Chapter 2 - The Mage

 Sputtering and flailing for a moment in the water, Arwin let out a flow of angry consternation. Swearing and cursing, he kicked at the shallow water beneath his feet as he reeled from the force of the blow.

“What in all the hells was that!?” He stammered, his voice barely steadied. The combination of anger, embarrassment and the slow throbbing pain that stretched through the whole of his body. Magic. Damnable magic. Not a warning or a seal or any kind to indicate it, just straight to blasting him with the full force of a typhoon. Arwin spit into the stream, a bit of blood mixed with his saliva. Looking down at his hands, he saw they had been slightly marked by the force of the wind-aspected blast. The riverbank rose nearly fifteen feet above him. It was going to be an arduous trek back to the top. The same soggy damp dirt that had cushioned his fall down the embankment would prove to be tedious to scale. A long smear of mud betrayed the location he had impacted and slid down into the creek.

Continuing his muttering, he bent down and began to scan the shallow stream. The mud his impact had stirred up was already beginning to clear, taken away down the slow flowing creek out past the bridge far overhead. After a minute or so of searching, he found his quarry. A strange metal object. A pendant, maybe, he thought. Silver or steel, he couldn’t tell which, shaped into a pattern that seemed to him like some chimera between a butterfly and a petaled flower. Set in its center was a strange object entirely foreign to him. Small and green with dozens of small gold embellishments upon its square surface. Each one perfectly uniform. Within the center, a clearing of the small embellishments was filled with a series of strange miniscule shapes. It almost seemed like a tiny city, sitting there upon the pendant. Something this peculiar with such an elaborate security could only have one conceivable owner. The mage. Arwin sighed again. It felt like it was a customary move today. At least the day had become less monotonous, he thought to himself.

Gathering himself together, he placed the pendant into his bag again. It was going to be a pain explaining this to that old kook. Then again, the mage was rather approachable if you could get over his strange obsessions. On the few occasions Arwin had been in his presence, the mage had made a habit of darting off mid conversation with whomever he had been speaking to. It seemed always as if he had been reminded of some appifany which demanded his immediate attention. It had gotten him into trouble on more than one occasion, for once when sitting in the tavern and having darted off without paying, the angry barmaid stormed all the way off to his tower and beat down the door until he remembered to give her the fee.

Nearly cleaned of mud and having regained his composure and breath, Arwin started his ascent of the embankment. Gripping a stray root or rock as he went, he only lost his footing once or twice. Thankfully never tumbling all the way back down. Crawling on his hands and knees for the last few feet, he finally summited and pulled himself back up onto the trail. His beautiful resting spot was dashed. The explosion from the pendant’s charm had cleared out the whole of the area. Sticks and rocks and dirt were blown and stuck to everything around. Small bits of the brown paper with which the pendant had been wrapped were splattered and clinging in tiny fragments all over. Worst of all, the force of the blast had blown a clean chunk off of the maiden’s pillar. Just below her feet, the meticulously detailed stone which had risen proudly undisturbed from the earth for generation was now chipped and fragmented. The main force of the blast must have gone outwards in this direction, if such a gust had blown his way he doubted he would still be equipped with both his hands. Bowing his head, he said a quick prayer of apology to the lady of the stream. If not for her lifegiving waters, the village would have never prospered. It was just a hunk of rock, but Arwin felt genuine remorse.

A few scattered bits of stone lay here and there. Arwin picked up a few and attempted to fit them back into the statue. Perhaps no one would notice, he hoped against hope. Of course, that would not be the case. The front fifth of the pillar had been nearly entirely shattered, and it seemed the cracks generated by the blast ran deeper still into the base. A horrific thought crossed his mind, what if the structural integrity of the whole thing had been disrupted? Would he really be the fool who destroyed the cherished maiden for such a stupid reason after all these millennia she had stood watch? Perish the thought. Seeking to inspect the damage closer, he moved forward and got close to the base of the statue. Gently parting the dust and ruptured stone, he peered in to see to what extent the cracks spread. Curiously, there seemed to be something lodged within the largest of the cracks he saw. Leaning in and reaching carefully, he attempted to pry it out. It was about the height of his little finger and slightly thicker than a piece of paper. As for the width, he couldn’t tell, concealed by the pressed stone as it was. Blowing upon the crack, more dust cleared. The object appeared to be a deep blue and shimmered slightly as the light caught it.

Arwin pulled his knife from his pack and used it to pry out the strange object. It slid out slow, then fell down upon the earth. He looked it over. Truly a strange looking thing, how could it have gotten into this stone? The whole of the stone pillar was clearly carved from a greater rock, it made no sense that such a thing could be naturally within the earth. Turning it over in his hand and examining the back, it seemed to resemble a playing card much like those that could be found in the tavern. Except along its front were strange runes he could not recognize, and the back was a solid color blue except for a thick line that ran across the top. Satisfied with his review of his new find, and happy to begone from the scene of his disturbance before anyone stumbled across him, Arwin stepped onwards down the path towards the mage Gesturne’s tower.

The mage’s tower lay upon the eastern outskirts of the village. Along the plains, it was the only site aside from the village which dominated the landscape between the ancient forests and the great mountain of Imilator. The tower was quite old, and though for many years it had lay dormant without a master, it had been unmolested. Mostly this was due to the presence of a very complicated security system which had been installed by the tower’s previous occupant. Similar to the magic trap which had been left for Arwin to discover on the package, many arcane contraptions had warded off any attempt by the villagers to venture inside and perhaps take some of the belongings left by the previous tenant. Gesturne, however, had had no trouble disarming and even rearranging these securities for his own gain. After just a week staying in the inn, he had completely neutralized the tower and taken it over as claimant. The townsfolk were not cross at this development, for a mage can be a very useful addition to a town. While generally having a bad reputation for being selfish and withdrawn, a friendly local mage is a great boon to any town or village that hosts one. A small endowment of food and supplies usually goes a good ways with courting their good favor. Curing ailments in men and animals is their primary way to return this favor, but their curious oddities were always the greatest interest generators. Stones which could answer rudimentary questions, baths that could heat themselves, kegs that purified water. All exceedingly useful.

Of course that would be an ordinary mage. Gesturne however did not seem keen on creating any type of useful tool for the villagers. He stayed cooped up in his tower for months if not years at a time. Though he was grateful for the supplies the villagers donated them, he would always pay simply with coin and spent no more time than necessary outside of his domicile. Initially the townsfolk paid him some good deal of attention, and talk of the town was when he would finish whatever work had consumed him and come forth to trade miraculous works of magecraft with the town. However, as months turned to years and years into decades, the man in the faroff tower faded further from the villager’s minds. Arwin, nearly at 20 summers, had barely heard talk of the mage his whole life. The village’s interest had faded years before he was even born. It was little wonder Arwin didn’t know the man’s name, for only twice had he seen his face. Once as a boy and another as a youth. Both times the mage had simply visited town for a wagonload of supplies, picked up a simple package of parchments from Arwin’s father and then gone about his way.

Arwin stretched his neck and paused as he strolled along the path. Gesturne’s tower was in full view now. The empty field in which it sat was clearly in neglect. Tall grass and weeds dominated the landscape. An old wooden mailbox lay crumpled upon the soil, nearly consumed by the surrounding grasses and rotting away. The tower itself was, or rather had been, quite beautiful. Blue clay bricks rose in a circular pattern up and out. As the tower climbed higher, the width grew to form a bulbous top. Crowning the blue tower was a red shingled roof. Upon the western portion of this was a small outcropping that could be accessed from inside. There were only two windows upon the whole of the tower, one roughly 10 feet off the ground and the other way up at the top level of the wide section. If his own dwelling was anything to go off of, the tower must be quite dark inside. Arwin’s mother kept most of the window covers drawn the majority of the day and all of the night, some instinct born of a bad experience in her youth. Candles burned day in and day out much to the chagrin of his father’s pocketbook. Their home had many more windows than two, and faced the midday sun. The tower seemed designed to enjoy the sunset more than the day itself. Possibly the difference between a building built by agrarians and intellectuals, Arwin mused to himself. The warmth of the sun must be of little interest to those that devote their lives to asking questions of the stars.

Trampling over the tall grasses, past the rotting mailbox and up to the main door of the tower he finally came to a halt. The great stone door which greeted him seemed ridiculous compared to any other he had seen. Was this the reason the old man barely visited the village, his door was too heavy to open? It bore no peephole or window to speak of. Solidly made of stone and solidly sent against the earth. No draft or light pierced it. Examining the far corner above him, Arwin could see a very storied spiderweb had been woven in its corner. A large bodied weaver made its home there. He knew this type of spider well, it made a habit of nesting upon the open angles of the smithy’s porch. The spider itself was quite large and splattered with a brilliant coloring of gold and black. The silk made from its web was the finest around, and often commented on by the seamstress down the street. The smithy however had strangely grown fond of the little hairy beasts and left them undisturbed all year round. The golden bodied weaver spider made its home nearly year long, only disappearing in the coldest months to hide away in some burrow or neighboring attic. It was clear to him then that this door had not been opened for an exceedingly long time, given that doing so would have torn apart the spider’s web and forced it to relocate.

Perhaps the mage had passed on, he thought to himself. It would be rather disappointing, having a mage who never contributed any fascinating devices to the village, but at least it would spare him the embarrassment of explaining what happened to his package. Taking a breath, Arwin drew closer to the door and tapped his fingers against its stone surface. He had never knocked upon a stone door before, he wasn’t sure what to expect. The sound that emanated was not nearly as sufficient as one would get from a wooden door. Barely a sound came in reply from his knuckles reverberating against that cold rough exterior. However, after just a moment a strange noise echoed from deep within the tower. A loud hum that reminded him of an annoyed cow. Once, twice, three times it sounded out. Inside he could hear its echo climb up through the tower and fade away. Arwin stood quietly for a moment, enraptured by the curious exchange. Every boy had an interest in magic, and Arwin was no exception. Though there was no inherent power needed to study the arcane arts, the secrets of magecraft were the most tightly kept in the whole of Gaelmark. Initiates into the art were usually chosen from among the most destitute of orphans and raised entirely separate from the general population. Only a handful of these orphans would then go on to become candidates for a full fledged mage. Any of those that sought to betray that brotherhood by sharing the secrets of their craft were quickly hunted down and silenced. It seemed like a harsh punishment, but due to the dangers of someone with ill intentions wielding such power, it was generally accepted as the right decision.

The silence from inside the tower was deafening. Patiently Arwin waited and waited. A whole minute passed without a sound. He raised his fist again and just as he was about to press his knuckles to the stone, the door shivered and shook. Arwin leaped back, the groaning of the stone as it ground out of its resting place was a strong opposition to the long silence which preceded it. As if it had been merely stretching its aching limbs, the groaning of the door quieted the further back it swung open. The spider upon its corner seemed confused by the rabble and after a moment of skittering back and forth decided to flee down and off into the tall grass. The inside of the tower then came into view. It was far more plain than Arwin expected. The stone floors and walls matched the outside, made of the same blue bricks. Concerning the décor, there was not much of note. Wooden tables and chairs sat within its heart, while many wooden shelving units covered the curved walls. It was quite tidy inside, not a single cob web or dust bunny could be seen. Most curiously, no person could be seen. Arwin peered inside, poking his head around the side of the door’s opening. No one was there. Had the door opened itself?

“Hello? You have a delivery” Arwin called, his voice echoing up the tower. After a moments hesitation he stepped inside the doorway and repeated himself. “Delivery here, anyone home?”

“Yes, yes. I’m upstairs” came a voice from above. Arwin squinted, his eyes adjusting to the interior. What was not apparent from outside was the presence of a great skylight carved into the very peak of the tower’s rooftop. Due to this, the inside of the tower was well lit. A peculiar design allowed for this, as the three levels of the tower all opened up in the middle to allow the light to travel all the way down.

“Um, shall I get the door?” Arwin called up to the voice.

“No no, that is quite alright. It will close itself” the voice replied, presumably Gesturne. Arwin looked back for a moment, examining the large stone doorway from which he had entered. He saw no contraption with which it had opened. It was simply a large slab of rock. Magic was employed here too, clearly. How convenient, he thought to himself. As he neared the twisting turning stairwell which led to the next level, he could hear the door begin to close behind him. The second floor was similar to the first, although this one sported a far more diverse pallet of colors. Many strange plants, the likes of which Arwin had never seen, were growing in various pots and cloth sacks. Along the tables sat multicolored vials, each hosting some different form of curious liquid. Glass-work was rather rare in this part of Gaelmark, the only other time he had seen such a vial was at the horse doctor’s dwelling, whose vials contained rare medicine that had been delivered from the coast. It was a delivery he had been tasked with early in his first year, something very valuable and delicate, quite a difficult thing for a young courier to forget. The number of vials on the second floor of the tower were nearly beyond counting. They lined upon the racks and shelves in many multitudes. Many large tomes also sat stacked in shelves along the wall. More still sat opened in different states of disarray along the tops of tables and even among plants. Glancing at a nearby open one he saw diagrams and drawings of different plants, the strange runic language which was written there was foreign to him, but the scribblings of the mage was in his own tongue. He could not read them however, due to how messily the mage’s handwriting had been. The most he could make out was numbered and measurements, presumably amounts of whatever was to be extracted from the matured specimen. Intrigued but not wanting to dawdle, Arwin proceeded up towards the final set of stairs. These were a bit more narrow than the ones before and as he reached the apex of the turn he had to slightly turn his body sideways to not brush his still damp clothing against the railing. As he summited the top of the stairs, he came upon the top floor. The light here was greater than the lower two levels, aided by the close proximity to the sky light. This floor’s contents were stranger still than the previous two. The whole of one side had been cleared out and filled in with an exceedingly complicated set of markings. They sprawled fully from the ceiling down onto the floor and all conjoined at a singular spot. Within this spot was a slight clearing, about the width of a man’s shoulders in all directions. Around it in a ring were a complex series of runes like the ones he had spied within the book on the previous level.

“Excuse the mess” the man called for him, his back still turned to Arwin. The man was hunched over a pair of objects, one a book and the other a stone tablet. Arwin knew little of the works of magery but few magical items were as famous as their iconic tablets. Imbued with some manner of arcane brilliance, the tablets served as wondrous assistants to their masters. Answering many different forms of complicated questions and able to perform tasks such as calculations and drawings. The palm stones that mages distributed to their host villages could often answer questions such as if rain was to come the day following or what medicine to administer for certain illnesses, but a tablet was on another level. The tablet was the sole property of a mage and served them diligently in the most advanced of tasks. The mage was hunched over the tablet, seemingly consumed by his task. His fingers ran over it, prying at some mechanism that Arwin could not see. Mumbling to himself as he went about his task, peering back and forth between the tome and the tablet.

“Are you master Gesturne?” Arwin inquired. The question seemed to shake the mage out of his deep thought.

“Ah well, yes. Yes I am.” Gesturne replied, turning finally to face Arwin. His appearance would have been slightly surprising to Arwin had he not been a mage. Despite being easily over a hundred years old, he did not look a day over sixty. His voice was steady and strong and his skin was taut and colorful. Only did his eyes betray his true age, deep and wise, they shimmered as the sunlight refracted off of them, like a cat in the night. Arwin wondered if perhaps even that part of his body he had altered. Magecraft was greatly powerful and instilled long life upon its practitioners. Not immortality but certainly great rejuvenation. The ability to reinvigorate not only their appearance but the very roots of their physical form was an often discussed and envied trait among the commonfolk. Kings and rich men alike had often sought to pry the secrets of this self preservation from the mages, yet found little in the ways of answers. It seemed whatever processed they employed was among one of their closest kept secrets.

“Has anyone ever told you that you have a habit of staring?” The mage inquired. Arwin flushed slightly with embarrassment, realizing he had been inadvertently lost in the man’s eyes as he pondered his physical form.

“E-excuse me” Arwin stammered “It’s just the first time I’ve gotten a close look at a mage.”

Gesturne seemed very amused by the comment and lit up into uproarious laughter. Going so far as to slap his knee as he enjoyed a deep chest shaking laugh. Arwin looked away slightly annoyed at the geezer’s reaction.

“VERY WELL THEN!” Gesturne bellowed. “Well have a look, not everyday you see a genius mage is it?” Arwin wondered if the old man had lost his mind.

Gesturne hopped down from his perch upon the low backed chair which he had been sitting and began walking towards Arwin. He walked with a remarkable sense of purpose for someone who had locked himself away in a tower for decades. Arwin was half expecting him to stumble around, as stationary as he seemed to live.

“Well boy, I won’t keep you waiting any longer. Certainly the world’s end wont wait for us.” Gesturne expectantly put forth his open hand at this remark. “It was a good thing you came when you did, just a few days more and I would have had to put in quite the complaint now wouldn’t I?” Arwin raised an eyebrow at the statement, seeing Gesturne’s confident gaze break slightly as he said it.

“Well you need’t worry, all is well. I have your package in hand.” Arwin said, reaching into his pack. As he placed his hand upon the pendant he hesitated. “That being said, there was a slight hitch in the shipping…”

“Clearly I can see there was” Gesturne replied before letting forth another boisterous laugh. “You’ve the clear marks of the zephyr upon you!” Gesturne leaned over, now quite close to Arwin, tugging on his short white beard as he leaned in to examine the marks upon the boy’s arms and hands. Reactively, Arwin turned slightly. He had not expected the mage to pickup on his appearance so quickly and accurately. His plan to ease the mage into the confession of his package being opened was foiled before it could get any legs.

“Oh never mind it, there’s no need to act shy. As long as it got here on time, thats the main concern now isn’t it?” The mage said with a curt nod, seemingly drawing himself into a deep thought. He sat there with his eyes closed, stroking his shortly cropped beard again. He hummed in a low volume to himself, seeming back to being lost in thought. Happy to take advantage of the lapse in observance, Arwin collected himself and continued with his task of retrieving the pendant. No longer self conscious, his hand quickly found its mark and pulled forth the item without delay. Clearing his throat with a curt Ahem. Arwin summoned forth the mage’s attention from his deep contemplation.

“Well, here it is. Packaging aside I think you’ll find its no worse for wear.” Arwin handed the mage the pendant as he spoke. Gesturne accepted and quickly looked the object over a few times, a look of determined excitement on his face.

“Ah very well, very well indeed.” Gesturne studied the pendant closely, inspecting the small golden embellishments on its surface closely. Seemingly satisfied with what he saw, he quickly produced a golden coin from a small sack on his belt and thrust it towards Arwin with an outstretched hand. Arwin’s eyes lit up.

“Wow, um, well thank you. Quite generous.” He was always bad at accepting tips. As much as he enjoyed them he always felt awkward about them. It was not customary to tip for a delivery, the fee had already been put forth by the shipper. It seemed whatever situation he got into while being tipped always led to some trouble. Once a lonely housewife, another time a shady dealer. This time however the tip was even more exceptional. One whole golden piece. Equivalent to about a month’s wages. Whatever this pendant was to the mage, he was clearly quite enamored by it. Once he had taken it into his hands he had no ventured even a passing glance at Arwin. He was completely absorbed in studying its detail, as if he was weighing his options depending on its quality. Gesturne turned back and raised an eyebrow at Arwin’s presence.

“Oh, you’re still here? Forgive me, where are my manners. You’ve done well boy, thank you.” Gesturne offered a curt nod of his head. “The door will let you out on your way, travel safely back to the village.” At this remark he turned back and again became engrossed in studying the pendant. Arwin felt a tinge of disappointment. Some deep part of him was hoping the mage would recognize perhaps some latent magical aptitude within him, or a birthmark denoting his ancient noble heritage. Something anything other than simply dropping off a package and leaving. He was too proud to admit it, but he desperately wanted to spend any more time in the tower that he could. What an interesting place, how many secrets of the world were squirreled away here just waiting for him to discover them. Gesturne seemed entirely disinterested in his continued presence. Arwin turned to leave. Deciding he would take one last look at the peculiar book downstairs before he went. As he approached the stairwell, the feeling of disappointment welled up even greater in his heart than before. Wasn’t there any excuse to stay a moment more?

His dawdling did not go unnoticed.

“Still here?” Gesturne said, his voice less entertained than the first time. “Go on now, I have much to attend to. Better not to test the famously poor hosting prowess of a mage, now isn’t it?” His words were playful but his eyes showed his true feeling. He was clearly ready to return to whatever manner of work he had been attending to and found Arwin to be a botherful disturbance to that process. Arwin flushed, a combination of embarrassment and annoyance. He had came all the way here and nearly been blasted to oblivion for this package, was a bit of curiosity such a sin? Arwin had never considered himself a nosy person, but something deep inside him pleaded with him to stay for any moment more he could.

“Ah, well actually there is one thing…” Arwin trailed off as he fumbled around his pack. Gesturne’s face dropped slightly, it seemed his pleasantry had about reached his limit with the boy.

“Now listen, you must understand I’m very busy with work of the utmost importance. Whatever it is I’m sure it can wait until the next time I visit the village.” Gesturne was fond of the villagers, they had treated him well over the decades, but he much preferred when they had left him be. The first decade or so they had been so overly interested in his presence that he had cut them off completely for another two. After nearly a lifetime he thought he had finally secured enough disinterest in them that he could operate as he pleased, but now it seemed that bartered peace was slipping away.

Arwin ignored the look from the mage and pulled his last resort from his chest pocket. The strange object he had unearthed from within the maiden statue’s base. Just as he did, Gesturne turned his gaze back towards the boy, about to give forth a more commanding order for him to vacate the premise. He summoned the strength to use a serious tone, but just as his eyes fell upon the boy, his gaze cast upon the object he held in his hand.

Gesturne was floored. His expression betrayed it well. Arwin was surprised his little gambit had worked so well, he had hoped at best to buy himself an extra minute with which to peruse the second floor while Gesturne dismissed the object as some piece of waste, but the mage’s entire focus was now squarely directed on the little blue square.

“How, well, what- Let me see that” The mage stammered. He shoved his pendant in his pocket and stepped forth, closing the distance between the two quite quickly. Years of instinct as a courier kicked in and Arwin pulled the item away from Gesturne’s snatching fingers. The mage’s eyes grew slightly wider, and realizing the possessive way that he had struck out towards the object he took a breath and collected himself for a moment, as if dismissing the impulsive way he had acted a moment before.

“Excuse my actions, but what you hold is quite extraordinary.” The mage said in a much calmer tone. “Pray tell me, from whom did you acquire such a trinket?” Gesturne’s eyes never left the little blue rectangle, it seemed he was trying to makeout what the faded runes upon its surface read.

“No one person” Arwin replied “I found it within the base of the maiden’s statue at the creek’s head. Gesturne’s eyes lit up, his mind turning faster at this remark.

“The fountain…? Is that so? Can it be then…?”

“Fountain?” Arwin replied in confusion. He had never heard anyone refer to the lady of the stream as such. Though it was true she sat at the head of the creek, it was only coincidence that her placement coincided with the wellspring. Wasn’t it?

“What you hold in your hand is of a great importance to me, let me be clear.” Gesturne said to the boy, addressing him in a respectful tone. “I do not seek to deprive you of it unjustly, but please know that is it of great importance to the well being of not only us and the village, but perhaps the whole of Gaelmark.” Gesturne seemed very serious suddenly, he looked Arwin directly in the eyes as he spoke. “What is your name, young man?”

“Arwin, son of Emil.” Arwin replied.

“Well then Arwin, son of Emil. I have a request of you.” The mage produced another pair of golden coins from his satchel. “If you leave this item with me for seven days to study, I will pay you two gold pieces in rent. Once the seven days are up spent you can return here and reclaim it and I will teach you perhaps a small secret about this world. Are these terms agreeable?”

Arwin lit up at the statement, another 2 months of pay was obvious a fantastic agreement for him, but further still to have a mage offer something as fabulous as a payment of knowledge was on another level. Was this the start of a new chapter in his life? Arwin was overjoy at the prospect. Finally something interesting was happening to him! He nodded and quickly agreed to the mage’s terms. He handed over the little trinket in exchange for the two coins. Putting them in his pocket, he turned around to leave, happily content knowing he would return. As he began down the stairs he thought he heard Gesturne mumble something to himself, just barely unable to hear it.

“Did you call for me, Mr. Magus?” Arwin said, his head barely peaking out from the stairwell.

“No, no. That’s all. You can be on your way now, Arwin.” Gesturne replied. He never turned around to face the boy as he spoke. His voice seemed strangely strained, as if he was putting on a facade. Arwin was curious about this sudden change but decided not to press his luck, content as he was at the present developments. He struck down the stairs and bounded down to the first level. He waited at the stone door until it creaked open, then strode forth out into the daylight. Back down the road, he practically skipped with glee as he blazed down the trail back to the village. What a lovely day he thought to himself, perhaps life isn’t so bad after all.

Back in the tower, Gesturne sat hunched over his desk. His eyes wide, he stared at the object Arwin had produced for him. His hand clasp over his mouth, he barely had the courage to breath. A single tear formed in his eye and lingered there for a moment before falling down upon the parchment below him.

“So many wasted years… it’s already too late.” The mage leaned over his desk and began to cry.