Jakob awoke with a start, the remnants of the haunting dream clinging to the edges of his consciousness like a persistent mist. His fingers instinctively touched the back of his neck, feeling the dull throb of pain. Blood coated his fingertips, a reminder of the seligá, whose venom had forced him to sleep. His heart throbbed with pain as he struggled to separate the dream's tendrils from reality.
The disorientation was palpable; he felt caught between two worlds, unsure of which one held the greater danger. As he rose to his feet, Jakob couldn't shake the unsettling feeling that the seligá, the elusive predator from his dream, was still lurking in the shadows of the waking world.
Where is it? Jakob thought, Why haven't I been killed? It didn't matter, what did matter was the vison.
"It… it couldn't be true, it must be a nightmare," He said aloud, desperately trying to rationalise what had just happened. "I need to see what Ingolf would think," Hoping he could count on Ingolfs experience to help him.
Jakob glanced toward Ingolf. A snore, not that dissimilar from a bear's growl, escaped Ingolf's lips. He's alive, thought Jakob with all the delight he could spare. Desperation etched lines on Jakob's face as he tried to rouse Ingolf, but the elder remained in a slumber as deep as the roots of the ancient trees that surrounded them. The vision had left Jakob with an urgency that clawed at him, urging him to act.
I have to leave him, thought Jakob as he swapped the practice hupoks for his own. I need to know if the dream is true. I have to find out if… no… they have to be alive.
However, this was not his day. The horses had broken their tether in fear and had fled into the woods. A howl of pain escaped Jakob's lips, an unspoken acknowledgment of the growing challenge. The horses were his lifeline, the key to unlocking the mystery of his vision. Without them, his journey back to Hukapa became an agonising trek.
"Ok," he said aloud, trying to calm down. It took a couple hours on horseback to get here. However, that was with the horses only walking, going easy and following the road. If I run over the Maurere's then that would be the fastest way to get home."
The Maurere's, a treacherous terrain of twisted roots and uneven ground, loomed ahead. Jakob's mind raced, contemplating the risks of running over this perilous path, but the urgency within him drowned out the logical whispers of caution.
Deciding his course, Jakob started to run. The shadows around the clearing moved, wishing him luck. But Jakob didn't notice.
Each step Jakob took drummed the ground, carrying him faster, closer to home. The world around him blurred into streaks of white and shadow. His heartbeat pounded, a relentless drumbeat urging him to run faster. Signing their signatures in blood, branches and thorns whipped against Jakob. He didn't even feel the thorns tear his skin. He was solely focused on getting home.
What he had seen had to be a nightmare. It had to. Jakob didn't even want to consider the possibility that it was real. Seconds ticked by, willing Jakob to run even faster. He had to. He had to know. Time seemed to slow, the falling snow sluggishly slowed. A scream of pain left Jakob's mouth as he pushed himself to run faster than he had ever ran
Let it be a dream, Jakob wished with all his heart. Down a small hill, his heart leapt into his throat. Flames, vivid and contrasting against the night, embraced the house he had always known. Ripped from Jakobs lungs, a distant scream echoed, absorbed by the consuming fire. Escape was a notion that hadn't even crossed Jakob's mind. Questions swirled within him.
Why had the magician come after him?
Why was his home ablaze?
Why did that magician...
A cry, torn from Jakob's soul, reverberated in the dark.
That magician...
Rage surged within him, a tempest unleashed by fear, loss, and confusion. Each stride carried him closer to the heart of the fire, driven by a force more potent than the flames that devoured his home.
What was happening?
Why was his home ablaze?
Why did that magician...
Rage.
The tendrils of fire illuminated the figure standing amidst the blaze, arms raised to the heavens. Jakob's internal turmoil manifested in each furious step, the urgency of his pace reflecting the chaos in his heart.
Why had the magician come after him?
Was his family alive? Or?
Why did that magician...
Rage.
The magician had ignited something irreversible within Jakob. As he neared the engulfed house, hupoks in hand, a silent vow echoed in the rhythm of his breath—a promise that the flames wouldn't be the only ones to unleash their fury tonight.
He wanted to make this man pay. In a state of deathly calm, Jakob took hold of his hupoks he walked towards the figure. Each step carried him closer and closer to his target. The darkness sensed his rage and clung to him like a mist. The weather turned, lightning crackled through the darkness and sheets of slate started raining down. With the boom of thunder, Jakob started to pick up pace.
As Jakob raised his arm, hupok gripped tightly. The echo of the nightmare resonated in the stillness, the weight of doubt pressing against his resolve. With every passing moment, the figure's identity remained concealed beneath the hood, a shroud of uncertainty that Jakob hesitated to unveil.
The seconds crawled by, the tension mounting in Jakob's chest as he wrestled with the rising realisation that this was not a mere nightmare; it was a gruesome reality. The image of his family's killer, the faceless menace from his dreams, was now within arm's reach.
A surge of anger, swift and powerful, coursed through Jakob's veins as the figure finally turned to face him. The hood fell away, revealing a crooked smile that mirrored the sinister passion of a lurking crocodile. The centre of his face, a mess— blood in the hole where a nose should be—a figure scarred by violence and cruelty. The storm around Jakob mirrored the tempest within, intensifying with each heartbeat, lightning flickering in tandem with the sparks of rage in his eyes.
Every detail of the killer's face seemed magnified, accentuating the scars, the twisted smile, and the chilling absence of a nose. This was not just a murderer; this was the embodiment of Jakob's worst fears, standing amidst the burning of everything Jakob held dear.
The hupok in Jakob's hand became an extension of his anger, a tool of revenge against the man who had torn apart his world. He shouted over the roaring storm, "Murderer!" The word echoed through the burning night, a declaration of vengeance that pierced the chaos.
With a ferocious throw, the hupok sliced through the air, propelled by Jakob's fury. The storm seemed to respond in kind, wind howling in symphony with his rage. The hupok hurtled toward the figure, a deadly missile guided by Jakob's unbridled rage.
The figure, bathed in the flickering light of the flames, turned his head to face Jakob. Crooked teeth glinted in the fiery glow, a ghastly grin etched upon the face of Jakob's nightmares. The storm reached its peak, lighting curling through the air.
With a throw of strength and rage, Jakob threw his hupok . Hissing through the air, the chained blade focused on the figure's chest. The blade never reached its target. It hung, suspended by magic, in the air less than a metre from the figure's chest. Jakob saw the man laugh at Jakob's pitiful attempt. The man said something that was lost in the storm. Around his wrists formed white rune circles, each rune holding a cryptic story, etched in a language transcending the mortal realm.
In an instant, a blinding flash seared through the darkness. Jakob's weapons, once extensions of his will, were engulfed in a coruscating brilliance. The hupoks, suspended mid-air, vibrated with a final, defiant hum before shattering into shards of metallic fragments. Chains, once the conduit of Jakob's strength, dissolved like mist, leaving only the lingering taste of ash in the air.
The man then turned his wrist and pulled towards Jakob. Unable to resist Jakob found himself being pulled through the air. With a squelch he landed in the mud at the feet of the figure. Fingertips touching, the man then cast another spell, one that Jakob had seen used before.
"Luften forlate lungene" as he spoke, his hands separated and curled into fists. Striking his fists together the man completed the spell. In a heartbeat all the air left Jakob's lungs.
Collapsing, choking, gasping, on all fours Jakob tried to breathe. The man reached one tattooed hand out, fingers coiling like a snake around Jakob's throat.
"World-killer" he hissed "The Master wants you alive, but he…" he paused, licking his lips in victory. "He is wrong. You, alive, will only destroy the world. World-killer. For raising you, they deserved to die," He said, referring to Asta and Bjari, hate lacing his breath.
No, they didn't, thought Jakob, they didn't deserve to die. As Jakob struggled to gain a breath, images flashed through his mind.
Bjari, his strong arms picking up Jakob when he split his knee on rocks. I will never feel his strength.
Killed in an instant.
Air ripped from his lungs.
Against the wall lifeless.
Asta, her laugh a comfortable peace when Jakob struggled with training. I will never hear her laugh.
Screams as spears ripped into her body.
Blood pooling from her mouth.
Dead.
A table filled with homemade dishes, a house filled with timeless memories. Asta's infectious giggles, and Bjari's proud smile.
No more.
Anger for his family's death coiled through his veins. His entire being screamed at their sacrifice, what they went through. It was more than revenge. His mind recoiled in disgust that people like this could hurt people so caring and loving. Without an ounce of fear in his body, Jakob reached up and grabbed the Man's wrist. Not today he thought, refusing to die. Pulling his free arm back, Jakob let all his pain, anger and disgust flow into a strike.
In mid strike something unexpected happened. Responding to his call of emotion, dark mist formed around Jakob's arms. The dark mist pulsated around Jakob's arms, each surge accompanied by a chilling energy that resonated deep within him. It seemed to respond to some primal call, as if the deaths of his family had beckoned forth this mystical force. The very essence of the mist felt attuned to Jakob's emotions, dancing with an otherworldly rhythm as if stirred by the echoes of his grief, anger, and desperation.
Shrouded by a smoky blackness, long sharp extended claws formed around his fingers. Acting purely on impulse, Jakob continued the strike. Leaving thin trails of blood, the shadow claws sliced through the murderer's skin easier than an arrow slicing through the air.
Letting go of Jakob, the man stumbled backwards. Wordlessly screaming the man threw both his hands forward, pushing the air. Like a kite lost in a tornado, Jakob helplessly flew backwards and landed with a wet thud among the snow.
Emotion spent; a million thoughts raced through Jakob's brain about what had just happened. He, Jakob son of none, had just used magic. It was just so unthinkable, on the other hand Jakob couldn't deny what had just happened. I'm a magician? How? Why? Was that why this man wanted to kill me?
Forcing himself to focus on what was happening in front of him, feet unsteady in the snow, Jakob struggled to his feet. If I could use magic, then what? How will it help me now? Unsure if he could summon the same focused emotion to summon shadows again Jakob had no idea what to do.
He hadn't received any magic lessons. He didn't know the slightest thing about magic. Jakob didn't know any spells. He couldn't fight this man. At that moment Jakob realised something. Using magic and being a mage was nothing special unless you knew how to use magic.
Defeat. That was one word that resonated through Jakob's core. The man got to his feet and started to weave a spell of death. Lowering his head, a single tear fell onto the snow. Wait... snow. He did know one spell. Hope propelled his movements, throwing his arms forward, Jakob shouted. Recalling words permanently imprinted into his brain, words that Acantha had used to move the snow. "Isflyt!" he screamed with all the strength he had. White runes responded to his call, spinning into existence, the supernatural made tangible.
The tips of Jakobs fingers flickered with an otherworldly chill as the ground shook in anger. The sound of the incantation echoed through the night, a symphony of arcane power. The transformation was not silent; it was as if the very fabric of reality groaned and shifted with Jakobs fury. Snow, coating the ground, responded, exploding upward in a burst of glittering ice, a crystalline explosion glistening under the moonlight. Encased up to his shoulders the murderer was trapped.
Within the barren dirt crater Jakob stood panting. I can use magic, I am a magician. A smile briefly graced his lips. The same hands that had called forth ice now trembled, and the once-vibrant eyes dimmed with fatigue.
However, the smile faded as a wave of exhaustion rolled over him. Head spinning, suddenly dizzy, lacking the strength to stand, Jakob sank to the frozen ground, breaths coming in ragged gasps. Drowsiness called his name and dulled his thoughts and feelings until the cold damp dirt felt like a bed for royalty. Jakob lay motionless on the frigid ground. Moving became a task that was too laborious and exhausting. With each beat of his throbbing heart his vision distorted and twisted. Lacking strength and struggling to move, Jakob finally looked at the ensnared man who was in the corner of his vision.
No.
It couldn't be.
The glint of something red, contrasting against the ice.
Around the man was a circle of flames that was slowly freeing him from the ice. Jakob's attempts to move were like whispers against the relentless wind. He couldn't even muster the strength to lift his head. The cold seeped into his bones, numbing every fibre of his being. It was over. He could do nothing, He couldn't move. The man finally broke free of the ice, stopping the flames he stepped out and raised his hands.
Jakob's thoughts became fragments of disconnected whispers. The memory of his family, the laughter with Asta, the warmth of his uncle's embrace—all distant echoes, drowned out by the approaching doom.
This is it, thought Jakob, this is the end.