It was late at night when the family decided to head home from the fair. Their annual anniversary about their ancestors settling down in the Valley was their most prominent tradition, and it more than justified staying up this late. Rose and William were exhausted from the long and tiring hours of work and the extra time spent volunteering afterwards to help organize the event. They were sure glad to have had the chance to enjoy all that work now, but now they felt it was time to head home. Of course, their son Ahrden thought otherwise and would have wanted to stay, but unfortunately for him, it was not up for debate.
As the three of them walked home cheerfully but exhausted, they laughed and talked loudly about their favourite moments at the carnival. A solid common ground was the knife-throwing act, which was beyond terrifying and terrific at the same time, and the rest of the events received a varying amount of admiration from them.
They lived on the outer skirts of the city, so their walk was quite long from the centre where the event was held. The family was halfway home when they all noticed something catching the flickering light of a nearby torch. All looked in that direction as it shone true and bright in the clear night with the unmistakable silver colour of a coin.
'Quickly son, grab it fast before someone else does. The unclaimed money belongs to those who seize it first,' William said, and no further encouragement was needed for Ahrden, who took off running towards it.
He still possessed that unwavering energy that is generated by sudden excitement and granted to the young. As he sped towards the coin with his tiny feet making loud clatter on the cobblestones of the otherwise silent street, Ahrden felt increasingly confident that the coin was his. As he neared his goal, he reached out with his arm, still afraid that someone will beat him to it, and as it turned out, rightfully so because all of that effort, still proved to be not enough. He quickly came to a halt as the shiny silver silently flew out of the dusty road right under Ahrden's nose into the hands of Melan, the baker who deftly caught it.
Then and there; in that very moment, the light-hearted deed of the baker befell that planted a seed in Ahrden that would later blossom into something that was beyond the comprehension of all who stood present there.
The scene played out in the fraction of a second, yet it was beyond memorable for the little Ahrden. He stood there dumbfounded, blinking with his big brown eyes, only hearing the dulling murmur of the ever-decreasing crowd from the fair behind him.
'How'd you put it, general William? The unclaimed money belongs to those who seize it first?' Melan chuckled in an impertinent manner. 'Well, this one has been,' grinned provokingly the bold baker while showing off all of his teeth.
To his credit he held the fearsome, widely acclaimed and well-respected general's intense stare without problem and spoke with a tone that very few would have dared to use. Melan's logic was sound and from his viewpoint it made sense to act the way he did, but that did not mean that he should have. The general was captivated by his own words and the joke of the capital who had no shame did not fail to capitalize on the opportunity. No intrigue took place, but when pride and emotion was in the picture that mattered little.
'Behave yourself Melan, you are not going to seriously take that coin away from the kid,' William asked, while pitching his voice to carry, feeling emotionally invested in his son's joy, and the fact that he never really gotten along with Melan only fuelled his anger.
'I'm always criticized for having a useless class. Are you seriously going to question the one time I can profit with it?' came the well-measured but rather cheeky answer from Melan. The baker's pretended naïveté was infuriating William yet he still had more to say. 'Also, a warrior's word is his honour, and I claimed the coin first. Have a nice evening general. Miss. And Ahrden.'
With that, Melan nodded slightly and then slipped into his unlit garden disappearing in the shadows from the still stunned Ahrden who had an unreadable mien. William absorbed the baker's words which made the pressure inside him grew a thousand-fold. He might have looked ponderous to the unsuspecting eyes, but he couldn't have been farther from it. It would have taken him nothing to spring after the baker and have him begging for his life in mere seconds, but he found the wisdom to see that pursuing Melan would accomplish nothing good, so he restrained himself although he deeply considered choosing the more violent way.
'What a useless tool. I could choke the life out of him with my good hand behind my back,' William said while boiling in his fury, which was notoriously dangerous.
Rose knew this very well and acted before things could get out of hand by softly poking her husband on the side with her elbow.
'Come on Ahrden, let's go home,' Rose said softly.
But Ahrden just stood there blinking slowly at the leaving silhouette of Melan, who pocketed his coin. Even though he really wanted that coin for himself, this experience was more significant to him than he could yet grasp. This small but profound moment set him on a path from which there was no turning back for him. Ahrden didn't know it yet, but this experience would grow into an unwavering will. Seeing this small feat would grant him such drive that he could channel into self-discipline and so no outside power would be strong enough to remove him from this path.
Ahrden had heard a lot about the long-forgotten mage class, but this was the first time he had witnessed it with his own eyes. Melan being the only one who was good enough to wield it to the smallest extent, it was a rarity to stumble upon it in action. Of course, the old Berton was also said to be able to do some magic, but no one cared enough to find out, and the old scholar seemed to be fine with that.
Like most people in the Valley, Ahrden had no experience with magic, until now, but for him it always had a special place in his heart, a calling he couldn't describe, a pull he kept feeling. Imagining it, a mage always seemed so different to him from all the other classes, and he simply couldn't understand why no one was willing to dedicate their lives to it. The endless possibilities and limitless doors that could be opened with this class seemed too vast and too full of adventures for him to understand why everyone would miss out on it.
Learning the ways to become a mage was never really a class to begin with and whenever it came up, it became a topic for laughter and disrespect. Not surprisingly, Ahrden was always met with resistance when he brought the subject up. His parents did buy him a few books with stories about powerful magi, but they both hoped that his urge toward it would someday fade.
'Come on son, I'll get you another one.'
William called out too, louder than he would have wanted to after Ahrden had not responded to his mother. Then finally, his son looked away from to spot where Melan had disappeared, and William could see a special kind of sparkle, a particular shine in his eyes, one that he had never seen before.
---
'The one where Beretandas is falling,' Ahrden exclaimed excitedly with mirth on his face. 'The one where he falls down from the mountain and saves everyone!' he repeated his wish for the late-night story.
'You always ask for that one,' Rose said weakly, knowing that she won't be able to convince her son to pick a story where a warrior, a hunter or even a rogue was the hero. Especially not after he witnessed Melan call a coin to himself from across the street.
'But that is what I want to hear now!' Ahrden protested.
'Alright,' Rose gave up the battle swiftly, knowing it was one she could not win.
She got comfortable on the side of the bed and readied herself for the tale she was about to tell.
'Back in the times of the Old Kings lived Beretandas, the mightiest mage to have ever walk the realm in eons. Whole kingdoms feared his power so much that they dared not to attack anyone under his protection. Beretandas was not only the strongest among the magi, but also the wisest. When he was not teaching or attending to his daily duties, he spent all of his time buried under scrolls and tomes consuming more and more knowledge while simultaneously getting more and more powerful.'
'One day, he believed to have hit an invisible ceiling in his progress, feeling that he could only improve further if he went into solitude and meditated. Beretandas was already so powerful that he served no one in particular but rather agreed to protect the kingdom of Zhadenon in the far west. The king did not like the idea to lose the one reason his kingdom didn't get overrun by the neighbouring larger nations, but he agreed to Beretandas' wish as he knew there was little, he could do to stop him.'
'When Beretandas exiled himself from the civilization, escaping the rambling blather of the world, he climbed up to the tallest mountain which stood not far from the capital of Zhadenon and lived there alone. He left carrying nothing but his staff, ink, quill and some blank scrolls despite the king's greatest efforts to equip him with everything he might need up there. He also made it clear that he wished not to be disturbed in any case to which, reluctantly though, but the king agreed. When Beretandas left, he did so under the cover of an ordinary night, looking like an average traveller with a peculiar staff. The king was stiff with worry and did everything in his power to keep the information hidden from the outside world, knowing what would happen if it were to get out. No one knew exactly where the wizard had settled or what he did, let alone how he survived on that deserted mountain. All who knew of his disappearance could only hope, while gazing up at the mountain, that their protector would return when the need for him arose again.'
'The mountain was grandiose, with the upper parts constantly hidden in the clouds. The terrain was unforgiving and harsh, which meant that despite the close proximity of the kingdom's capital, it was never used for much. The circle who knew of Beretandas' disappearance was small, but it was still implausible to assume that it would remain a secret and the inevitable came to be, as the word got out over the years.'
'Some time was needed for the now daring neighbouring kingdoms to rally up their armies, but soon they appeared in front of the capital. As the multiple armies marched through the lands of Zhadenon, they spent no time wreaking havoc on the country or looting the cities and villages they passed. They wanted to cut off the head of the kingdom as fast as possible, which they dared not to touch so far, and claim the untouched lands afterwards. The attacking armies of the nations stopped in the blooming green land in front of the walls of the capital. Great war machines and siege engines were brought to the walls, but the flowing ranks of soldiers alone could have easily taken the city now that Beretandas was gone. The outlook of the cornered kingdom was beyond dreadful and imminent defeat looked inevitable.'
'As the siege engines unleashed hell upon the city, all who could fight within the walls stormed out the main gate of the city to meet the ones who wished to lay waste to their home. The charge was led by the desperate king himself, who could not imagine a victory that day in the absence of their protector. The battle was short, and within hours the ones left to defend their capital were squeezed between the walls of the city and the pushing enemy lines. They could no longer retreat into the city because the gate had collapse behind them, but the king and the handful of men who stood by him had no desire to run away, even if they could. In that moment however, the armies didn't advance on the trapped defenders but rather restarted their siege engines. The king's face turned white in terror as he realized that he was about to witness the total destruction of his beloved capital, while he could do nothing but watch.'
Rose has already forgotten her initial unwillingness to tell the story, and now she too was deeply immersed in it, something that often happened. Ahrden marvelled at every detail of the story, despite knowing the whole thing by heart. What followed now was his favourite part by far.
'The first siege tower was about to launch its fiery load towards the city when a shadow was cast upon it. The shadow grew more extensive, but no one could see the object which caused this since there was nothing above it. Nonetheless, the machine didn't care for some mere shadow on it, and it launched its burning missile towards the city. The deadly projectile didn't go far, as it immediately crashed into the source of the shadow, which was a literal piece from the mountain by the capital, rushing straight at the siege engine. The other war machines didn't even get as far as launching their missiles before all of them exploded to pieces as the giant tavern-sized boulders crashed into each of them with unfathomable speed and force. The armies stood still for a moment, its participants trying to comprehend the catastrophe that had rained down upon them.'
'In that silence, unbeknown to anyone something else raced towards the enemy army too, but it wasn't large enough to cast a noticeable shadow. In this unexpected and unheralded manner did Beretandas land between the enemy army and the handful of defenders. The soft ground didn't bend but rather cracked where the mage landed, carrying a sound that equalled the boulders' crashing. As everyone received the answer to their questions, the enemy charged at Beretandas, who didn't move one muscle. Despite being in the heat of the battle, the king immediately noticed the difference in Beretandas' stance, as he stood, as he held himself, as the air vibrated around him. The cloaked figure seemed to be emitting a certain white glow which radiated potent power, great danger, yet carried complete calmness.'
'As afraid as the enemy was, they launched an ocean of arrows at Beretandas before their own men had reached him. While the arrows flew through the air in an arch, the mage looked up at them and extended his arm towards the artificial cloud. In response, the arrows took a sharper turn and descended upon the ones charging at him. The volume of the arrows against a singular target made no sense, but now all were put to use as barely a single soldier was left standing from the initial charge.'
'Beretandas wanted to cut the bloodshed short, so he leapt onto the air as high as the top of the castle and stop there. He looked around and found the enemy kings clustered together while surrounded by their trusted advisors, their best soldiers and their pathetic wizards, who cast something they called shield around the group. As they felt the gaze of the great mage, they started preparing to take off, knowing that their protection was no greater than a wooden shield against him. Before they could turn their horses around, white missiles made of arcane energy came crashing down upon them, incinerating everything and everyone, leaving only gaping craters behind.
'An hour later, the battlefield sparkled from all the armour and weapons, that the fleeing armies left behind. Hence the field before the capital of Zhadenon was renamed to the Field of Dormant Steel.'
Rose finished telling the story to the fully immersed Ahrden, who by then was more vigorous than at any moment of the fair.
Ahrden's eyes were sparkling from excitement, he was enchanted by the great mage and he wished there were more stories like this about Beretandas that depicted him in this all-powerful way.
Rose looked up and saw the delight on his son's face and the sparkle in his eyes, that was not present when the story was about any other class; which was depressing, disappointing and it filled her with great worry. Feeling his husband at the door she turned to face him and saw William's towering figure as he was leaning his broad shoulders against the frame of door, standing motionless, with a frozen face, observing. Like many times before, this story created a divided atmosphere and tension lingered in the air waiting for things to escalate, foreshadowing the rest of the evening.
'Mother, was Beretandas really as powerful as the story describes him?' Ahrden asked the common question since the extent of the great spellcaster's ability was never fully detailed in any of the stories. This unknow mystery that would remain unsolved was what truly appealed to Ahrden without him fully understanding it.
'Son, I've told you many times already, stories exaggerate the real events to make them more exciting,' Rose answered what she often did, while trying to be understanding, but as time it was getting increasingly more difficult.
'But you never say that about the stories of warriors or hunter,' Ahrden surprised his mother with this new angle that cornered her. 'You always blather about the heroic deeds of the other classes, but you never do that willingly with the mage class.'
'Because there are actual people who can tell you what happened first hand in those stories,' William spoke with a voice that was infused with suppressed anger, as he came to the aid of his wife against his intelligent, but naïve son. 'Unlike the spell casters in these stories, there are great warriors, hunters and rogues who come back from the battles as heroes and tell the tale of what they had achieved.'
By then it was evident for Ahrden that the word realistic had a different meaning when arcane was in the picture, although his parents didn't quite share his view on this. William had always disliked how Beretandas and a few other magi in these stories were displayed like higher entities and he never failed to emphasize this. He blamed these books to have given his son a distorted view of the world, but it was too late now to just take them away. Even to William it was not hard to see that compared to the tales of the magi the rest of the classes had underwhelming and unimaginative stories, but it was because they were rooted in reality.
'But there were great magi too!' Ahrden protested. 'Beretandas was the greatest mage of all time.'
'Maybe,' William said it in a soothing voice to calm his son down. 'But he is long gone now, and there aren't any more spell casters left. None. Don't be credulous and susceptible my son, these are things that no longer exist. Arcane is the thing of the past.'
Arguing with his own son was more tiresome to William than a twelve-hour trek in full plate armour. The general was intimidating and unapproachable to most and receiving the due respect was commonplace to him, so the events of this night did not sit well with him.
'Arcane does exist! And I'll be the next great mage!' Ahrden responded, which hurt his parents more than he could yet comprehend. 'I'll be even more powerful than Beretandas!'
William knew about ambition, after all he was the general of the armies of the entire Polenteus nation, but Ahrden wanted to achieve did not exist. William was certain it did not exist.
Ahrden was cheered up by his own words as he imagined himself to be able to wield magic more skilfully than the mighty Beretandas. Rose didn't have the energy or the hearth to get into the often-cited explanation of how it has been ages since anybody could master the realms of magic. She didn't want to tell him again that it wasn't very likely that he would be able to do it either, especially with no master to guide him.
For William, the issue was deeply personal and so; much more dreadful since Ahrden would be the only one to carry on his bloodline as his lone son. William wanted his son to pursue and surpass him in everything as all good parents did. He wanted Ahrden to become a mighty warrior and he had a whole arsenal of ideas how he would help him get to that point. He wanted to inspire his son. William was the manifestation of persistent hard work and talent, which made him the perfect warrior. With his son the problem was not with any of these things, but rather with the mindset he had. William led armies, but his son's future remained beyond his grasp to alter. The life he had outlined in his head for him was not what his son had envisioned for himself.
'Son, we have talked about this,' William started in a soft but sad voice. 'You need to choose a class you can master; one you can have teachers teach you. Real ones who know all there is to know, all the ins and outs of the class. You can't have any of that if you choose a dead class... A fictional one that is kept alive by tales… You'll be a joke to everyone...' William saw his wife's look and softened his bold statements. 'What I mean to say is that you won't be able to achieve your dreams if you become a mage.'
'Yes, I will. This is the only way to achieve my dreams. I'll do everything necessary and fight harder for it than anyone ever has,' Ahrden said, desperately fighting back his tears but his voice was already revealing them. He wanted to be obedient, he really did, but today's events sparked the hidden fire deep inside him and he could no longer put a lid on that inner drive.
'Look at Melan. He chose that class many years ago as a way to get out of real training, and all he can do with his magic is steal away coins from children. He became a baker, and if war comes, as it always does, he'll hide with the children and women, unable to protect his own family. I don't want that to happen to you son...'
'But it won't!' Ahrden cried, no longer trying to suppress it. 'I'll become even more powerful than Beretandas. Why can't you believe in me dad? Why can't you support me?'
Ahrden pulled the blanket over himself and disappeared under it, not wanting to talk to his parents anymore and just quietly continued crying by himself. This ancient mage from a long lost aera resonated with Ahrden on a level that rendered all reason meaningless from Rose and William.
Somehow Rose managed to hold herself together until after Ahrden was under the blanket for her own emotions to run untamed. Tears filled her eyes and she looked at her husband with serious, but desperate eyes. She then blew out the two candles on the nightstand and stood by his husband at the door from where both looked back with broken hearts at their sobbing son, who remained under the blanket. William tried composing something nice to say to his son, but could not.
They'd tried many things already, some would say everything save for threatening with disownment, but none succeeded. They thought the desire to be a mage paradoxical as their whole society was raised to look down on that class, and only the child stories retained a positive ring to the subject. Their son however, was unshakeable about becoming anything else but a mage, and despite being unable to, they needed to accept that. They feared that all they could do was watch Ahrden's fragile personality crack under the impossible weight of choosing the mage class and pick up the pieces that would be left afterwards.