The Everburn Mage

Prologue

The culprit ran and the mage pursued.

Through a labyrinth of abandoned cement, he scurried dressed in aged, ripped clothing. A rodent desperately attempting to escape the famished and merciless clutches of a predator. The strong devouring the weak was nothing new to the young mage, however. From the moment he appeared in their den of killers and thieves, he'd already foreseen the outcome.

There was no point in running. No point in putting in the extra effort to subdue the criminal. Whether it be a mindless beast or, in this instance, an ordinary human, once the flame of retaliation had flickered out of existence so did their will to overcome. 

He'd seen it countless times. Before him, he watched the back of a man who'd lost the will to fight. Without a weapon or a tome to call his own, he simply chose to run in hopes of escaping, though he was merely avoiding the inevitable.

A strong stench of rotten, discarded filth and waste emanated out the half-open dumpsters lined on the side of the singular alleyway along with the ripped trash bags vomiting their rotten contents on muck plagued earth. 

The frantic and repeated tapping of his leather shoes bounced off the walls enclosing them. And from his mouth escaped exhausted gasps. The poor man ran and ran for as long as he could until, eventually, the path ahead met its eventual end.

Towering in front of him, the seven-meter-tall brick wall ceased his pathetic escape, forcing the man to come to a stumbling halt. The mage found him facing the wall in silence. His breathing amplified and his legs quivered nonstop. 

Desolate eyes scanned up the titanic barrier of cement until they reached the vast orange sky of a dying day, billowing clouds decorating Ryas' domain. Muttering something to himself, the man slowly turned around, his dark hair plastered to his damp cheeks like glue. It was then that the mage's unchanged, rather uninterested expression met the defeat and sorrow permeating across his target's sweat-ridden face.

"Finished, or will you make the same mistake your buddies did back there?"

"H...How did you know?" he gulped. "How did you find us? And, more importantly, how were you able to...do what you did?"

"Come now," the mage smirked, pointing a thumb at himself. "What kind of combat mage would I be if I couldn't even handle a few sorry thugs like you?" To that question, he was provided with no answer. "Well, then. Are you ready for this to end?"

An undisturbed silence enveloped the alley. It stayed this way for two, maybe three minutes at the most until, opening his trembling jaw, the escapee issued his plea. "You've got to believe me," he croaked. "It wasn't supposed to be this way, I swear! I just needed the money, that's it! I was going to leave after they gave me what I wanted!"

"Even if that is true, it hardly matters now. Regardless of your intentions, you need to answer for your crimes. So why don't you make this easy for the both of us, yeah?"

The man took a step back. "...It doesn't matter what I say. You'd still be content with locking me away, won't you..?"

"Afraid so. The law is the law, and you've broken it."

"I had no choice!"

"Everyone has a choice."

"I needed the money for my family!"

"Then you should've gotten a normal job like everyone else."

"Cut the crap!" the man shouted, scattered sparks of his deceased fire beginning to ignite. "You know as well as I do that for someone like me, a future of glory and wealth is out of my reach! "Getting a normal job", talk about being unrealistic. No, the only way a peasant like me can survive is by doing whatever needs to be done, even if others hate me for it! Not everyone is lucky enough to be born a noble! Or talented enough to become one of the military's puppets!" he shouted, bawling his fists. "My family is all I've got left and I'm willing to do whatever it takes to see to it that they're happy and safe!"

"Really? So you'd willingly trample over others' happiness as long as it ensures your own?"

"If I must..."

"You lowlives are all the same," the mage scowled. "You try to paint yourself as the victim while utterly disregarding the innocent people you hurt. Or kill. Hate to break it to you, pal, but I wasn't born yesterday. I took my first breath as a commoner, same as you! And I climbed to where I am today because I had the resolve to do so. You won't gain any sympathy from me. Not after what you've done. So shut your trap and come along quietly."

"...No, I don't think I will." 

Swiftly, the man pulled out the rusted blade from behind his back. He aimed the tip of his crumbling weapon directly at the mage's chest. Brandishing his weapon, he erased his cowardly disposition and replaced it with a coat of indestructible courage. 

"There's not a snowball's chance in hell that I can actually beat you. Still, I've grown sick of you military dogs looking down on others! Telling us how to live our lives! What gives you the right?! When my daughters hear of their old man's death, they'll learn of how he went down fighting one of you magic-born freaks!"

"Don't be ridiculous, I'm not going to kill you."

"Really? Because I highly doubt it! I know who you are. And I also know what you've done."

The mage froze in his tracks, tightly gripping his right arm which now began to quiver uncontrollably. "Really?" he whispered, targeting the criminal with a deteriorated gaze. "Then tell me, who am I? What have I done?"

"You're the Boy of the Hellfire, Rune Ransford. The mage who specializes in fire magic. You call me a criminal but at least I'm not a murderer."

"And neither am I," Rune muttered.

"Oh yeah? Then prove it!"

Rune raised his right arm and held it out in front of him, the tip of his forefinger radiating an ethereal glow. With it, he forged the blueprint befitting his spell. A tome wouldn't be required for this situation. 

Slowly and carefully, he crafted a shimmering magic circle with his finger, its rays of light painting the alleyway walls in orange. It was no bigger than a normal-sized glass plate and as thin as a sheet of paper. The innards of the hovering ring were composed of various archaic symbols of all shapes and sizes, the most notable being that of the star-shaped emblem at its center. 

This rotating disc birthed of magical energy floated undisturbed in the air before, in a flash of bright light, disintegrating into illuminated orange particles dancing elegantly to the ground. Violent gusts of wind launched out the bottom of Rune's boots, gushing away from the mage and launching in every which direction.

 As if he'd been submerged underwater, his unkempt, blonde-colored hair swayed two and fro. One of his set of orange-colored eyes, his right, to be exact, illuminated like a burning star. And in the palm of his gloved hand, a wild flame sparked to life. There the flickering spark resided, its embers getting kidnapped by the wind.

"For the last time, surrender," said Rune. "Don't make me do this."

Whether it was due to his greed, selfishness, bravery, or stupidity, the criminal sprung from his spot and charged forward. "Go to hell!" he shouted, strangling the handle of his rusted blade. "I won't let you intimidate me anymore, Everburn Mage!"

Rune's eyes twitched. "Don't call me by that name!"

At that instant, they began their duel. And in an instant, it was over. Roaring fire soared free and a scorched body collapsed.