Sunlight trickled down the streets of Kag. Hay matted Jan’s shoes. The capital was in full swing, with merchants, prospectors, and soldiers bartering for goods as horses trotted down winding roads. Buildings six and seven stories high broke the horizon as fluorescent banners stretched across the open sky. Slipping through the passing crowd, Jan reached into his robes to place his hand in his thin pocket. He patted around, hoping to find some form of loose coin. Three quand met his grasp, but it was barely enough to buy mouldy bread.

  It had been sixteen years since the young scribe was informally adopted by the Archmage. Irwain had been kind to him, acting almost like a distant father. He was always present, yet never truly there. He had attended Jan’s graduation and his tests and seemed intrigued with his abilities. His true parents had both been guardsmen who were loyal servants of the master who perished to Crous’s blade. It was then that Irwain noticed his talent, a gift that could not be matched for a thousand years—or, well…five at the rate he was failing exams.

  Sometimes, when he closed his eyes, he could hear them and feel his first memories as a child.

  The warmth of a winter's night. He remembered walking until his feet felt brittle, and being cold, extremely cold—more cold than possible in every kingdom of the land.

  At a young age, he had shown a talent for magic to rise far above his peers and be placed under the study of Danmu. Irwain had labelled him consul, which was a rank granting him the great privilege within Kag’s spindly halls. Then, after a series of misdeeds, he wound up as a scribe. He was still taught by Irwain, yet was punished for his disobedience through menial labour. He had met Laura there, and the two had become friends from their parentage. Both were orphans of the attack, which still scarred the city's walls.

  Jan caught sight of the market ahead. It bustled with brokers from every corner of the empire. The sprawling plaza was home to over three hundred traders and was an important link in the Caulin Road. Trade federations and guilds had taken over a large part of the district with marble towers and chiselled stalls. He had worked for a few and run errands to supplement the Archmage’s meagre allowance. Sometimes it was so little that the coins seemed to taunt his gaze, gleaming metal laughing in his palm. Or, well, that was just the enchantment.

  At its center, a monument for Jana stood. Short stone hair cascaded, landing atop gleaming plate mail. Her gaze stood firm, unyielding in its potent composure. It had been constructed shortly after Crous’s defeat in honour of the general's victory. Now, a few pigeons claimed their head, and muck clung to the feet and hands of the statue. Jan could still make out half-plastered cracks in the pavements and roofs above—spots where the assassin had climbed and where hundreds of mages shot fire in the hopes of churning their opponent to ash.

  “Hey!” a shout echoed.

  Jan slammed into a figure, knocking himself and his robes into the muck of the streets.

  “Look where you’re going, kid!” A merchant bustled past, shaggy beard partially hidden by a fresh basket of apples.

  The young consul brushed the dirt off his knees, seeing the glistening fruit disappear into the roaring crowds.

  I have an idea.

  Ten minutes later, his target was in sight. Sunlight glinted overhead as Jan leaned against a moss-ridden wall, his brown cloak flapping in the breeze. His eyes wandered carelessly to rest on two steak pies. The smooth wooden table of Anua’s restaurant glinted in the hot sun as it waited for patrons who never came. Often people would do this, nobles and peasantry ordering their food in advance only to miss their meal or be late due to some unforeseen event. It was a fickle practice, especially in terms of food waste with Kag’s ever-growing poor, but also a sign of dignity and class. When he was with Irwain, he would eat here too. They would often dine upon its fine cuisine while the Archmage doled out tasks.

  For a moment, the consul paused to smell the freshly baked crust as the scent wafted through the air to fill the side street with joy. His smile faded as he noticed a server standing beside the table, watchful eyes glinting toward customers trickling into the shop's bustling halls. It was a formidable foe or just a regular commoner who hung around and could shout.

  White light splintered to the ground, Jan’s eyes began to shimmer, small white pupils replacing the murky blue. Wet sludge began to stir, mud sifting on the cobbles as a side effect of magic. Slowly, an apple rose from the gutter, red tissue matted in mud as it soared through the air. Few people noticed, and if so, cursed under whispered breath. Simple folk had neither the time nor the complacency to stand in awe at every wielder who stalked the cobbles. Magic wasn’t uncommon among the shadowed alleys, yet this was.

  In seconds, Jan’s palm clenched, and the floating fruit ripped apart. Juice showered the alleyway as spindling weaves of apple flesh withered in the air.

  Stolen content warning: this content belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences.

  Crud. That wasn’t supposed to happen.

  He repeated the process, this time more slowly. Instead of splitting, the tissue warped and splintered as the fruit turned into two replica pies. It seemed to hover for an instant, almost fifty feet above the street and hidden by the clouds. It would taste absolutely horrible, but the least Jan could do was aim for aesthetic perfection. Jan had tried duplicating candy once and ended up in the hospital for a day as it turned back into rocks. Fingers traced his creation's movements. He slowly directed the food to land on the crest of a nearby table. Now came the easiest part: creating a significant enough distraction…

  “What are you doing there?” a voice choked.

  Food slammed against splintered wood as all four pies splattered into the muck. Jan jumped, for his shoulder was pulled down by the red sleeve of a town guard. He squirmed in the knight’s grasp.

  “What’s your name?”

  Two soldiers stood behind. They were bronze-plated guards with sheathed blades who grinned in the shadows, almost smirking at their catch. The first held on tight with her hand, forcing Jan into a confession.

  “Jan Thoreg, Consul to the Archmage,” he breathed.

  At this, a horrible cackle emerged from her lips. “Yeah, right. Give us a real name!”

  Oh light.

  For a moment, Jan froze as his heart pounded in his chest. He looked down at his tattered robes to find his signet was nowhere to be seen. Not even the barest scrap of his imperial rank remained.

  “I spent three weeks on campaign only to realize the vilest criminal lies at home,” the first soldier scoffed.

  “What does that mean? I stole a pie,” Jan muttered.

  A gauntlet slammed against Jan’s leg as they continued to scream into his ear. “Answer us!”

  The two bickered as the second knight stared with bright green eyes.

  “I swear, I’m not…”

  A sharp fist slammed against Jan’s cheek, and a bruise formed on the parted skin. The two were taking their time, almost intrigued by what they just saw. He could tell something else was at play.

  She leaned in, whispering into Jan’s ear. “Was that an artifact? I’ve never seen magic like that before. Maybe you show us, and you won’t spend a little longer in these cuffs.”

  Thin braces were already being latched to his wrist. Wrought iron was an inhibitor for any form of channeling.

  “Kid, we're not going to let you go,” the commander spoke.

  “Channelers are on. You’re not going to get out of this. Tell us, or we’ll…”

  “Sorry,” Jan screamed.

  “You're sorry?” The knight wheezed.

  White light burst through Jan’s eyes as he sprinted down the cobbled street. Both guards screamed, their shoes sinking into the pavement as they spasmed in desperation. It seemed in moments the ground had turned to mulch.

  Jan was halfway through the merchant quarter when he turned to have his eyes catch the sight of the two running barefoot behind. They were more persistent than most, partly motivated by revenge and staring at Jan like he had just stolen their lunch. He slipped on a basket of hay to spill the thin yellow straws into the sewer beneath. The gold-crested crop wilted among the undergrowth. Shouts filled the placid air as four more guards turned. The city watch was active this time of day.

  “Stop him, stop that kid!” the lead soldier screamed.

  Jan slid as his feet ground through festered muck. Shouts echoed as he dodged the swing of an incoming cart. He was in the center of the road now, winding down trails he had barely seen. A merchant stepped aside to let him pass while staring in awe as the young boy ran. Red robes leapt from the shadows, yet Jan dodged, pinning the soldier to the wall with a quick shard of ice. Villagers stood back in shock as he jumped with his legs soaring through the air to rest on top of a nearby carriage. The horse and driver swerved to have a passenger stand up and raise an ivory bow. Nearby a siltabear—a giant horse-bear hybrid—roared, pulling at its steel chains as they passed.

  “Hey! You can’t shoot me. I’m a child!”

  Jan screamed as the arrow split. In an instant, he slipped off the carriage once more to crash into a stack of hay. Manure streaked down his robes. The soldiers continued in pursuit. There was only one way out now.

  Climb.

  He stepped forward, sticking his hands to the rock to scale the nearest tower.

  White eyes looked like the soaring clouds as thin crackles of electricity sprouted from his bleeding palms. Thick marble pillared the city's horizon and beside him. Bolts of lightning began to pitter the surface. An arrow thudded into the tower's pasty surface and crumbled to dust, falling below. Jan’s green eyes turned wide. His scrawny build shook as four mages beckoned for him to climb down.

  Instead, he hung with his hand clinging to the windowsill, and he saw the roofs behind. Plaster crumbled, the building breaking as he gripped the shattering facade. A window opened below for the grimy face of a half-shaved scholar to appear. In an instant, the man began shouting obscenities at his mucky feet. Jan jumped forward only for the scholar to swipe at him with a burned scroll, making him dangle in the open air.

  “How dare you run on my newly plated tiles.”

  “What the hell, mister?” Jan replied.

  He sent Jan a confused expression, but the scribe ignored him, focusing on the task ahead. Barely avoiding his end, it wasn’t long before the scribe caught his breath. Scattered towers reached toward the clouds as small clumps of pedestrians arranged on the street below.

  Okay just reach that ledge. Easy!

  It was only a few hundred feet but maybe enough to shatter all his bones. Wind whistled through the wispy clouds. One quick sweep and freedom would be in sight. He could see the glint of freshly spread tar in front. Chimneys dotted the grid-like horizon as Kag lay before his eyes. Screams echoed from below as he leapt and the ledge was only a few meters away, thin concrete, so close…so near.

  Then, he fell.