A/N: Of course, Trudi Canavan owns all intellectual rights, Regin, Allied Lands etc.
Regin had always been fascinated by magicians. Fascinated and awed. Their antiquated robes cloaked them with a mysterious aura. They were mythical heroes that transcended normality; special beings that could do anything. And he was to join their number.
His interest was first sparked on a trip to the Elyne court. A magician had condescended to conjure illusions out of thin air for the children. How wonderful, he thought, to create such beauty with barely a thought. How great. But Regin knew he wouldn't lower himself by becoming a mere entertainer. No matter how much he loved viewing such shows.
Every year, ever since he learnt he would one day join the Guild, he watched the Purge from his bedroom window and proudly imagined himself among their number. How calmly they faced the angry mobs of dwells! Wizened, wise men unperturbed by the curses that was shouted at them. Young, fearless warriors driving out the uncontrollable homogenous mass of vagrants.
To him, magicians were infallible. But infallible they were not. For Regin witnessed that fateful winter's afternoon how they could be felled by a single rock. And with that single rock crumbled the pedestal of greatness he had long dreamed of perching. And he would soon learn a bitter lesson: for however much he tried to suppress his new-found adversary, the cracks in his childhood dream would always remain.