The morning sun bathed the village of Brinhold in a golden glow, its warmth chasing away the lingering chill of the night. Kael adjusted the straps of his apprentice's satchel, wincing as the coarse leather bit into his shoulder. His days were often spent fetching ingredients and scrubbing cauldrons for Master Ivor, a task he performed with begrudging diligence. But today, there was an unusual lightness in his step. The annual Harvest Festival was days away, and for once, the village brimmed with anticipation rather than monotony.
Kael hurried through the market square, the scent of fresh bread and roasting meat filling the air. He passed the old well at the square's center, where a group of children laughed as they played a game of sticks and stones. It was a simple, peaceful life—one Kael had always felt at odds with. His mind often wandered to the tales of adventurers and mages that travelers shared in the tavern. Stories of power, glory, and destiny that felt distant from the chores and scolding he endured daily.
"Kael!" a sharp voice rang out, pulling him from his daydreams. Mareth, his younger sister, waved to him from across the square. She carried a basket of herbs, her long auburn hair tied back in a practical braid.
"You're late again," she chided as he approached. "Master Ivor's going to tan your hide if you don't get those roots to him."
Kael grinned sheepishly. "I'm not late… just slightly delayed." He gestured to the satchel. "See? I've got everything he asked for."
"Barely," Mareth muttered, rolling her eyes. "One of these days, your head's going to get you into trouble."
They walked together toward the alchemist's hut, exchanging light-hearted banter. Kael found solace in these moments with Mareth; she was the one constant in his life, a steadying presence when his thoughts strayed too far into fantasies of grandeur.
The tranquility shattered with the arrival of strangers.
Kael first noticed them as they entered the village square, a group of five cloaked figures. Their movements were deliberate, their presence an unsettling ripple in the otherwise peaceful fabric of Brinhold. The tallest among them, a man whose face was obscured by the shadow of his hood, raised a hand. With that single gesture, the air seemed to grow heavier.
"Mareth," Kael whispered, his instincts screaming danger. "Get behind me."
Before she could respond, the man's voice rang out, deep and commanding. "Citizens of Brinhold, we seek only what is owed to us. Surrender your valuables, and no harm shall come to you."
The square fell silent. The villagers exchanged nervous glances, unsure how to react. When no one moved, the man's tone hardened. "Defiance will not be tolerated."
As if to punctuate his words, one of the cloaked figures stepped forward, their hands weaving a complex gesture. A surge of magic erupted from their fingertips, striking the ground near the well and sending debris flying. The children screamed and scattered, their game forgotten in an instant.
Kael's heart pounded in his chest. He had heard tales of rogue mages, but he had never imagined he would face them. The villagers began to panic, scrambling to gather their possessions and retreat to safety.
"Kael, we have to go!" Mareth tugged at his arm, her voice shaking with fear.
But Kael couldn't move. His eyes were locked on the scene before him, on the fear and helplessness that gripped his home. Something stirred deep within him, an anger that burned hotter than the fear.
When the mage raised their hand again, aiming another spell at the crowd, Kael acted without thinking. He stepped forward, raising his own hand as if to shield the villagers. A surge of energy, raw and untrained, erupted from him in a blinding flash of light. The magic collided with the rogue's spell, creating a shockwave that sent both mages and villagers sprawling.
Kael collapsed to his knees, his breath coming in ragged gasps. The square was eerily silent, save for the crackle of dissipating magic. All eyes turned to him, wide with a mixture of awe and fear.
"Kael… what did you do?" Mareth's voice was barely above a whisper.
He looked down at his trembling hands, the faint glow of magic still fading from his fingertips. "I… I don't know."
The cloaked figures recovered quickly. The leader's hood had fallen back, revealing sharp features and cold, calculating eyes. He pointed at Kael, his expression one of interest and menace. "Take him."
Panic surged through Kael as the rogues advanced. Mareth pulled him to his feet, desperation lending her strength. "Run, Kael!" she cried.
And so they ran, leaving the village square behind. Kael's heart was heavy with the knowledge that nothing would ever be the same again.