He who is born above men bears a curse:he cannot descend without betraying himself,nor ascend without being consumed in solitude.The world admires him, but does not understand him;it beholds him, yet does not dwell in him.
—Inspired by Friedrich Nietzsche, Thus Spoke Zarathustra (1883–1885)—
Eohedon, as he delved into the magic of men, did not see it as a weakness but rather as a pure manifestation of the species' intrinsic ability to overcome its limitations. Although his elemental magic sprang from an almost instinctive thought, he recognized the complexity and tenacity of the systems, chants, and scriptures that had been crafted over the centuries.Those achievements, though belittled by more fortunate species, were irrefutable proof of human ingenuity and perseverance.
Despite his natural superiority, Eohedon silently approved of these efforts, understanding that true greatness did not always reside in ease but in the capacity to adapt and create through constant endeavor. Yet that very method offered him little left to discover.
In his youth, dominant both in theory and practice, if any other mage in Magistic dared to praise him, he would be deemed a genius—and that recognition would not be an empty compliment but the acceptance of a sublime truth.
But therein lay his limit: no matter how much they tried, human paths remained a false medium, incapable of matching the innate grandeur of Eohedon or of those of equal stature. Perhaps that was the reason for human misfortune in the face of dragons or elves: regardless of their persistence, an insurmountable barrier always stood between them.
Fed up with such reflections, he left his study with resolute steps, determined to put an end to that which reduced him to a mere shadow of what he once was.Yet deep within his chest, something more profound stirred—a void that neither his immense power nor his vast knowledge could fill.
Stepping through the door, he found Ehdia, his mother, seated before the window that overlooked the garden.The daylight caressed her serene features, yet her expression appeared carved in stone—imperturbable and distant, as if her very presence judged everything around her.
Eohedon advanced toward her with determination. His voice thundered through the air, laden with strength and despair.
"Ehdia! How long must this go on!" he exclaimed, fists clenched and his chest ablaze with frustration. "Illuminate me, even in the smallest measure, about my purpose or the meaning of my existence! Why did you bring me into this cruel world only to estrange me from everything?"
Ehdia's gaze slowly shifted toward him, heavy with a weight that made the very air seem denser.At length, her voice sliced through the atmosphere with precision, as sharp as a dagger:
"—Eohedon, waste of magnificence, excuse of Grace. You, endowed with knowledge forbidden to man, do you dare appear before me stripped of humility?Do you not comprehend the boundary between the sea and the land?Your attitude—so empty and pedantic—is nothing but a reflection of your miserable being. Do not speak to me of weakness while your soul remains so rotten."
Every word pierced Eohedon's pride, tearing at his very identity. His lips trembled, incapable of forming a reply. Something within him—once unbreakable—shattered.How could his ego endure such an insult?How could a life marked by sorrow tolerate such absurdity?
—This was Stockholm—
Ehdia's disdain rent his spirit, probing the depths of his being. In his chest, something visceral began to awaken: anger.
The air, light until that moment, turned cutting—as if each molecule carried an invisible edge.The clouds, once tranquil in the sky, darkened and swirled into a furious chaos that veiled the sun and dimmed the earth.
The flowers around him, vibrant and full of life, withered instantly, falling like ashes.Even the solid, steadfast ground trembled beneath his feet, as if in response to the awakening of this unprecedented emotion.
Such was Eohedon's influence over the world that it seemed to mirror his inner turmoil.Every element of nature shared his sentiment, amplifying the force of his wrath.
And yet, Eohedon himself could not fathom what was unfolding.He did not know whether the world was reacting to him, or if he had become part of that chaos.The only certainty was that something within him had changed forever.
The streets of Magistic lay empty, as if the entire town had held its breath. Eohedon strode forward with unwavering steps, his cloak billowing like a black flag. Windows slammed shut in his wake, and the murmurs of the villagers were drowned out by the echo of his boots on the snow.
"Eohedon," called Katherine, her voice soft as a silk thread in the wind, "you do not have to do this."
He paused. For a moment, the world seemed to hold its breath. Katherine's words resonated in his mind, evoking an echo he could not ignore: the memory of a cold night when she had offered him a cup of tea, and for the first time, he felt truly seen."Power is not a shield," she continued, stepping closer, "it is a mirror that reflects your fear of being human."
Eohedon closed his eyes. He longed to turn, to embrace her, and beg her to save him from himself. Yet pride, like a wall of ice, barred his path."Farewell, Katherine," he murmured, and resumed his journey toward the horizon, where sky and earth merged into an abyss of possibilities.
Like one lamenting his expulsion from Eden, Eohedon felt nothing but exhaustion.Exhaustion with Ehdia, with Katherine, with Magistic, with the townsfolk—weariness of everything that neither grasped his greatness nor matched his eloquence.
Meanwhile, Ehdia, who had silently conceded to Eohedon's departure, could not feel worse about herself.
Never knowing how to express love or cope with anything, her tongue had always been as sharp as a spear.
Why else would she be so infamous?
Eohedon did not know whether his anger elevated him above men… or plunged him into the very hubris that destroyed Aidglan.