Ahrden was sitting on a broad branch high up in a tall tree, practising some spells when it occurred. Nothing changed in the world around him, but he felt it within. It was something he had felt before, but never at this magnitude. He'd placed several spells that served as wards on the outer edges of Belentedor so that they could warn him if something unwelcome were to approach it. Similarly to all his other spells, he had learned it from a book with no one there to help him, but unlike the other spells, he could never seem to completely master these. Maybe it was because he didn't use them as often, or because they were just that hard. As a result, the wards occasionally got triggered by things that weren't supposed to trigger them. At first, these signals gave him quite the scare, but over time he learned to disregard them. Now, however, it was different. All of the wards went off, and all went off simultaneously.
Ahrden jumped to his feet and concentrated, waiting for what came next. What he feared came to be, as a second wave of signals came his way when the inner layer of wards was tripped off too. He could literally feel his city coming under attack. His heart started beating faster, already preparing for the conflict, knowing that despite how far he was in that moment, for him, it was only one teleportation away. Ahrden calmed himself and filled his body with arcane energy. His senses heightened, feeling everything that surrounded him as he stood on that branch. He closed his eyes and smelled the air, enjoying the lingering scent of the flowers everywhere, focused on the rattling sounds a rodent was making under the foliage cover as it searched for food. Ahrden gathered even more arcane might within. When he felt the innermost wards being triggered, he stepped off the branch and started falling, teleporting at the last second.
Ahrden materialized in the main square and was shocked to acknowledge his failure. He had never truly had a chance to test the accuracy of his warding spells, given how he could not create the illusion of an army approaching, and now he had to pay the price of that missed opportunity. Although he had only just felt the innermost circle around the capital being triggered, Belentedor must have been under attack for hours now.
With a quick glance around, Ahrden saw three familiar faces taking their last breath as they were slain by the savage attackers who all wore war paint on their faces. Many houses were ablaze, and many more were only beginning to catch fire, but the screaming civilians quickly grabbed Ahrden's attention again. The shrieks, shouts, and battle cries flowed through him as he absorbed more than he wanted to, while the stench of burning flesh and the heat of the fire almost made him flee. He had heightened his senses for the battle, but now all he had achieved was the ability to see, hear, smell, and feel everything. He thought himself prepared with all the wards he'd placed, with all the spells he knew. He thought himself capable of preventing the very thing that was happening—but he proved unable to. He failed.
Something snapped in Ahrden.
He had already lived through an attack on his beloved capital, but he had been helpless then. Now he felt more powerful than ever, yet looking around, it seemed to make no difference. He vividly remembered what he had felt last time and how he swore that he would never feel that again—that very thing that was creeping up inside him now. He wasn't going to fight this battle. He was going to end it.
Through the arcane field surrounding Ahrden, he felt someone charging him from behind. Still, he turned only at the last second, casting a fast but powerful spell that blew a hole in the attacker's chest, spattering blood all over the already-drenched ground. The attacker died before hitting the ground, but not faster than Ahrden had disregarded him. He cast his own spell, covering the whole square in his arcane fog, slowing all movements within while his were enhanced. He conjured two blades made of arcane energy that shone brightly in the fog-covered square with a deep purple-blue hue. Purple was in that blade, almost dominating the blue, but Ahrden was the only one who didn't even notice it.
Discerning how the unnatural fog had originated from the figure now holding something that glowed, three more soldiers charged at Ahrden. They couldn't move as fast as they expected to, and Ahrden could sense their confusion—if reading it off their faces was prevented by their war paint. He moved right up to the first one and effortlessly impaled him with the crafted blade, which pierced mail and flesh equally smoothly. The second's eyes grew wide at that, and he swung his sword sooner than he normally would have after seeing how fast his enemy was moving. Ahrden threw the other blade through him. When the blade came out from the back of the soldier, Ahrden stopped it from flying farther and propelled it into the third attacker, who was about to bring his axe down on him. The axe and the dead body hit the cobblestone at the same time.
Two more warriors turned their attention toward Ahrden after killing their opponent. They were now rushing toward him, one right behind the other, while a hunter on a rooftop was taking aim at him. Ahrden threw his remaining blade at the charging soldiers, piercing both; he then caught the arrow—which he felt through the fog coming straight toward his head—with his hand, which had arcane energy wrapped around it. Ahrden sent back an arcane bolt of his own, but it didn't travel fast enough, and the hunter could skip away from it. Two more bolts later, all Ahrden had achieved was to blast holes into the roof of the house. After his last failed attempt, his fury grew even greater, and he channelled it all into a beam of arcane energy that finally ended the hunter, though not before further demolishing the roof of the building.
Having learned and utilized the modification from the Book of Knowledge, Ahrden could still feel the connection to the blades, so he let them dissolve into nothing. He then looked around and saw five more soldiers in the square. Ahrden was losing what little patience he had, and this was further escalated by the violent collapse of a nearby house that reminded him just how out of time he was. Turning back from the ruin, Ahrden teleported next to each attacker and ended them one by one with close-ranged, powerful bursts of energy.
When no more enemies remained in the main square, Ahrden was about to leave when he saw another archer on a rooftop. He turned toward the hunter and eyed him as the foe stared back at Ahrden while nocking his bow with an arrow. Ahrden waited for the archer to fire before teleporting behind him. When he did, he grabbed the startled marksman and teleported high up into the air with him. Once in the air, he pushed the hunter away, then freely observed the capital as he fell.
Ahrden watched in horror as, by then, most of his city was ablaze; screams and battle cries were coming from all directions, dead bodies were lying at every step of the way, and fires were spreading fast.
Ahrden felt his rage overflowing. He teleported to the street with the most violent battle and, without hesitation, started down it. He saw many familiar faces battling the viciously painted attackers. He didn't have Duskedge with him, which he again acknowledged to be a mistake he wished he hadn't made, but at least he had the runed blades. He threw not just a portion but all of them on the ground, spreading them across the width of the entire road. Then he cast his own spell, releasing the arcane mist and spreading it along the road. Many soldiers from both sides looked up at Ahrden from their duels as they noticed the thick fog flowing down the road, but some kept fighting, not paying any mind to the change in the environment.
Ahrden broke into a run with enhanced speed, ducking away from any blows and attacks directed at him. As he ran, he used short bursts of arcane—the smallest amount that would do the job—to send the friendly fighters flying out of the street. With shock on their faces, each of them flew into the gardens of nearby houses or slammed into the walls. They were mostly unharmed but all ached from the sudden displacement, while the warriors with war paint stood there stunned, unable to decipher why the enemy would turn on their own. With enhanced agility and sped-up thinking, Ahrden was done clearing the road sooner than the first enemy he had rid from his opponent could move anywhere.
Ahrden then turned around, looking back at the road as everyone on and around it looked at him. He let his own spell dissolve as he put all his power into the simplest one—the one he had learned first. The blades sang as he called them to himself, only falling momentarily silent when they entered someone and continuing to sing as they came free again. Ahrden called them with such force that the blades drew a purplish-blue line in the air as they flew, all reaching him within a heartbeat. Blood spattered on Ahrden as the blades abruptly stopped before him, and they continued to drip through the pouch once he had directed them all into it. One enemy was still staggering on the road, though he looked fatally wounded. Ahrden left him for the ones he had displaced and teleported away before anyone could say a word, leaving the street covered in the cooling bodies of a dozen enemies.
The second place where Ahrden remembered the fighting to be the thickest was in the arena. The invading soldiers had channelled their forces there, surrounding the defenders who were trapped inside. In many regards, the location was fortunate because there were no civilians in that area, and it was a clean fight between steel and steel. Still, the Polenteus soldiers trapped inside were sure to die based on how outnumbered they were.
Until Ahrden arrived. He materialized right in the middle of the carnage. Apart from the two duelers who were fighting right next to where he had materialized, his entrance went unnoticed, as everyone was occupied with their own battles. He cast his spell quickly at the enemy warrior who had noticed him, freezing him mid-attack and enabling his opponent to simply execute him. Ahrden then wrapped his power around the other enemy warrior, who was also close by, and yanked him toward himself. The stunned warrior flew over to him, his legs not even touching the ground, only to be thrown back by the spell, which pulverized everything inside his chest.
The two friendly soldiers, whom Ahrden knew by sight but not by name, looked at him with wide eyes, unable to comprehend what had just happened, completely forgetting the battle around them. Next, Ahrden conjured not two but several blades made of purplish-blue arcane energy. Only now did he notice the purple in the blade, but the only thought that came to his mind was: Good. They'll die faster.
He didn't grab hold of any but instead kept them in two groups floating around his hands. When he had created as many as he wanted, he leapt up into the air, propelling himself even higher until he was above the whole battle and stopped there for an instant. That was all the time he needed to scan the area below and send blades through the paint-covered enemies he saw. After he had sent the last of his blades downward, more than ten attackers dropped dead almost simultaneously. Everybody noticed him, but the battle kept going.
When Ahrden landed softly on the ground, he cast another spell to better understand everything that was going on. With his last attack, he had dropped all the enemies in the inner circle of the field, giving many friendly warriors and rogues a moment to catch their breath. These soldiers, along with many others who had stopped fighting after his last feat, were all looking at him. Ahrden's fog had shrouded the entire arena, but it wasn't thick enough to block anyone's view completely.
'Do not let them leave,' Ahrden spoke with magically enhanced loudness in a cold and measured tone. 'I'll handle the rest.'
The seasoned Polenteus warriors looked surprised at how naturally Ahrden gave orders, but no one objected. Everyone followed his command as they started moving toward the entrance of the arena. Ahrden felt a hint of pride when he saw the nodding heads of the warriors he had grown up with, but the feeling was quickly overpowered by the boiling rage that erupted when the momentary quiet was shattered by the dying scream of someone young. He turned toward the sound and saw a young warrior apprentice—too young to fight this battle—dropping to his knees as blood dripped from his mouth while he stared down at the blade protruding from his chest. Ahrden looked at the boy's opponent in front of him and the one who had killed him standing behind the boy. Ahrden knew he would kill every enemy in the arena, but now all he wished for was that there were more.
Ahrden started running at the one who had killed the young warrior, overpowering the mindless rage within himself that would have prevented him from focusing enough to cast a single accurate spell. As he ran, he felt the world slow even more; he saw the movements of others become even more sluggish. Two humming arcane blades grew out of his hands as he ran. He teleported every two steps, getting within range to strike at the warriors and rogues along the way, slicing into them wherever he could reach. Blood splattered all around as he teleported across the field a few strides at a time, wounding and killing everyone he could reach.
The rogue he was nearing saw what he did but held her ground, pulling her curved dagger free from her victim by kicking the boy off it. When Ahrden saw no more enemies between him and the one he approached, he leapt despite being still too far away. The jump was longer than what he could normally perform, but a well-timed teleportation got him exactly where he needed to be. Before the leap, Ahrden had thrown the two arcane blades at the one who had been duelling the boy, so when he was over the shocked rogue, he could freely reach down. He grabbed his victim's head as he flew over him and snapped his neck with one fluid motion, landing simultaneously with the two bodies that hit the ground behind him.
Two soldiers were charging at him when he looked up, and he sent an arcane bolt at each. One couldn't duck in time and died, but the other managed to and was now bringing his massive sword down on him. Ahrden formed a slim but firm layer of protective shield around his arm as he raised it to block the blow. Based on his many years of experience, his opponent was confident his sword would seamlessly cut through the arm, still not counting on Ahrden's ability to command the arcane forces. The vibrations that travelled through the sword when it hit the solid arcane shield threw the enemy off balance, causing him to drop the heavy sword, unable to hold onto the shaking handle. Ahrden gently pushed him backward, seeing that a friendly warrior was ready to impale him. Trusting his comrade to finish the job, he turned his attention elsewhere.
Ahrden had to cancel the next spell he started casting when he felt two arrows near him from opposing sides. He stopped them when they were an arm's length away from his face and snapped them in half, letting the pieces fall to the ground. He looked up at one of the hunters and teleported behind her just as she loosed another arrow. Standing behind the archer, Ahrden drew her sword from the scabbard on her waist and called out for her to turn around. The hunter was too stunned by the disappearance of her foe to notice that her sword was missing. When she finally turned, Ahrden gave it back to her—firmly placing it in her chest—and grabbed the bow from her collapsing hands. Without nocking any arrow, Ahrden lifted the bow and pulled the string back. He concentrated and murmured as he created a much smaller blade that sat firmly on the string. He fed it some power until it hummed with anticipation, wanting to be released. He let it loose, and it travelled with unexplainable speed and impossible accuracy, piercing the other archer before he could shoot his own arrow.
Finding the method efficient and not too draining, Ahrden teleported among the empty rows of the arena to better his aim by getting closer to his next target. One by one, he started ridding the stadium of the painted soldiers with the bow and the conjured arrows, which all dissolved right as they dug into the ground after hitting their mark. The rate at which Ahrden fired his shots was incredible. This freed up many friendly soldiers who could go and help the others.
As the number of enemies dropped to a mere few, more and more friendly eyes turned toward him in complete amazement and bafflement. From all the physical contact with the arcane arrows, Ahrden felt the bow weaken to the point where it was ready to snap at any moment. Not wanting to wait for it, he tossed it aside and finished the last few enemies with well-directed arcane bolts. When his last spell hit the last enemy and no more stood in the arena, he looked at all the familiar faces turned toward him.
Ahrden had dreamt of gaining the approval of the fighters in his city during the countless sleepless nights he had spent mastering his class. This was all he could think about. Now that he saw all these amazed gazes directed at him with unconditional awe, he should have felt fulfilled. He should have felt the void in him filled by it. But neither came to be. Not even close. With his heightened senses, he could hear the screams of his people from every direction in the city, and he knew he couldn't save them all. No, he couldn't save most of them. All he could think about were the people who had died because it took him this long to clear the arena; all the people who had died because the wards he placed had signalled too late. All the unnecessary deaths because he wasn't strong enough—powerful enough. His very best wasn't enough to save the people of the town. He had done more than any warrior, rogue, or hunter could have hoped to do, yet he couldn't tame the rage within.
'Are you all deaf, or why do you stand there while the whole capital screams for help?!' Ahrden bellowed—much louder than he had initially planned.
All who stood there ran out of the arena in the next second, leaving Ahrden alone, unable to move after hearing a familiar, deep, and wise voice. He couldn't understand what Berton was saying or how he could hear him from this distance, but he recognized his voice and located the direction it came from. Despite himself, tears started filling his eyes before he even teleported.
When Ahrden arrived in front of the house he had visited so many times, he could hear Berton's voice much clearer. Ahrden felt proud not to hear the slightest plead in his teacher's tone but gasped when the last sentence abruptly ended. Ahrden immediately materialized in the living room, disregarding all precautions, and arrived right behind Berton, who was on his knees facing a masked rogue holding a long, curved blade dripping with freshly spilled blood. Ahrden could hear the desperate gasping and hissing of his teacher as the escaping air made bubbles where his throat had been opened. Ahrden couldn't see his teacher's face, but it barely lessened what he felt in that moment.
Ahrden raised his hands and wrapped all three intruders in the living room within his arcane power. He lifted the helplessly kicking rogues and squeezed them as hard as he could. The task was not an easy feat for Ahrden, but all he could feel in that moment was strength, power, rage, and fury. He tightened his hold on the trapped enemies whose screams were muted by the arcane field that held them. As Ahrden fed more power into his spell, the faintly glowing purplish-blue arcane field turned increasingly purple while growing brighter. Ahrden screamed from the strain and pain he felt in his soul, causing all the windows to explode and the furniture to be thrown at the walls, shattering them to bits. Only Berton was unaffected by the spell, which ceased in the next moment. As all the lifeless bodies fell to the ground, Ahrden jumped to his teacher, catching him as he was about to fall.
Berton looked at Ahrden with proud eyes—the last act he could muster.
Ahrden had failed. Again. Right then and there, someone he cared about had just died. Right in his arms. After he had sworn that no one else ever would. He shook as tears started rolling down his face.
Ahrden forced himself to remember that the battle was not over. Others still needed his help. He gently placed his teacher down on the ground and reluctantly backed away, unable to turn his back on the dead body.
When he stepped out of the house, he closed the door behind him. Two warriors charged at him, but roots burst through the cobblestone and pulled them underground. Ahrden lost himself in the battle.