing to say, he finally spoke. “Now then. You have both had sufficient time to reconsider your words, and were even left to keep one another company. Rarely are those convicted of crimes directly against noble-born guard captains of Castle Firebrand treated with such kindness and generosity.”

He leaned in closer with his arms resting in front of him as he spoke now, sounding out each word with measured venom, “That being said, you will be punished severely should a search be necessary at this point. I trust there will be no trouble?” He looked to each of them, earnestly inquisitive, palms raised and elbows on the table.

The two boys nodded silently.

“Good,” the royal captain leaned back in his chair, lacing his fingers over his stomach. “Give the ring back, and we can be done with this business.”

Draken sat blinking at him for a moment. Then he spoke quietly, “Ser, you must understand that we took no ring. We were running from the others that were trying to attack us, and happened to run into you.”

The captain sat entirely silent, staring, and emotionless.

Terry rolled his eyes at the captain. “Look, I never took a bloody ring in my life, and by the time I got there, you looked likely to break Draken on a wheel, so I ran for it!”

Draken stared at Terry in disbelief. “Oh, so you just left me then, aye?”

 “Well… Y-yeah, actually. So what? You woulda done the same.”

“What?! Of all the things I have done Terry, leaving my best friend behind to be broken on a wheel is not among them!”

Terry looked at the floor, red in the face. “Bloody coward,” Draken muttered quietly under his breath, only worsening the shame Terry felt.

“So, the both of you claim to have been running away from a schoolyard brawl, directly into the noble district, and happen to have run across a guard on patrol, specifically a castle guard, completely by accident? That same captain is also missing a valuable item which only one of his rank would be carrying, which went missing exactly when you ran into him. Seems to me that the noble district would be the last place you would wish to end up, especially if you were running from a fight.” The captain paused for a moment, looking past them, and nodding to himself.

“You will be taken into the castle and questioned by someone more qualified than myself. I assure you, anything you are hiding will be found out by the castle’s more serious officials in charge of such matters, so if there is anything you wish to state beforehand, you might be granted some degree of mercy.”

Draken swallowed hard. Gods, the royal inquisitors. I have to do something, I have to-

“Is something wrong, Draken? You look a bit pale,” the captain eyed him closely, and just him now. “Perhaps you wish to say something?”

Maybe if I tell him, they’ll let him live. Maybe if I say it, just maybe.

“Yes ser, I do.”

Terry looked up at Draken with eyes wide in fear. His head shook slightly, every facial muscle tightening and straining under some invisible pressure. But still he said nothing.

The loud banging on the door made all three of them jump at the sound, the tension erupting all at once. Draken and Terry both sighed, the grip of fear lessening somewhat. “What?!” the captain called out, not bothering to stand.

The door opened up, and in stepped a guard holding a small letter in his hand. He stepped toward the captain speaking in low, hushed tones. “For godssake man, now is not the time. I will see to it later!”

Draken couldn't make out any of what the new arrival said, except one word. “…Viper.” The royal guard stared now at the letter, nodding grimly as he took it in his hand. The other guard was gone as quickly as he had come, and locking the door again behind him. The captain stared at the letter sitting in his hand for a long time, exploring the unbroken wax symbol on its back with his fingers. Finally, he opened it.

The snap of the wax cracked in the air as loud as a whip. The captain dropped the letter on the table, and out of it blew green smoke, all of which glimmered and swirled unnaturally and unbidden by any wind. A hollow laugh echoed through the room from the magical smoke as it swirled, finally forming a shadowy figure standing on the table. Before them was a male figure by his build, with long black hair running down his back and blending seamlessly into a cape of green and gilded crimson. He wore a short mask covering barely enough to obscure his features into anonymity, and stood but a few inches tall on the table. He made a curt bow, and turned to the captain, who stared emotionless at the figure.

“Greetings, royal flatfoot. It would seem to me that you are not beyond taking children captive, doubtless hoping to rustle out a confession of the terrible gang work they regularly bring into the city.” The man turned and clicked his tongue, wagging a finger at the boys, “For shame! Naughty boys should leave such honest labor as slavering and throat-cutting to the adults!” The small man clicked his tongue again, held his head in his hand, and shook it piteously. “Yes, definitely a bad couple of apples, these two. Ah, well.”

He turned again to the royal guard, and gestured delicately to the envelope on the table. “Inside there you will find a treasure I found in the damnedest of places! I must say, your taste in the finer culture shows in the rather kingly pieces adorning your personal study, but your taste in women is… abominable, at best.” The man shuddered and put a hand to his lips, cutting off a short retch.  “At the very least take your rings off before you… ah…” The man looked behind him at Draken and Terry for a moment before he spoke slowly back to the captain. “How should I put this? Ah!” He skipped and snapped his fingers, making a low grasping gesture. “Reach for greater glory, shall we say, Captain? Her name was Gloria, was it not?”

The noble captain had long since gone several shades of red, but kept silent.

“D’ah well,” He waved the words aside physically, “Perhaps you should lock up these children regardless!” Viper turned toward the boys contemptuously, nose in the air. Draken felt his heart sink at the words, and Terry gaped at the small man. “Who knows what terrible crimes they've committed against the crown, aye? Run them through, I say! Bring up the short rope!” He pulled a dagger from the air, swishing it at them like a duelist for a moment, before turning away from them, disgusted, and addressing the captain again. “Why, the day a noble-born castle guard lets outright scum like these two run wild in the streets … Why, I just don’t know if I can walk around with any guarantee of safety through the noble houses-“ The man clapped a hand to his mouth, “I mean, streets.” He sighed loudly, chuckling despite himself. “Gods, I’d better go before I incriminate myself any further!” He bowed curtly again and smiled sincerely, “Good day, captain.”

With that, the small man standing on the table vanished completely. Draken could feel the tension slowly starting to unwind, but the captain was well beyond furious, practically melting the chair he sat in. Terry sat barely containing his laughter, trying hard to focus on being in immense trouble. Draken had no problem doing so with the captain staring daggers at the two of them.

In one swift motion, the noble captain took the envelope off of the table and turned it over into his hand. Out fell a gold band with strange markings on it, and a very official looking seal on one side that was a picturesque match with the crest over the royal captain’s heart. He spoke low in a guttural and threatening tone, “You will be released into the care of your parents, but gods help you if I find out you had anything to do with this atrocity, and rest assured that evidence proving such circumstances will be found… should any exist.”

* * * * *

“…What sort of crazed man does that sort of thing, Draken? It’s fantastic! I’ve never looked up to someone more than I do Viper.”

“Mmm.” Draken nodded slowly, but continued to stare at the ground while he walked.

“Don’t you go lookin' up to that wretched man, now,” The guard escorting them home finally spoke up since they’d left the jail. “He’s the worst kind of criminal, so much so that even other criminals don't want anything to do with 'em.”

Terry scoffed, “Why? He saved us and taught that bastard captain a lesson.”

The guard frowned, “The captain was doing his job, and for the record he treated you righter than most regulars would, let alone under the circumstances.”

Terry looked back at the man, agape. “Excuse me, but how chaining up two kids and interrogating them like that, even talking about getting worse people like the inquisitors involved, being treated ‘right’? You’re all completely mad if you think that.”

The guard looked forward and shrugged, “A man of his rank has better things to do, and you don’t know anything about the inquisitors, boy.”

The two continued to argue for a while back and forth. Draken barely heard them, his mind still reeling from the whole experience. Terry pretended not to notice, but they both knew what was bothering him.

* * * * *

It is common fact that most magic in the greater realm comes from the elements. Fire, Earth, Water, and Air are the natural composition of the realm, from which everything springs forth. Few are closer to these elements than the elder races, whose very existence is little more than hearsay among the men of Ethleas, which is the latest and most prosperous kingdom of Men. These elders, the Dwarfish and Elven people being among the most common, do not intrude upon the borders of Ethleas any longer, since war would not be far behind direct contact, as has been the case numerous times throughout history. Such has been the way of things for many thousands of years in fact, but that is another story entirely.

There are however magical elements not born of the natural world. There is the carnal Blood magic, the strange Arcane school, the ancient Runic language, and most important for our discussion on the nature of mankind, the anomalous schools of Life and Death. Arcane is a practice of the Elves originally, though men have adopted it. Rune magic is kept by the Dwarves, whose long lives and ancient homes lend them to keeping things in order for extended lengths of time. Life and Death however are unique mankind, whose capacity for good and evil, be it rational or irrational, is the greatest among the living races.

These two distinct elements are born of the unique human nature, and are in part a byproduct of their inclinations and newer place in our world. How these magical schools originally came to be practiced cannot be unraveled, but since men have been, so too have men been born with their gifts. Good, Life, and the Sun, all share a common magical nature, and within that school are the secrets to healing and the banishment of evil. Evil, Death, and Darkness, also all share this magical relation, and its gifts are in blasphemous curses and the twisting of life. These elements are not naturally moral however, though they do indeed feed on the feelings of the caster. It is merely the intentions of the caster that bend reality to their will to produce a desired effect, as is the case with any magical school. In this way the schools of Life and Death are no different from the natural elements, and are thus magical schools like any other regardless of their origin.

As an aside, Angels and Demons have become the common association for these two magical schools among men, and as such are part of the myth surrounding these two new schools of magic, which have hardly been studied thoroughly by anyone besides those that practice it extensively.

Beyond this, little is known in fact, but merely in myth.

-The Historian of Ethleas.

Draken stared at the door for a long while. Listening to Terry being coddled by his loving mother didn't help; she had ran to meet them on their way back when she heard, and they both apologized to each other while she cried. While they both knew he would certainly be punished for the trouble later, for now Terry was fine. Draken wished he were so lucky.

He tried several times to open the door, one way or another, but couldn't find the strength. He considered his window, but the guard who led him home told him off when he tried to sneak away. “Well, I don’t have all night, so go on in then.” The guard urged him on, but Draken simply stood unable to open the door or run away.

“Oh bloody hell, make me do it then-”

Before he could protest, the guard had opened the door and shoved Draken into his own home, slamming the door behind him. “Grow up, ya bleedin’ coward!”

Standing as still as possible, Draken looked around the small home he and his father lived in alone. The parlor was completely empty and dark. The kitchen, too, had no light in it, nor did light come from either of the bedrooms. He swallowed hard in the quiet darkness, and carefully spoke up, “Dad?”

The home stood silent in response.

Perhaps he’s working late again. Maybe he didn't even hear about it. The weight oppressing Draken slowly began to lessen as the idea of getting away with being interrogated by a royal captain began to seem like a reality. I could make this work. Rumors of course would need to be stopped, favors called in, teachers paid off, notes forged and-

The front door slowly opened up behind Draken, and light poured into the room from behind him. Please be a thief. A long silence followed, and he never dared to turn around. Finally, the gravelly voice of a tired man, one all too familiar to him, echoed through the house.

“Good evening, son. Sorry I'm late, but I got really chained down at work so to speak, but I’m sure you understand.”

The two of them sat silently eating for a long time. Draken's father was still in uniform, obviously having been at an important meeting, since he was wearing royal colors. Being a local captain, rather than a royal one who lived at the castle, meant he rarely wore anything denoting his station, which was meagre but respectable in the watchmen. Today was a big day, he’d told Draken, and that specifically, of all days, today would be the worst to get into any of his usual trouble.

Sighing contentedly when he was finished eating, he sat back in his chair and looked back at Draken with a sincere smile. “Well son, it seems that today I was put in charge of the main road leading up toward the castle, and organizing the guard to do it won’t be an easy task. At least most of the planning was done for today, and everything will be in place by next week.” He frowned slightly, “At least, that is to say that things would be going along smoothly, except that a particularly nasty royal guardsmen stuffed his nose squarely into my business of organizing the whole thing, and demanded to know my station, what connections I had garnered to get my position, and why my son was under investigation. Quite the awkward moment, that.”

Draken hung his head shamefully, “I’m-“

“No son, I’d rather not hear it right now," he interrupted, disappointed. "You are going to be seventeen next year and thus old enough to apprentice yourself to someone and leave this childish business behind. You will understand the full consequences of your actions because I cannot protect you from them anymore. Though that I could, what with the dire consequences you and your friend could bring to yourselves should a royal inquisitor come sniffing about.”

“Now then; this royal captain knows very little about me, and I am more than capable of providing reason and documentation for my station, so that part means nothing. There is no great honor in being a captain for the watchmen, luckily, so the greatest hurt that has come of this is that I will be watched very closely by superiors whose good will is earned by no small means, and whose wrath could mean charges of treason. Luckily again, I am not a man of small means.  All he really did was let everyone know him for the pompous ass that he is, especially given that practically the entire watch heard Viper’s little speech.”

Draken sighed, “I’m so sorry father.”

His father shook his head, “We were lucky, boy. We were luckier than anyone can ever expect to be when the nobles are involved, especially the ones with military stations in the castle. You need to be careful, you have to-!“

Draken felt hot tears streaming down his face, but he didn’t look up at his father. He heard him get up and walk to him, and put his arms around him. Draken hugged him back, trying desperately to stop crying, but he couldn't for a while. “It’s alright, son. It is alright.”

“I love you, father. I’ll try harder, I promise.”

“I know you will, son. You always have.”

* * * * *

The morning light was the most refreshing thing Draken felt. Every morning, he faced it, closed his eyes, let it warm his face. Mother. Sometimes, he could hear her voice or see her face in the sunlight.

“Draken.” He turned.

Terry stood a few feet away, trying not to meet his gaze.

“Good morning, Terry.” He smiled sincerely.

“I guess…”

Terry shuffled his feet in the long silence. The streets were busy now in the morning, but neither one of them seemed to notice. Draken nodded in the direction of the school, and they both started to walk together.

Terry finally broke the long silence first, “I’m sorry for… a lot of things. I know how hard it can be for you sometimes, with your father being a captain and all, and I don’t think sometimes, y’know? Roberte just… he really just pisses me off, you know? Him and his gang, his stupid nickname… Achilles… he had it coming.”

“Yeah, he did.”

“I know! I said I’m s-“

Terry looked at Draken, agape.

“You’re right, Terry. He and his friends beat people up, and teachers don’t do anything about it. At least, not anymore. It was great when you blacked his eye! It’s worth fighting if you’re fighting for something you believe in, that’s what dad says.”

Terry swallowed hard and laughed, “Yeah! I mean- I don’t think he should do what he does, and I just want to stick up for people! Somebody has to put him in his place, but nobody has the balls to do it, so I have to. I don’t feel like I have a choice sometimes… like something inside just… it can’t let him get away with it. He can’t.”

“Just… let’s keep it away from nobles next time?”

“Oh gods yes, of course. Next time I see a captain of the royal guard I’ll be sure to let him stab me; better a quick death than those three hours of lecturing my Dad gave me.”

“Any day of the week.”

At the schoolyard, classes were long, and often boring. At the school, children were taught a wide range of subjects and crafts: the art of the sword, military history, music and song, dance, and most importantly of late, proper manners in addressing one another as gentlemen. Girls were taught elsewhere and different subjects, some of which interested Draken, like sewing. Though, that was something he certainly kept to himself.

Roberte was there of course, and his eye had gotten worse, even swelling shut. The deep gash on his face from the rock Terry had thrown was black too, and sewed up carefully, “No doubt by his mother,” whispered Terry. His gang had all but left him after yesterday. “I suspect they saw us being dragged in chains and thought better of it,” said Draken. Terry shuddered and achingly rubbed some of the bruises on his legs.

Draken laughed, and rubbed one of his. When he did, he felt no pain at all. Puzzled, he pulled at his pants and looked, but couldn't find a single bruise. “Gods! He was soft on you! I’ve got bruises everywhere, you bastard.” Terry pouted, but Draken just laughed awkwardly. They were there yesterday, I could swear…

“Oy.”

Draken and Terry got to their feet immediately. Up close, they could see that Roberte wore a miserable expression, his face red and a deep red with anger. “We got to finish up what we started, don’t we kiddies?”

Terry stepped up first, an inch away from his face. “Take the first swing, fugly.”

“Not here.” Roberte stared at Draken.

Terry laughed, “Not here? Chicken shit Robby, can’t even finish what he started where he started it.” Draken noticed the sun had gone behind the clouds. …Something isn’t right…

Roberte stared grimly at Terry, but didn’t move. Around them, kids had started gathering. “Terry,” Draken said worriedly. Several of them had practice swords, and they were certainly not looking at the two of them with friendly kinds of smiles.

Roberte smiled. “Fine, Terry. Have it your way.”

Terry took a wooden sword to the back and fell, screaming with rage. He got up and rushed one of them, knocking his target square in the face and out of the fight. Draken tried to follow him, but was blocked by the crowd. He could still hear the fighting, and it sounded like he was winning, though they were alone now and both surrounded.

“This isn’t worth it, Roberte. They’ll know what happened this time, and you’ll have it worse than we will, you know that.”

Roberte shook his head, “I don’t give a shit about the teachers, Drak. Terry’ll lose that fight, and you’re too skiddish to fight us, so you’ll just take your beating and squeal, just like I want you to. S’all I want.”

One of Roberte’s gang swing a sword at Draken, bringing it down over his head with a loud crack of wood against skull. “Stop it!” Roberte knocked the attacker away, who looked at him incredulous. “I was just gunna put the hurt on ‘em Achilles, what’s your problem?”

“I’m doing this. Just me.”

Draken got to his feet, his head still swimming. He raised his arms, and Roberte smiled. “Oh, finally going to give fighting a go, aye? We’ll see.” He picked up a practice sword and laughed along with his gang.

Roberte brought his sword to the side and swung at Draken’s face again, which he blocked painfully with his arm. Draken came forward and punched hard against Roberte’s nose, bloodying it and popping some of his stiches. He reeled back to swing again, but Roberte kicked him backward in the gut. He blew snot and blood out of his nose and glared with his one good eye, holding his sword with both hands.

Draken put his hands up high to block his face and got low to the ground, swinging a punch for Roberte’s chin, but he surprisingly dodged deftly, and jabbed the wooden sword into Draken’s stomach, quickly bringing the sword upward and smacking his jaw. Draken reeled back, but lunged again, grabbing for Roberte’s sword. The two boys struggled over it for a second, but Draken’s grip slipped first, and he got hit in the head for it again. His vision blurred, and he felt hands grab him on all sides.

“We have to finish this, Achilles! Just do it and let’s go, I can hear people coming!”

Roberte nodded, smiling despite the blood pouring out of his face and nose. “Well, they say an eye for an eye I s’pose...” He laughed wickedly as he pulled out a small knife and grabbed at Draken’s hair.

“Draken! Draken! Kick his ass, Draken! Come on!” Terry was making his way past several of the kids making up the circle, already done with his group of attackers, but he couldn't make it in time. “Use it!”

I won’t do it, Terry.

Draken saw the knife approaching his face, gently brushing his cheek. Roberte was savoring the moment, his blood dripping onto Draken’s shirt, laughing deep in his throat. “Next it’ll be Terry. I’ll leave you an eye so you can watch, Draky.”

High above the fight, the clouds had parted. The sun shone down on them, and Draken felt it on his face again. The others had let go of Draken, who felt warm all over his body, stumbling around blindly. Roberte looked puzzled, and looked to his friends, who weren't there. “What in the gods-“

Draken gently grabbed both sides of Roberte’s head. He felt the warmth of the sun in his whole body, but not in his hands. He felt it in Roberte, too, pulsing in his arms and legs, in his heart, and in his head. Draken’s hands felt cold without the light, empty and hollow, somehow with rage. Slowly, he felt the warm light inside of Roberte’s head flowing like water between his hands, and he felt as if he could move it. So he did. The light in his head went out, and Draken found himself laying on the ground with only Terry, Roberte, and a teacher standing nearby.

Roberte looked around, still puzzled. “Where’s the light gone?” He felt his face and his eyes, searching for something. “Hey! Where’s the light?!” He was afraid now, walking and stumbling blindly forward, tripping over his feet and falling to the ground in front of Draken. “W-what’s happened? Where am I?”

Draken looked at Roberte, horrified. I did this. I blinded him. “Roberte!”

“Help! Please help me, please!” He was crying now, grasping at anything he could find. He quickly found Draken’s hands and held them tightly, and pulled him closer. “Help me, please! Please!” He wept, and began screaming, continuing to plead over and over again.

Draken looked up and saw the sun out again, and he felt it like he’d never felt it before. He saw light in Roberte, light that had gone out from his eyes and his face. Now, Draken’s hands felt white hot, and he put them on Roberte’s face. Slowly, he watched light fill him and pour out of his hands, even pouring out of his own heart, and over the boy’s face, which lit up with light.

Roberte blinked and looked up at Draken. He suddenly looked small, and more afraid than Draken had ever seen anyone be. He stumbled backwards, screaming incoherently and scrambling to get away from him as fast as he could. But he stared at him with two wide eyes, a fixed nose, and little more than a thin red line where his stiches were.

* * * * *

Draken sat in his chair quietly. His father sat beside him in his city watch regalia, frowning. The head of the school sat across the table, staring at the both of them, hands folded across his stomach. He sighed sadly, and shook his head. “What is to be done, Darren? Too many people have seen your son for what he is now. Miraculous though it may be I doubt the royal councilors will see anything but a hidden gem to be added to the King’s magi.”

“John, I put him here for a reason. The royal school will ruin everything else for him. I want my son to have a choice in the matter. You have to fight for that!”

“Fight whom, exactly?” John laughed coldly, “The bloody royal magi council? Who exactly d’you think I am, Darren? I run a school in the city of the crown, not some noble house or some damned government office. I-“

Draken looked up at the man, completely hopeless.

John sighed again. “I-I can try to convince them that the best place for him is here, being that he’s only just now showing signs of being gifted, but beyond that, this is out of my hands.”

Darren stood up immediately and shook John’s hand, “Thank you my friend. You don’t give yourself enough credit for being the head of the best school in this city.”

John laughed half-heartedly, “Tell that to the nobles. This is the dung heap for the poorest of aristocrats in their minds.”

“Better a dung heap of good people than a golden palace of stuck up royals, I say.”

The master of the school smiled at them both. “Perhaps. Good day, captain.”

“Good day, John.”

With that, Draken and his father left the office and walked home. Neither one spoke, but Darren put an arm around his son, who was silent as they walked. By the time they were sitting in the parlor, he had finally found himself able to speak again, though immensely depressed.

“They found the knife, son.”

Draken looked up at his father sadly. “I wish they hadn’t. It was my fault.”

Darren sighed, “No son, I don’t believe that. You did what you felt was right, as you always do. The teacher saw everything, and you did right by me and everyone involved. Gods, I thought Terry was going to explode, what with how happy he was.”

“Happy?” Draken felt anger welling up inside him. “Happy that I blinded someone? That I felt the light from inside of him in my hands?” He stared at them, but couldn’t see the light anymore, just his hands still bruised and blood-stained from the fight. “I did that and… and it felt good. It felt right and just and- and...” Draken felt hot tears streaming down his face, but he was smiling and he couldn't stop. “I’m a monster.”

Darren got up and hugged his son, who struggled against him, but eventually gave in and wept into his father. “What’s wrong with me dad?” Darren got on his knees and looked his son in the face, stern but lovingly. “Not a thing, son. You’re growing up, and some of us grow differently. I was foolish about this before, but… everything’s going to be okay, son. I promise.”

Draken stared at his window into the rain and darkness outside. He tried closing his eyes for hours, but sleep never seemed to come. He rubbed the bruises on his hands, trying to push back the terrible memories of what he’d done. When he closed his eyes, he still saw light everywhere, the terrible light that frightened him now. He got up, and looked down the road. He saw a light on and wondered for a moment at it, slowly coming to a realization. Terry! He’s awake, that’s his house.

As quietly as possible, Draken dressed for the rain, listening as hard as he could for any sound outside of his room. Slowly, he opened his door, and saw that there was strangely still light in the kitchen. Shit, father’s awake.

Listening intently for a moment, he could hear low talking between his father and someone else.

“…fool to think that he could just ignore it, brother. You know damn good and well that Draken has a destiny.” Brother? Is he...?

“I know that, Jaren, but he has the right to make a choice for himself.”

The other man laughed bitterly, “Always a choice with you, eh Darren? Aye, I agree with you in that. But he has no choice over what gifts with which he is blessed, and to abandon them would do more harm than good, like letting a wounded arm rot off: Better that he treats it than let the whole thing go to waste.”

Draken’s father shook his head, “Always the metaphors with you, brother. Perhaps he has no choice over his gifts, but I myself am fine without them. I wonder if you feel the same way.” I have an uncle!

The man bowed his head. “As I said, we’ve no choice in our gifts, or our curses.”

“Is it really such a curse to be normal, Jaren? What I saw today in my son… I’m not sure he feels gifted.”

“What do you mean?”

Darren thought for a long moment before speaking slowly. “Draken… hasn't grown up as you and I did, Jaren. The constant disappointment, the brutal training regimen, constantly berated for not being gifted… I will not have him live like that, Jaren. I wouldn't wish it on anyone, especially my son. Magic has not been the unattainable gift, but rather a weight to bear, a kind of secret to keep hidden so as not to be pushed into the royal magi school-“

“A foolish dream, Darren.”

Draken’s father lowered his head bitterly. “I know.”

“Now he is behind and uncontrolled. He is a danger to himself and others, that much is apparent.”

Darren looked up at the cloaked figure and raised an eyebrow. “My son is not dangerous.”

The hooded man chuckled, “Isn’t he? Blinding someone is not so easy for most holy magicians you know. It can take years for a student to learn how to draw power from the light around himself, let alone from other people with a mere. He is gifted, Darren! Perhaps more gifted than even our father.”

Draken’s father looked up at the man across the table with surprise, and with anger. He shook his head and spoke low and angrily, “My son will not be heir to that legacy, Jaren. That life is one of ruination and endless-“ a creak in the floorboards silenced Darren immediately, who paused and listened intently. Shit, thought Draken to himself, slowly retreating as quietly as possible to his bed, crawling in, and throwing the covers over his head.

The two men walked to his door and looked inside, silhouetted against the low candle light. The two men whispered where they stood, “We can continue this later, Jaren.”

“Yes. I’ll be by tomorrow after the ceremony and talk to the boy myself. Perhaps… perhaps he has something to say about all this as well.”

There was a short moment of silence between them. Draken shifted lightly, turning over in his bed. His father spoke low, his voice straining with emotion, “Thank you, Jaren. You’ve no idea how much-“

“Oh quit blubbering, you old bastard.”

“Eat shit, bookworm.”

The two of them hugged, and walked to the front door in the parlor. After a brief moment, it opened and closed quietly. Darren slowly walked into his sons room and sat on the bed. He laid a single hand on Draken’s shoulder. Turning in his sleep, he grabbed the hand and held it. His father sighed, patted his son’s head, and walked out, closing the door behind him.