Foreword: This story has no particular dedication because I'm not sure where to turn. I have my old friends, and I've made some new. It's been a long time since I last uploaded something new, but I guess I owe this one to the state of writing that I haven't yet managed to capture, yet always seem to find. I bring this story forward as a symbol of my passion and my devotion to my art, although I hope that it lives up to the precedent - whatever that may be - that I have set for myself. I dedicate this to my love for the written word.

Zacharias

The passion within the soul brings to life the deepest and darkest workings of the purest of hearts,
Bring forward the light, but hide in the darkness from whence the light has come.
One day, the true form of justice will consume that darkness and bring truth back to the surface,
But every legacy must begin with the spark that sets the story aflame.

Chapter 1

Who am I?

There was a time, not too long ago, when the answer to that question would have been far easier to find. I could have told you without hesitation who I was, where I was from, where I belonged. I could have told you all about myself if I wanted, every detail of the life I used to call my own.

I'm something entirely different now. I can no longer answer that question to the degree that I once thought I could. My life has become an entirely different entity. The world in which I used to live has long since fallen away.

I can tell you my name. My name is Zacharias. After that, the answers become cloudy. If you were to ask me where I am from, I would have no answer. If you were to ask me where I belong, I would have no answer.

If you were to ask why I did what I did, I would pretend to have an answer, but be aware that I really know nothing until I search for myself. I haven't done that yet. I haven't searched within my soul for the roots of my actions.

But before any of it, before the beginning, there was very little distinction between me and those around me, and certainly not as there is now.

The town in which I was born was called Mysidia. It was a quaint little place, home to the foremost masters of wizardry on the face of the planet. Those who wished to achieve greater proficiency in the arts of White or Black Magic would often come to our village wishing to learn from the revered Lord Mages. Of my time, the Lord White Mage was the priestess Ayana Springwater.

The Lord Black Mage was my father.

His name was Rio Shade. He was a man born to weave the threads of Black Magic. His magical prowess came second only to that of the legendary Sage, the great Tellah. But even despite this, one would never meet a more peaceful, tranquil soul than his. Our Elder would often joke that my father was the rare Black Mage that would never harm a fly.

It was true; most of those who sought to become Black Mages came in search of power, enough to strike fear into the hearts of those who opposed them. The Elder would never accept them into tutelage, of course, nor would my father. The Mysidian creed forbade such things. Magic, it dictated, was to be used in the pursuit of human aid, either to heal those wounded by evil or to defend against it.

Our village was thus among the most peaceful. We were the faithful guardians of the Water Crystal, the professors of Magic, and a haven of spiritual healing.

As a fifteen-year-old student of Black Magic, I was naturally due to a level of frustration with this system.

"How many times must I teach you this lesson, Zacharias?" said the patron wizard to me. "Your powers are to be used in the pursuit of peace!"

I sat in a hard-backed wooden chair, my arms crossed across my robe-covered front, my pointed hat sitting atop the patron's desk. "It wasn't my fault," I said bitterly. "He was asking for it."

The patron threw his hands up in the air. "He asked for it. Tell me, at what point did you hear him say 'please turn me into a toad'?"

I rolled my eyes. "He's an arrogant brat. He had it coming."

"He's also apprentice to the Lord Black Mage!" The patron sat down and sighed. "Zacharias, you're going to have to find other ways of expressing your anger. Your magical powers aren't the answer."

I shot him a scowl. "Can I help feeling ridiculous? The Lord Black Mage is my father, and his upstart apprentice has the nerve to talk down to me as if he's better than I am!"

"This is not a competition. You know the Mysidian law. A Mage cannot take his own young in apprenticeship." He paused, sitting back in his chair. "I want you to apologize to the boy, at the very least. You'll be lucky if you don't get a sentence of Silence for this."

I nodded grimly. "Fine."

The patron sat forward again, glancing out the door. "Palom? Come in, please."

I tried my best not to look at him as he walked in, but I could still picture the triumphant look on his face. He and his twin sister Porom were several years younger than myself, but were unnaturally talented – even I could admit that, however reluctantly – and had earned themselves the coveted apprenticeships of the Lord Mages. I didn't mind Porom, but her brother hadn't learned the same lessons of humility that she had.

I finally looked at him. His somewhat long hair was tied back in its usual stub of a ponytail, and he was wearing the red robes and green cloak of his apprentice garb. He also sported an expression of false sadness, doing an excellent job of hiding the leering grin he wanted to shoot at me. I thought he looked better as a toad.

The patron glanced at me and cleared his throat, and I sighed deeply. "I'm sorry I turned you into a toad, Palom," I said, my voice dripping with insincerity.

The little monster caught on, of course. "He didn't mean that," he said to the patron.

It was such a childish thing to say that I had to laugh. The patron didn't look very amused, though. "Zacharias…" he said warningly.

I held up my hands in surrender. "But sir, I assure you I did mean that. I'm truly sorry that I turned Palom into a toad." I let that sink in for a moment before I continued. "I mean, looking back on the situation now, I can honestly say that he'd have been better off as a pig."

"Hey!" Palom said angrily. The patron shot me a look.

"Well, think about it," I continued. "The word 'pig' has so many different connotations. You could call someone a fat pig, or a greedy pig, or a chauvinist pig, or an arrogant pig… there are so many possibilities there, much more appropriate. There are barely any for the word 'toad.' And I also think…"

"That's enough!" said the patron, standing. Palom scowled at me, his complexion nearly matching that of a ripe tomato. I dropped my philosophical demeanor and crossed my arms once more, satisfied that even if I did get a sentence of Silence, my last words had been worth saying.

The patron sighed again, and turned to Palom. "You may leave now. Please ask Priestess Springwater for a moment of her time."

Palom reluctantly left the room, still scowling at me. The patron sat down behind his desk, his forehead in his hand. "Zacharias... I just don't know what to do with you anymore."

"You could stop treating me like a child, for a start," I said darkly.

"The minute you stop acting like one, I will! It isn't my fault you're still in lessons with the younger students and I am not the one holding you back. If you ever want to become a great wizard like your father, you must gain control of your temper!"

He closed his eyes, calming himself. I was glaring at him, but on some level I'm sure I was satisfied that my short fuse seemed to be rubbing off on him.

It wasn't long before he opened his eyes and met my gaze. "I'm leaving this matter in Priestess Springwater's hands. For your sake, I hope she shows you more sympathy than you've shown Palom."

I looked down at my arms for a second, and then chuckled. "Why bother? You know we're just going to end up here again."

"That, my boy," he replied wearily, "depends entirely on you."

The time we spent waiting for the Lord White Mage to arrive seemed endless, but mostly because I couldn't stop thinking. Somewhere in my mind, I knew the patron was right.

I just didn't want to admit it.

I'd become somewhat accustomed to the ritual of a sentence of Silence. It was simple, really. Under the influence of a rudimentary Silence spell, one can't even speak, let alone cast magic spells. It was a typical punishment for children.

But I was no longer a child, and so the continued sentences of Silence were becoming irksome to me. It seemed that nobody wished to acknowledge my age... or my abilities, for that matter.

However, it provided me with an excellent opportunity to indulge in the solitude from which I took comfort. I had long since learned to counter the spell, but given my habitual isolation it was impossible to tell the difference. That particular night found me in my small room in my home, browsing through the pages of my favourite books.

My father hadn't returned. His responsibilities to Mysidia often kept him at the village hall until very late at night. This was a somewhat recent development, though; when my mother was still alive, he'd rarely be away from home past the dark hours. But that had been four years previously – ancient history for someone of my age. By this time I was accustomed to the nights spent alone in my small home.

I was unlike other wizards my age, though. Most, given the circumstances I was in, would have spent their time making much more mischief than I ever had. But I wasn't like that. Even before my mother died, I had been fonder of reading a book than playing with the other children of the village. I learned my lessons just the same. I learned them from the stories – fiction and non-fiction alike – that would send me to sleep. They were the same stories back then as I was now reading under my quasi-fictitious punishment.

Stories about the Dragoons.

The ultimate guardians of justice and fairness. The legendary knights who could soar through the skies like the dragons that guided their aims. I'd always found myself captivated by the tales of famous dragon warriors, dispensing the greatest justice throughout the world. It was said that the great king of all dragons, Bahamut, bestowed his powers upon the very first Dragoon, lending his own claw to the fight for order.

I delved even deeper into the Dragonian legends after my mother died. When a child's mother passes away, he tends to turn to the closest source of comfort he can find. For me, it was the Dragoons' tales and their lessons of justice, fairness. I began to seek out justice… fight for it. Even at an age where I could barely distinguish between the various lessons my life had to offer, or between right and wrong, I was granted the comfort of a very real goal.

I suppose that goal, combined with my inescapable desire to please my father and perhaps win back his lost affections, was what lured me to the art of Black Magic. The rest, as they say, is history, a story very similar to that which led to the embarrassing incident between Palom and I.

Of course, it was only the consequences that made the situation embarrassing.

That night, I leafed through the pages of my books as usual. I had chosen my personal favourite, about the noble Dragoon clans of the last century. The clans still existed in my youth, of course, but their numbers had become few and far between. I enjoyed reading about the glory of the past, of the reign of great Dragoon masters such as Regent Abramm of the Windfang Clan. They were honourable men and women. A Dragoon under the Regent Abramm could pledge his or her allegiance to the pursuit of justice or to the protection of the Windfang Clan – only one. Not both. The Regent believed that one could only fully serve a master by setting any other duties aside and devoting yourself to the fulfillment of only one.

It was a high standard to live by. I suppose that's what made it so interesting for me.

I was pulled out of my thoughts that evening by a familiar knock on my window. I turned to see who it was and I was greeted by the sight of Melody, a student of white magic and a long-time friend – one of the few I had. I smiled at her, crossing the room and opening the window.

"Another sentence of Silence?" she asked as she climbed through it.

I nodded. "They don't seem to get tired of them."

"Neither do you," she replied, and I scowled at her. "What?" she said defensively. "It doesn't seem difficult to keep your magic in check. What did you do this time?"

I chuckled to myself. "Nothing special. That Palom kid was getting on my nerves, so I turned him into a toad."

She glared at me, but I could tell she was trying hard not to laugh. "It's not funny," she finally said, regaining control of herself. "It's childish."

"I know. After I did it, I had second thoughts. I should have turned him into a pig instead."

This time a chuckle did escape her unwilling lips, and she soon burst out laughing. "You're horrible, you know that?"

I eyed her approvingly. "At least someone thinks it's funny. The patron wasn't too happy with me."

The smile disappeared. "What? Zach, you mouthed off to the patron?"

"In a manner of speaking."

She groaned. "You never learn."

I turned away, sitting on my bed once more. "I just got a lecture today from the patron. I don't need one from you. Now, are we going to practice tonight or what?"

Our 'practice' was a special brand of magic I'd been experimenting with. I had been attempting lately, out of my admiration of the Dragoon kind, to find a way to become more like the knights I read about. I wanted to leap among the clouds as they did, but for a young Black Mage like myself, this was a difficult feat to achieve. It was Melody who had suggested, albeit jokingly, that the White Magic spell Float could help me achieve the height that the Dragoons could. She hadn't expected me to take her suggestion seriously, of course, which was why she'd been so reluctant to teach me. Suffice it to say I'd managed to persuade her, and we had since practiced nearly every night.

Melody sighed. "Yes, of course we'll practice." She crossed the room and sat on the bed next to me while I placed my books on the small table nearby.

Smoothing her white and red robes, she focused on the small pile of books and then closed her eyes, raising her hands toward them. A short pause, and then the books rose from the table, bathed in a dim, blue light. They rose higher and higher, nearly reaching the ceiling, until she brought them back down to the wooden surface and opened her eyes. The blue light vanished.

I had been watching intently, as usual. When the books settled, I closed my own eyes and extended my hands toward the books. I channeled the spell as I had learned, putting all of my effort into lifting the books. I seldom managed even to make the books move. It had frustrating to attempt the magic week after week with little or no result.

But today, I heard Melody speak. "They're moving, Zach!"

Upon hearing this, and eager to see what I had performed, I opened my eyes. I was greeted with a very soft thud as the books returned to the surface of the table, presumably from only a millimetre in height above it. I groaned.

So did Melody. "Zach! Why did you open your eyes?"

I sighed. White Magic was very difficult for a Black Mage to learn. The two styles involved very different practices. While a Black Mage had only to visualize the end result of his endeavors, White Magic involved an element of prayer. A White Mage, in order to properly cast the spell, had to be in tune with the magical workings of her soul, and the magic itself required a motive. To cast the Float spell, I had to understand why I wanted to make the books float, and I had to focus less on the end result and more on the task of asking the spell to perform.

I wasn't a very submissive person to begin with, so the process was difficult.

But I'd made progress this time.

Melody looked at the books. "You almost did it, Zach. The books were moving. Why did you open your eyes?"

"I... I just wanted to see if it was really working."

She shook her head. "Trust yourself, Zach! If you succeed, the magic will show your mind what you have done. If you look, it will be taken away. You have to trust in the magic."

"I guess." I looked at her again. "I was doing everything else right, though. I knew why I wanted to lift the books."

"And why was that?"

I paused. "Because I want to be like the Dragoons."

She narrowed her eyes. "Why?"

"What?"

"You heard me. Why do you want to be like the Dragoons?"

I looked from her to the books and back again. "Do you mean my reason wasn't good enough?"

"Just tell me," she said. "Why do you want to be like the Dragoons?"

I considered that. "Because... because I admire them."

"Why?"

I bristled, but continued. "Because they're strong."

"Why?"

"Oh, come on," I said, exasperated. "This is getting ridiculous."

"There's a reason for all this," she said. "Just answer my question. Why are they strong?"

I sighed again. "Because they have to fight."

"Why?"

"Because they... because they fight the world's evils."

She smiled. "Why?"

"Because... they... stand for justice."

She nodded. "Right. So, why do you want to lift the books?"

We stared into each other's eyes for a few moments as I tried to understand what she was saying. Then, hesitantly, I closed my eyes, extending my hands to the books once again. I channeled the spell. I prayed for the magic to work. I thought hard. "I stand for justice," I thought. "I need the books to float because I stand for justice."

I heard Melody's audible gasp, but soon I wasn't paying attention to her anymore.

My mind was suddenly flooded by light. My closed eyes saw blue light, but not in any random shape. I saw the books sitting upon the table, etched in blue in the darkness of my mind. Then, out of nowhere, a pair of wings thrust out from underneath the books, and they reached out to either side, beginning to rise and fall.

The wings lifted the books of my mind into the air.

"Zach..." I heard Melody say, and I looked at her, my eyes still closed. There she was, etched in the same blue of my mind. It was as if she was made of blue fire... it was beautiful.

I returned my attention to the books, mentally willing them to return to the tabletop. I watched the wings bring them lower and lower, halting at the wooden surface. They disappeared, and all that was left was the small pile of books. I opened my eyes and there they were, sitting exactly where my mind had placed them.

When I looked at Melody again, she was beaming. "I knew you could do it, Zach."

I laughed briefly. "I... wow. That was amazing."

"Feels good, doesn't it?" She looked at the books. "When you were thinking about the Dragoons, you were thinking about becoming like them. Your mind was filled with a personal goal. When you thought and believed in justice, the magic responded."

"Because justice is..."

"Justice serves the world," she said. "To be like the Dragoons would serve you. To pursue justice is a goal honourable by the White Magic."

"I..." I was still somewhat speechless at my accomplishment. "I can't believe I did that."

"Nor can I."

I yelped in surprise and turned to the door to my bedroom. Standing in the darkness was my father, the Lord Black Mage, Rio Shade. "Father!" I said. "This is... this isn't what it..."

"I know what I have seen, Zacharias," he said angrily, advancing toward us. Melody and I stood, backing away from him. "You've been practicing White Magic without the Elder's approval... without my approval!"

"Father, I can explain..."

"There is no need for explanations." He sighed, quivering. "Do you have any idea how dangerous it is for a mage untrained in even one of the magical arts to attempt to learn a second? Do you have any idea of the consequences--"

"Please, my Lord!" said Melody. "He's learned well! He--"

"Now is not the time, young White Mage," he shot at her.

"Leave her alone!" I yelled. "It was my idea. Leave her out of this!"

My father paused beforer speaking again to Melody. "I will be speaking to your mentor in due time, young lady. Now, go home."

Melody shot a worried glance at me before hastily leaving the room. We heard her hurried footsteps crossing the small house and walking out the door.

My father turned back to me, heaving another sigh and sitting down on the bed. He removed his large, pointed hat, setting free his long, unruly black hair and revealing his rough, scarred face and rough stubble. He rested his forehead on his palm. "Zacharias... you've really done it to me this time."

I crossed my arms, scowling. "What's the big deal? So I learned one spell on my own!"

"I... I applaud your efforts, but you have no idea how dangerous it is to cast Magic from the other side of the spectrum. Your mind - your soul - could have been in serious danger!"

"But I did it, and I'm fine."

He stood angrily. "But what if something had happened? What then, Zacharias? You're still a novice mage!"

I stumbled back, stung. "I am not! They've been holding me back! I've already learned the second tier spells!"

He stared at me. "You've been learning other Magic on your own as well? Without assistance? What have you been thinking?"

"I've been doing what I'm ready to do! You, the patron, nobody gives me enough credit, nobody thinks I'm capable of anything! It's not fair!"

"You are putting yourself in very real danger! I don't want to lose you like I lost--"

He broke off, his words sinking into the tense atmosphere that had been cultivated in the room. He stared at me, and I stared back at him. My heart felt heavy, and my pulse was racing. The room was far too silent. We kept staring at each otheer, myself a miniature version of him, dressed in the blue robes of our kind.

Then my father shook his head, retrieving his hat. "I must tell the Elder and the Priestess of this. Then we shall decide what is to be done with you."

"The Elder?" I started to feel panic. "Father, please don't! He'll take away... He'll make me... Father, I won't ever be able to use Magic again!"

"If you must be without Magic to be safe and behaved, then so be it. I will not lose you to your carelessness!" He began to walk out the door, headed out of the house.

I followed him, grabbing my own hat to defend against the chilly night air. "Father, please!" I called after him, hearing the door open and slam shut. I ran outside, pulling on my hat and trying to catch up with him. "Father, don't do this! I will be responsible! I just want to make you proud of me!"

"Then you'd have done as you were told!" he shot back, starting up the stairs to the village hall. "The Elder will decide what to do with you. It is out of my hands now!"

I hurried after him, not noticing the dark shadows crossing the ground behind me. "But I'm your son! I want to live your legacy! Please, just give me one more chance!"

We were inside the hall now, and he turned to glower at me. "I have given you more chances than you know! The only reason you've still been allowed to study at the school of Black Magic is that I have fought for you! And every time, you have disappointed me and kept yourself behind! I cannot keep doing this!"

I was stunned. "You... you've been fighting to… but why didn't you tell me?"

There was a long silence as the question sank into the tense air. We both knew the answer, but neither one of us wanted to say it aloud. I was quivering, both with fear and anger. My father's steely eyes punctuated what little willpower I had.

But I spoke again. "I… I only wanted you to be proud of me."

For a moment, the look on his face changed. It seemed almost as if it softened, though I knew my father well enough to know how hard it was to find softness in his features.

Then he turned again, storming angrily into the village hall. I followed him, my protests still falling on deaf ears. I watched as my father glanced around, and when he didn't see the elder in the main chamber, he started up the stairs to the Crystal room. I remember how desperate I felt just then. I remember how shattered I was, how panicked at the very notion of having my magical abilities stripped from me after I'd worked so hard to cultivate and expand them. I felt afraid, I felt angry… and at the same time, I felt utterly helpless to do anything about it.

Still trying to change my father's mind, I could do little but follow him into the Crystal room. The Elder turned from his contemplation of the Crystal and looked down on the kneeling Lord Black Mage in wonder. "Lord Rio, my friend, what brings you back so soon?" Then he looked beyond him to me, and a less neutral look crossed his wise, old face. "Oh, I see."

I met the Elder's eye for several seconds before I knelt as well, averting my eyes, which were beginning to water.

"I have done everything I can," my father said, still on one knee. "You have… you have been right all this time. Zacharias is no longer fit to study Black Magic."

The Elder sighed. "Stand up, both of you." I stood obligingly, but I still couldn't meet his eyes. "We have already discussed this matter several times, and every time, Rio, you were steadfast that your son deserved yet another chance to redeem himself. What has brought about this change of heart?"

"He has—"

"Father, wait!" I said, and finally met the Elder's eye. He looked sternly upon me, but his gaze told me I had permission to speak. "I'd… I'd like to explain myself."

My father looked as if he wanted to say something more, but he thought better of it, crossing his arms and waiting impatiently for me to speak.

It occurred to me then that I didn't know what to say. I took a deep breath and started. "I... I have--"

"Elder!!"

I turned to the intruding voice. It belonged to the Priestess Ayana Springwater, who was running frantically up the stairs to the Crystal Room. "Elder! We're under attack!"

Within seconds, it was as if I no longer existed. The Elder hurried past me to the Priestess' side. "Calmness, Ayana. Monsters?"

"No! Soldiers from Baron!"

It was as if a bomb had exploded in the room. I looked at my father, but he had changed; he was no longer my father. He was the Lord Black Mage, sworn to protect the citizens of Mysidia from any threat. There was a dark look on his face, one that frightened me. It was a side of him I had never seen before, and despite my anger at him and my fear of the situation at hand, I felt a sudden sensation of pride.

"Why have they come?" my father said.

"I don't know! I think they want the Crystal!"

"How many are there?"

"Five of their airships landed outside the village! They are here in overwhelming numbers!"

They both looked at the Elder, as did I. He stared at the crystalline floor gravely. "The Red Wings."

"We must prepare a counterattack!"

"It's too late for that, Rio! They'll reach this hall at any moment!" The Priestess hurried to the Elder's side. "What shall we do, Elder?"

The Elder was mute for several long moments. In the silence, I could clearly hear the shouting of the Baronian soldiers, the screams of my fellow Mysidian citizens. In the distant darkness, I could see the unmistakeable glow of flames.

They were burning the village.

I clenched my fists. Tears stung my eyes, but I willed them away. I pushed my fear to the depths of my heart, covered by my anger. My hands trembled. My eyes began to glow.

"Father!" I said, racing to his side. "Let me help you defend the Crystal!"

Instantly, the exterior I'd had such difficulty recognizing transformed back into my father as he realized I was still there. "Zacharias! Why haven't you run?!"

"What? But I--"

"Run, Zacharias! Hide in the top of the Tower of Prayers! You must hurry!"

"But I can help!"

He shook his head frantically. "There is no time for this!"

"Then let me help you!!"

"Zach--"

That was all he could say before the floor began to rumble with the steps of a dozen soldiers. Instinctively I backed up, finding myself to the left of the Priestess, and my father did the same, standing on her other side. It wasn't until that moment that I started to have doubts, but I clenched my fists resolutely. They were coming.

Four soldiers ran in, swords drawn. From the rear, I heard another yell a command to them. As they advanced on us, my father leapt into action. The entire room was bathed in bright green light, and just as suddenly there was a blast of ice from his outstretched palm. The soldiers stopped running, the cold invading every inch of their bodies. They fell, shattering upon impact with the otherwise unperturbed glass of the floor.

Two more burst in before he had time to recover. They drew their own swords and ran straight toward him. "Father!" I cried, and acting purely out of instinct, felt my own magical power welling up within me. My eyes shone fiercely and my body took over as I fiercely let loose the second tier Bolt spell. The lightning charged from my outstretched fingers and blasted the two intruders from their feet, the magically-charged voltage coursing through their veins. It wasn't until they fell that I realized I was screaming.

I finally relaxed my arms, eyeing the damage I had done. My father looked at me in a way he never had before. He looked at me as if I had become someone else. He looked at me as if he didn't recognize me anymore. I didn't know what to think.

I heard another command from beyond the advancing ranks of Baron's soldiers, and I returned my attention to what was going on. Four more soldiers marched in, but they didn't advance the way the others had. They just stood there, swords at the ready, waiting.

Finally, their leader walked in. He wore armour darker than any metal I had ever seen before. His face was entirely shrouded by his dark helmet. His dark shield bore what I assumed was the Baronian crest. Even the sword he carried at his belt was dark. He was living darkness.

A dark knight.

There was a sudden stillness in the room. The enemies stood poised with their swords at the ready. My father and I prepared our spells, ready for anything. The Priestess readied her own Magic, prepared to heal us should the need arise. The elder continued to look at the glass floor; he hadn't moved an inch.

Finally, the dark knight spoke. "I have come for the Crystal, old man."

The Elder looked up at him. "I sense great darkness in your soul. The Crystal is a beacon of light. Someone such as you must not possess it."

"Strong words for a weak man in a weak position. I had hoped to be civil about this."

"As had I. Yet you seem to have begun on a path that puts both of us beyond civility. How many innocent people will you kill to see your aims through?"

"There are no innocents," said the knight. "Your possession of that Crystal presents a danger to the kingdom of Baron. There are only disobedient subordinates, and at the moment there are four standing in my way."

I felt an overwhelming sense of fury as I stared at the man in dark armour. His cold demeanor and calm, efficient ruthlessness was too terrible for me to bear. I felt my fists clench once more, but this time I wasn't striving for confidence. This time, my fury was in control.

For the first time in my life, I saw anger flash across my Elder's face. "As long as I stand, the Crystal shall never fall into hands as evil as yours."

The dark knight laughed. "That makes little difference. You will kneel soon enough."

I had had enough. "You won't get away with this!" I yelled, not pausing to think about what I was saying.

"Zacharias! Don't!"

The helmet swiveled toward me, and the invisible eyes within stared, no doubt, in curiosity and amusement. "Even the young of this village are upstarts, I see. I will be taking the Crystal with me, whether you like it or not."

"Over my dead body!"

He chuckled. "If necessary, that can be arranged."

Immediately and unexpectedly, two soldiers rushed forward, swords raised.

I remember that moment. I knew I wasn't ready. I knew I couldn't be ready. I had been swallowed up in my anger and didn't realize how much was at stake in my words. Time seemed to slow down for the few seconds it took for them to close the short gap between us. I remember the gleam of their blades, the fierce looks in their eyes. I remember that, for the first time, I felt sure that I was going to die. The blazing fires in the distance faded from my vision, as did the screams echoing from the village. The fire in my own eyes felt as if it was dimming. I tried to raise my hands and cast a spell, anything that might protect me, but they were sluggish and wouldn't respond. Perhaps they knew as I did that it was already too late.

I didn't even hear my father cry out.

All I saw was a flash of a blue robe in front of me, the piercing sound of metal tearing cloth. I saw the pointed hat fly to the ground, the unruly black hair tossed every which way as he fell to the floor. I'm sure I screamed as the reality struck me, but I didn't hear myself. I couldn't hear anything besides the beating of my own heart. It seemed to last forever, from the moment he dove in front of me to the moment he struck the crystalline floor, the red of his blood slowly seeping from the wounds in his chest onto the glass surface.

The cries that came from my throat and those of the Priestess and the Elder were nearly in unison.

"Lord Rio!"

"You monster!"

"Father!!"

I dove down to his side. The two soldiers returned to their positions, the looks on their faces a mix of steely aggression and reluctant pity. I was barely paying attention to them, though. I could barely see through the tears that were beginning to flood my eyes. I rolled my father onto his back, clutching the fabric of his robe. "Father! Father, wake up! Please!"

There came no reply. His eyes were open, but they stared sightlessly at the ceiling high above him. His mouth was ajar, but stained red within by his blood. My hat fell as I buried my face in his robes, my tears saturating the familiar, comforting fabric. But the comfort was gone; the body within the fabric held no more life in it than the sharp blades that had pierced it.

My father, the Lord Black Mage Rio Shade, was dead.

The yellow fire blazed in my eyes once more as I looked up at the dark knight. The Priestess raised her hands toward my father, preparing her own magic. I could barely hear what was going on. I didn't hear the words spoken by the dark knight. All I could do was see, and I saw the two soldiers charge again, this time toward her. I remember the blast of flame that erupted from my fingertips, arching between the Priestess and the advancing soldiers, forcing them to fall back.

My hearing returned to me as I stood between them, following the path of my second tier Fire spell. I heard the dark knight speak to me. "This resistance is futile, young Black Mage. I've sworn to take the Water Crystal from this village for the sake of my kingdom and all others. Your father has already given his life to save yours. Would you spit on his memory in such a way by nevertheless meeting your end?"

I looked at my father once more, the tears wiped away by my rage, my feeling of absolute hatred. "You've killed my father. He'd still be alive if you hadn't come here to spill innocent blood!"

The knight bowed his head. For a few long moments, he was silent. It was almost as if he was pondering something. But he soon raised his head once more, and spoke the words that would have struck absolute terror into my heart if there had been any room left for fear.

"Kill him."

The soldiers raised their swords. I raised my hands. Again, time seemed to flow in slow motion. Once again, I saw the evil ends of their bloodstained swords, but this time I wasn't afraid. This time, I couldn't have cared less whether or not I survived. The Lord Black Mage was dead. My father had been killed. My village was burning. My life was already over. It seemed fitting to make it official.

Because I fought for justice.

All I remember was the roar of the soldiers, the deep darkness of the knight's invisible eyes, the scream from Priestess Ayana Springwater's throat, and the cries flying from my own as I channeled my magical power once again.

The metal swords tore through the fabric of my robes.

The world turned white.