"Well, come on then, get up!" the man with the scar barked, as he gestured towards me. "If you know what's good for you!"
Elenion moved before I could even attempt to rise, stepping between me and the group with an ease that belied his age. "He's under my care," he said firmly.
The scarred man raised an eyebrow, his lips twisting into a smirk. "Under your care? What is he, some charity case?"
Elenion's reply was swift, his tone steady. "He's a troubled student from the Capital's Academy of Magic, sent here to serve his time. While he's here he will serve as my apprentice."
I caught his glance—a silent warning not to contradict him. He was lying, but the confidence in his words left no room for doubt. The scarred man's expression twisted from amusement to skepticism.
"A mage, you say?" he sneered, gesturing at me. "In his condition, he doesn't look like much of anything."
Elenion's gaze hardened, his eyes narrowing dangerously. When he spoke, his voice carried a quiet threat. "If you value your health, you'll leave him be. Harm him, and you lose access to my healing services. We both know how much you and your men depend on it."
The scarred man hesitated, glancing back at his group. The other prisoners exchanged uncertain looks, the weight of Elenion's words hanging in the air. Finally, he grunted and stepped back.
"Fine," he muttered. "But don't think this means he's safe. No one stays safe here for long."
He and his men turned and retreated, their laughter echoing ominously as they moved away. I exhaled slowly, only then realizing I had been holding my breath. Elenion sank back onto the ground beside me, rubbing his temples.
"Welcome to your new reality," he said, his voice heavy with exhaustion. "I'm sorry, that was selfish of me to tell such a lie, but I feel it was the only way to keep you from more harm at this time."
I managed a weak smile. "I'm in no condition to argue. Thank you, Elenion."
I gestured toward the yard, where prisoners were still milling about, their gazes predatory. "With people like that around, there's probably no one better to have in my corner."
A faint chuckle escaped Elenion, but it was tinged with something more serious than humor. "I don't know if this makes a difference, but I can sense you've got a good heart deep down. Let's just hope my reputation holds, at least for the time being."
As if to punctuate his statement, a commotion broke out near the center of the yard. Members of the Sons of Iron were locked in a brutal scuffle with another group of prisoners. The clash was chaotic, fists flying and curses filling the air. Guards shouted from the perimeter, their barking orders carrying over the yard.
"Back to your cells! Move it!"
Reluctantly, we fell into line with the other prisoners, shuffling back toward the dim corridors that led to our cells. Once inside, the heavy iron doors slammed shut. Elenion sighed, lowering himself onto the cold stone bench.
"If we're going to maintain this charade," he began, "you'll need to understand how magic works. Even if you're not truly a mage, you must sound like one."
I nodded, wincing as I adjusted my position on the bench. "The military covered the basics for non-magic users. I know one or two spell circles, but they take much time to prepare."
Elenion stroked his beard thoughtfully. "That's a start, but it's not enough. Let's begin with the fundamentals."
He leaned forward, his expression serious. "Magic in this world can be accessed through several means. The first and most common is casting spells from memory. This requires the caster to have an innate magical essence, which is typically inherited at birth. Spells can be spoken aloud, or—with enough practice—cast silently through sheer willpower."
"And spell circles?" I asked, eager to participate in the impromptu lecture.
"Ah, yes," he said, his eyes lighting up. "Spell circles are a fascinating alternative. They can be drawn on any surface and function much like spells, except they don't require the caster to speak. Circles can even be inscribed on the body, activated by touch and intent. Their origins are ancient. Many even contain symbols and text from languages lost to time. Because of this, even non-magic users can utilize them, provided they invest the effort to properly prepare them."
He gestured to an invisible diagram in the air, his fingers tracing arcs and symbols. "The preparation is arduous, requiring precise calculations and deep understanding. But the reward is a tool that can bypass the limitations of essence."
"What about magical artifacts?" I pressed, recalling stories of enchanted swords, armor and books I faintly could remember being told about in my youth.
"Ah, artifacts!" Elenion's eyes gleamed with enthusiasm. "Objects that are imbued with magical properties. Some are created intentionally by master sorcerers, while others absorb magic naturally over centuries. Grimoires, for example, are books of magic containing spells, circles, and writings passed down through generations. They are treasures, each one a testament to its creator's skill."
I leaned back, absorbing his words. The possibilities of magic seemed endless, yet I couldn't ignore the gnawing doubt in my mind. "Is there any way for someone born without essence to gain it? Someone like myself, for example?"
Elenion's expression shifted, his smile darkening. "An excellent question, Shepard. That was the focus of some of my research before I ended up here."
I felt a chill as his tone grew more intense. "Theoretically, it is possible. There are forbidden rituals, ancient texts that speak of transferring essence or even creating it artificially. But these methods are… risky. The cost is often too high."
"What kind of cost?" I asked hesitantly.
Elenion's gaze met mine, and for the first time, I saw the weight of his past. "Life," he said simply. "Essence is tied to the soul. To create or transfer it often requires taking it from another."
I swallowed hard, the implications settling over me like a shroud. "Have you ever…?"
He shook his head firmly. "No. I studied the theory, but I never crossed that line. The risks outweigh the rewards. Besides," he added with a wry smile, "I'm not a monster."
The conversation hung in the air, leaving a heavy silence between us. I found myself staring at the stone wall of the cell, my thoughts swirling. The temptation of power was undeniable, but the cost felt overwhelming—perhaps even too much to bear. Still, the seed of curiosity had been sown and I knew it would be unshakable.
As the silence stretched, a new thought surfaced, one that had been lingering at the edge of my mind since my arrival. "Elenion," I began cautiously, "do you think escape from this place is even possible?"
With another deep sigh, he leaned back, his expression thoughtful yet grim.
"Theoretically? Yes. Practically? Much less so." He gestured around the cell, as if to emphasize the walls and iron bars. "The main part of the prison is shielded by a magical suppressing barrier. It weakens any spellcaster's abilities, siphoning their essence and slowing its recharge to a crawl. That's why I can still perform basic healing and utility spells, but not enough to launch a full-scale escape. The barrier is complex; it doesn't just suppress magic—it's designed to keep essence regeneration agonizingly slow."
He looked at me, his eyes sharp. "Even if we found a way to circumvent the barrier, the guards are trained to counter magic. And let's not forget the structure itself—walls of stone and steel designed to contain the most dangerous individuals in the empire. Any plan to escape would require precision, resources, and timing far beyond what we have now."
His words were tough to hear, but they only fueled my determination. The prison was a fortress, yes, but even fortresses had weaknesses. I would have to keep asking questions, keep learning, and keep watching. Every fortress could fall—eventually.
That night, I lay awake in the cell, my body still aching, but my mind finally beginning to clear. I reflected on the events of the past few days, the weight of them pressing down on me. The threat of the demons in the west was undeniable—real, immediate and growing. The empire, for its part, seemed to believe I'd be better off dead.
My body, battered and broken, was only a part of the problem. Even when I am whole again, healed and restored, my physical strength wouldn't be enough. I'd need more—much more. My combat skills, though useful, would only carry me so far. I'd need to build an army, forge a network, find allies.
No! I can't come to rely on anyone. In the end I would have to be able to stand alone. If I was to survive, to fight back, to take what is owed to me in this world, I would need power—exponential power. Magic.
Though Elenion's words still echoed in my mind, they refused to settle. Maybe he had been wrong about me—perhaps there was no good left, only a heart consumed by darkness and pain. My jaw tightened, my determination solidifying. I would escape this place. Revenge would be mine, on the empire and those who had wronged me—by any means necessary.