Nivenmage

The Nivenmage

Tyril was exhausted. She was fighting on a field near Pyriam. How many more? How many more people have to die because of what she did? Serylor had kept his promise to her; he had kept her alive for years.

She thought about how she had arrived back at Pyriam so long ago to tell them Serylor was coming, but he was already there. Years of war, years of fighting, and still she could not die. She had seen so many of her people die.

It was ironic; her people saw her fighting, saw her alive at the end of every battle. They took her to be some sort of hero, so they followed her. "The Immortal", they called her. They had no idea that she had condemned them all. They even made her Nivenmage. So long ago that was, so many years of wishing to die.

Still she threw herself into every battle head first, always making sure to be ahead of her comrades, hoping to be killed instead of them, but Serylor kept his promise. Every time she was stabbed or trampled she would die and come back, that was his power after all: the power over the omnisphere. She hated him for it. She hated herself more.

Now she was fighting again. Another battle, another field littered with the corpses of Neveans. She wiped her brow and looked around in agony, her Nivemage robes stained with blood. Then she saw it: in the distance on the next hill a young boy was fighting desperately against a group of Souless.

"No!" She moaned. "Not another one..."

She stormed down the hill, losing sight of him for a moment but hearing his grunts and the snaps as the Fabric bent itself to his will. He was frantically trying to stay alive. Then she scaled the next hill and she was upon them. Fabric swirled around her like a torrent as she despatched the vile creatures, cleaving her way through to the boy.

When she was done they were alone once again, two Neveans in a sea of bodies; one guilty and one innocent. There was a pain in her side and her chest. She looked down to see blood trickling down her arm. She felt weak. With a grunt she collapsed.

She would die, and she would come back, she knew it was coming. Then through her blurred vision she saw the boy get up and come to her. Her pain was incredible, she wished it could be over. She became delirious as he spoke to her. Argenen was his name. In her delirium she begged him to kill her but he didn't understand.

She begged him to take her curse. He wouldn't know what it meant, he would think it was power, it would make him a hero. He looked at her with confusion, then finally he agreed. Something changed, something she couldn't believe. Was it working? Her pain disappeared. As she exhaled for the last time she could feel Serylor's power drain from her and into the boy. She felt guilty. As she lost consciousness she realized that she would die as she lived; as a coward. She wanted to give him something more, something to help him. She wanted to do just one good thing.

So, as the power left her, she chained her mind to it, sending her most painful memory to him and hoping that one day he could understand. He had to know about the curse, he had to understand where the power came from.