CW: Violence and homicidal thoughts
Edvard crouched behind the stacks of crates and line of barrels among the general cargo of the ship. The docked vessel swayed with each roll of waves, each roar of the ocean passing underneath shuddering through creaking boards. His heart leaping at each sudden drop of the boat, he held his breath and braced himself on a crate or barrel or side of the ship that was nearest to him for balance.
There was no way they would find him here. The boat was bound to leave any moment, evading the high possibility of being put into an institution.
The taste of freedom settled well in his stomach, a bright spark that lit determination in his veins. He had evaded notice for years before, he could evade it again. He wasn't capable of killing anyone, he wasn't dangerous. The "madness" people kept preaching about was because those people had something intrinsically wrong with them in the first place. He wasn't like them.
A breeze tickled across his cheeks, his stray locks of hair brushing against his forehead, a playful side-effect of his powers. He bit down on the side of his cheek, concentrating to keep them in check. It wouldn't do to give away his hiding place by accidentally knocking down perfectly-stacked supplies and goods that would otherwise keep steady despite being tossed around by rough waters. Not that it was possible for him to be able to do such a thing.
No, not at all. What happened earlier was merely a coincidence. He couldn't be that powerful.
It was only supposed to be a joke. He was only trying to knock the woman's cap off since she was being rude to the clerk just doing his job. Innocent. He hadn't meant to hurt anyone. It wasn't supposed to be obvious that it was him.
No, no, no, it was not him at all. That was just a freak gust of wind that happened to knock everyone around him off their feet except for him. He's not that powerful.
His chest ached from trying to take calming breaths, stretching the muscles around his lungs in a way he hadn't done before. He was fine. He was nearly free. He could start over somewhere else and no one would be none the wiser. Maybe find somewhere that didn't have that many people around so that he could use his powers as much as he wanted, somewhere that didn't need him to learn a trade or go to school or inherit something to be able to live. The Southern Isles was no place for someone like him.
A flash of light blinded Edvard, ruining his what night vision he had in the cargo hold. Spots danced in his eyes of the intense afterglow, a shape that looked vaguely like the outline of a person. Because of his anxiety, the afterimage caused him to flinch and tumble over with how similar it looked like someone surprising him out of nowhere. It was a miracle that he didn't knock over anything as he hit the floorboards.
What in the world was that?
He blinked his eyes, regaining his sight in the dark, and saw that the light came from a large mirror that leaned against the other side of the hold. Where had that light come from?
"You can look in there all you want," came a voice outside the door to the cargo hold. "I swear that if you find anything in there, I had nothing to do with it, and none of the other crew knows anything either."
Edvard felt like a vice gripped around his neck, putting the thought of the origins of the mysterious light for another time.
There was no way. There was no way he left a trail as he escaped that shop. He made sure to take the rooftops, pick a boat that looked like its crew were on shore leave, hadn't even made a sound as he leapt from the top of the building onto the deck. Subtlety was an art he had to master to keep from being discovered for so long.
Other than the light, the mirror brought another complication into the mix: his position was twice as visible now because of it, seeing that he could see his own reflection in it. He cursed under his breath and whipped his head around in a frenzy, looking for another place to hide.
Too late. The door to the hold creaked. Edvard peeked around his stack of crates and saw two men entered.
One looked to be one of the crew members of the ship, the ring of keys hanging around his hip and the rugged look of someone who'd seen much of the sun out on the open ocean as well as the sea legs while he walked. The other man had a long coat, the collar pulled straight and high against his neck, nearly obscuring the shape of his jaw. He had a brimmed hat that hung low over his brow, almost-but-not-quite hiding green eyes that were somehow visible in the dark. Something deep within Edvard sensed something familiar in the man, but he couldn't pinpoint what or why.
"A magician is on the loose," the man with the brimmed hat said. "There's a few reports saying that he fled toward the docks, so it's by the magistrate's authority that I have to look around, if you don't mind. I don't believe you or any of your crew is responsible."
"Yeah, yeah," the sailor said. "You Southern Islanders are quite the paranoid bunch about those magic people." He waved his hand, gesturing to the wide array of containers in the hold. "Have at it."
"You may want to lock the door behind you in case he tries to escape again."
"I promise you, no one saw nothing coming onto the ship. I don't think that's necessary."
"Just a precaution."
"If you say so."
Another creak from the door as the sailor left the hold. The long-coated man walked towards to where Edvard was hiding.
"I know you're in here," the man said. "I just want to talk with you. I won't hurt you."
Edvard held his breath. His pulse pounded in his throat. He crouched lower into his hiding place, hoping the man would just leave him alone.
A bright flash of light came from the mirror again, causing him to cover his eyes as his ears registered the scuffling of shoes as the man drew closer to him. He yelped as hands roughly grabbed his wrists and yanked him up, wobbling from the head-rush of standing suddenly and another crash of a wave against the side of the ship.
"I already knew where you were hiding," the man said, his strong hands keeping Edvard from running away. "Are you going to calm down enough so that we can talk?"
Edvard finally found his voice, a rough ball at the back of his throat. "L-let me go."
"I won't until I know you're not going to hurt anyone."
"Who says I hurt anyone?"
"Well, you fit the description for a magician who destroyed a haberdashery and injured everyone inside."
"So what if I am? What's not stopping me from wrecking this ship and having you let me go?"
Edvard relaxed and let his senses extend to the air between them. With a burst of energy, he summoned a great blast of wind that battered against the man, shoving them apart. Crates and barrels toppled and rolled over from the gust and the man skidded and rolled before coming to a stop. Edvard leapt over the wreckage for the door just as the man was picking himself off the floor.
The man grabbed Edvard's ankle, pulling him out from the air and throwing him to the floor. Edvard managed to pick himself up to his feet and readied for another gust to keep him back. He threw all his power into the strike, ensuring that the man wouldn't recover as easily from this one. The ship shook and the cargo was decimated from the blast.
But the man was untouched. How—?
Edvard got tackled and pinned from behind.
"Stop," the man said as he rolled Edvard over to face him, eyes wide and his arms shaking. "Or you're going to sink this ship with both of us in here."
Was he imagining that the man had a twin? No, no, it wasn't his imagination. There really was a second one of him still standing where he threw his blast. Where did the other one come from?
The mirror. Duplicate people. That... feeling he got in his gut about the man as soon as he saw him. How else was it possible that he knew where Edvard was hiding?
"You're a sorcerer," Edvard said. "You were the one doing all that stuff with the mirror."
"I can do much worse if you don't calm down. You'll end up hurting more people. You belong in the asylum."
The gall and audacity of this man, this other sorcerer wanting to lock him away while he himself was walking free? How dare he threaten him when Edvard was the one who had real power, not smoke-and-mirror magic.
The asylum? Over his dead body.
Edvard curled the fingers of both his hands together, imagining the air inside of the man's lungs, crushing it out of him. The man let go of Edvard, clutching at his chest, mouth agape in terror. Edvard rolled away from under him, his hands still curled and holding the very breath the man breathed in his hands, his victim's face turning red. Reddish purple.
He should let him go.
No, he shouldn't. He would somehow end up finding him again against the odds.
The rush of having someone's life at his mercy filtered into him, a savor that he'd never experienced before. The sweetness of feeling his powers so utterly in his control, electrifying and exhilarating.
No one would be able to stop him.
The man gasping thrust out a hand, as if reaching for Edvard's face but not touching him. In that instant, there was a bright flash of light. The man disappeared, as well as the cargo, and the ship. He found himself spinning in a vortex of facets and lights, warping and shattering all around him. He was upright, his feet told him. He was upright, and his feet were shifting with the ocean's swell. His eyes disagreed.
He was spinning faster and faster, his sense of sight and sense of presence not matching up. He brought his hands to cover his eyes, but found that the images were right behind his eyelids, just as bright and vivid as the sun.
What madness was this?
He found himself dropping to his knees, to his side, to his back, hands pressed to his eye sockets to push away the kaleidoscope with no avail.
"The hard way it is, then," the man's voice said from somewhere above him. Next to him? He couldn't tell. "Instead of going to the asylum, you're going to have an execution for trying to kill me. You're too dangerous to keep alive."
"Stop it," Edvard begged. "Please. Make it stop."
"No."
Edvard felt himself being picked up from the floor and he heard a knock against the door.
"I've got him," the man said. "He put up a fight but I think that's all he's got left."
The door creaked, a sound almost distant as Edvard continued spiraling through the dizzying image.
"Wow, there really was a magician in there," the sailor said. "I swear I didn't know anything about it."
"He stowed himself away," the man said. "It was unfortunate that your ship was the one he picked. I'll make sure to inform the magistrate of the damages he caused to your cargo and the ship and see what they can do to help."
The blurring images spun around Edvard ever faster, morphing into ugly shapes of creatures and monsters that were the product of nightmares. One of them neared him, its grotesque face pulling its lips apart to show sharp, needle-like teeth that were as black as tar and covered in a sheen of red. It reached out a spindly arm, its clawed hand twitching.
"Make it stop," Edvard whimpered. "Please, make it stop."
"What's wrong with him?" the sailor said.
"Finally went mad," the man said. "Nearly killed me. It was lucky that I managed to subdue him."
"Is he still dangerous?"
"Yes, though this should relax him to get him into a cell without any issues."
Something bitter filled Edvard's mouth. He made to spit it out, but his nose and his mouth were clamped shut, forcing him to swallow the foul-tasting liquid. He coughed the remainder out.
"Stop," Edvard pleaded. "Please, stop."
The minutes that passed felt like eternity until he felt himself going limp and the terrifying illusions faded into darkness.
A few words managed their way through the black as he slipped towards unconsciousness.
"Who are you, anyway?"
"Just a friend of the magistrate."
"They should hire you if they haven't already."
"...sure."