Frozen Flames

Everyone knew his name but no one knew who he was - not any more. They all assumed that he was dark and twisted: the cause of all the fear in the world. All of it was because he was not pure. People thought that, with their perfect white magic, they were safe. That's false. To be truly safe, grey neutral magic is needed. Rythian knew that, and that's why they both feared and hated him so.

It was odd. The Magic Police thought they could tackle him with the science bombs and the magic spells that they had cursed him with. They never managed to kill him - only his one friend, his apprentice, his sister. They murdered her... They took her from him... They would pay...

The boy - if you could call him that - pulled away from his thoughts as a lone drop of rain plopped onto his forehead and cascaded down his nose. Another plunged into the deep water that his injured ankle was slowly bleeding into. The icy liquid rippled outwards in a symmetrical wave, lapping at his ankles like a small puppy. Before long, Rythian was soaked, crystal droplets submerging every part of his hunched form. Rythian didn't particularly care. The rain was strangely fitting - it was raining in his heart as well.

Rythian sighed before struggling to his feet and glancing around the dark forest. Gazing left, he could see a pair of glowing, jack-o'-lantern eyes; on his other side was a near-exact mirror image. He huffed and glared at them. Rythian knew they didn't dare harm him, however, that didn't stop him disliking them. He stared up at the crescent moon and muttered a short prayer to whichever god was watching - be it Ridge or some other one- before limping forwards and into the shadows.

Stumbling through the forest on his leg was not exactly enjoyable. Rythian had to stop every now and then to take a few breaths, and, every other harsh step, he would curse out one of the god's names. It was painful, but it really was vital for him to make it out of the forest before the sun awoke from its slumber and rose.

Only after, maybe, four hours the pain really began to flare up. It started off as a slow burn around his right ankle. Before long, however, it began climbing up his leg, twisting in his veins, digging its knife-like claws into him. Rythian's mind was cloudy and he knew that he couldn't go on for much longer. Still, he pushed through the torment and almost collapsed when the grassy lowlands were sighted from between each charred tree.

It was as he made his first tentative step out from under the dark leaves that his legs finally gave way. From where he was sprawled out on the dirt, he could see the soft grass stretching out like a blanket for miles, only marred by the splattering of trees. In the far distance, he could spy the deep chasm that he used as a marker and central spot for all his travelling. People usually avoided the dark depths which was why Rythain used it. After the first small pool of water on the ground, turning down the small cave on the left and then the right one and then going through the tight gap in the middle, you would reach a larger room-like space that the mage liked to call home.

On the left hand side of the hide out was a slightly sheer purple curtain that separated his bed and chests from the rest of the area. On the other side was a shallow fire pit, a cauldron and an altar. It was also there that Rythian knew his many piles of books were, and consequentially, all the leather-bound journals on healing that he had gathered a year before while Ana was severely injured.

Rythian began to gather together his power. He could feel it scattered everywhere, light and dark nodes intermingling like many nails to a magnet. The mage grasped them with his fingers, pulling them and morphing them into one large globe. Elegantly, he splayed out his fingers to feel the soft kiss of energy on his skin before thrusting it beneath him with both hands. He flew forwards.

This was always Rythian's favourite bit. He could feel the cool night air as it surged over his skin like water; he could taste the wild flowers from the ground on his tongue; he could hear the nodes whispering soft words of encouragement in his ear and it was great. Every time, it was so different yet so similar in hundreds of ways.