When last we saw Magna, he'd been sent reeling into grief by the sounds of a jailor's keychain. The fire mage was slumped against a cell door having finally been broken.
Here is a story about a young man. Not the same one we've been following thus far, but a relevant youth all the same. In a tiny peasant village at the outskirts of the Clover Kingdom, this man worked the mills assisted only by his wood magic; all alone after his parents' retirement. His name was Alder, and he was a kindhearted, hardworking soul; considered an upstanding fellow in hushed tones by some, but known as a human doormat to many more. He'd never hurt a living thing in his life, and likely never would.
It was incredibly hard labor to grind a manual mill in solitude, but Alder had never once complained about that. It was his job after all. And although many of the other villagers showed some appreciation for his work, none paid much interest in the one who made the town's flour. To everyone in town, he was just the miller. That was, until the day a lone woman wandered into the grain silo.
Alder had spent hours that morning carrying flour sack after sack into his cart for the market, hoping he'd be able to get back before sundown. The men who'd agreed to help out had flaked on him, and he doubted there was any way to finish the work in time. In his justifiable haste, he'd slipped on an uneven piece of flooring and made something twist; his back thrown out, the boy was stuck on the ground whilst someone new walked in on him.
"You having trouble down there?" Came a woman's voice from the silo's threshold. This interloper was watching him when he wasn't even close to ambulant, so Alder couldn't help being a tad embarrassed.
"No, not at all." The young man replied as politely as he could, feeling his face heat up like an unattended kettle. "Well, okay I am, but I wouldn't want to bother anyone."
Her face barely reacting, the white-haired lady standing at the door stared at him a little longer, and said, "Hmm… I'll help you up if you buy me dinner."
The boy assured her not to worry, and that he'd be fine without help. After a solid two minutes trying and failing to right himself while the newcomer watched, Alder abashedly groaned. "What kind of dinner were you thinking?"
"Something with meat and booze!" She shouted as she mercilessly knuckled something in his lower back, "Oh, and by the way, my name's Kicilia!"
Once the boy's eyes had uncrossed from the ineffable sensation of his spine crunching back into place, he told her, "I'm A-Alder. It's nice to meet ya."
Their date began at the inn, the only place Alder knew where meat and booze could both be found. Over a din of boisterous, drunken peasants he learned that Kicilia was a blacksmith and a merchant, and that she had no interest in the mill, grain or silo— she only had eyes for the town's miller. By the time their dinner ended, she'd yelled at every member of the waitstaff, and Alder had found one of the folks who'd promised to help him to market walking around town with a mask over his mouth, and a high fever. Though Alder wanted to say hello, Kicilia said the guy was kind of a bitch anyway and spirited her date away for some more fun on the town.
Their night came to a close with a plastered lady pinning a young man into his door and staring him down until he'd quite nearly fainted. While Alder had never experienced anything like a whirlwind romance, Kicilia (and her insane biceps) showed him things he never could've imagined. She ruined his schedule of working seven days a week, told him that was no way to live, and belittled his choices for relaxation whenever it meant she couldn't join him.
They shared a first kiss, a first argument, and a few other firsts you would never tell polite company. Copper rings were exchanged a mere two months after they'd met, and it was a summer wedding. Alder was about seventeen at the time, and Kicilia twenty-six.
Together, this happy couple had a son whom they named Cedar, blessed with his father's wood magic. Their second child came a scant two years later while the first was still a babe, and this boy bore his mother's flame magic. They'd gifted him the name Magna.
Soon enough, after building a cottage together on the village's outskirts, the Swing family even found themselves with a daughter on their hands— not that they'd had any more kids, the elder child was simply a girl now. Alder, living in that quaint cabin with his beautiful family thought life was amazing. Even with the occasional food shortage or natural disaster, he still had his children and his darling wife to get through any challenges with. And Kicilia was always so sweet to them all.
Except when she wasn't.
The folks around town assured Alder that the occasional smack from his wife was nothing to worry about, but increasingly often he would have to hide bruises in public. The young father felt small whenever he had to explain an injury to his children, but the man was ashamed with himself every time Magna or Cedar needed consolation after something their mom had done to them.
In the time since Magna's birth, Kicilia had taken to locking the him and his big sister in the basement for punishment, but that was in addition to her other methods of discipline. Just looking at his mom wrong meant Magna could go to bed without dinner, and anything resembling backtalk meant a thrashing— even when dad did it. But it wasn't like she was all bad, because her hugs were always just tight enough, and she never forgot to get dessert if they had the money… even if Magna nearly had a heart attack at the sound of any jingling sounds these days.
It wasn't long before the script was flipped, and the people around town grew concerned for the increasingly reclusive Swing family. They'd ask Alder whether everything was alright at home, or whether his wife's drinking was under control, but he and the kids had become deeply accustomed with making excuses for Kicilia. Mom had a lot on her plate, after all. She was even celebrating her seventh year of sobriety; clean for Magna's entire life.
She was beautiful, intelligent, strong, knew how to make a grand apology, and worked as tirelessly as an automaton, but were those actual virtues? Between the insults, beatings, and unexplained absences, Kicilia had turned every thing her husband and kids admired about her into a weapon. If she'd forgotten to unlock the basement for a few hours longer than she meant, Cedar might find a new ribbon on her bed. If she'd regretted a particularly nasty beating she'd given her son, Magna might be treated to an extra special dessert.
Being family, Magna and his dad and big sister figured they had to accept all of mom, even when it hurt. But, one night, she did something they could never forgive. It was a simple key, something so unremarkable aside from the basement lock it accessed, and yet the mental image of that damned chunk of metal still made the entire family's stomachs churn.
On that night, one of the arguments that had become so routine between Kicilia and Alder kept escalating, and the younger husband, usually so soft spoken, had nearly raised his voice to match hers. Closer than they knew was safe, Magna and his big sister were hiding behind their bedroom wall to listen in, hoping the flickering candlelight wouldn't give them away, unaware as always why their mom and dad were fighting.
Mommy started yelling about how she should be able to treat the kids however she wanted; practically shaking the walls as she powered each word into a shout. Daddy lowered his voice again, and said something about how she needs to be an adult for once in her life. Their parents' talk was interrupted by a strident, echoing thud, and suddenly, dad fell silent.
Footsteps approached the children, carrying along with them the stench of a smithy's brimstone, but far more obvious was the jingling of keys. The rattle of her mom's keychain always sent a jolt of fear into Cedar's heart, but for Magna the reaction was even worse; nearly any bell, jingle or high-pitched sound would send the boy scrambling for a place to hide. For now, with nowhere else for asylum, Magna huddled deeper in his big sister's arms. At the same time, the boy had also placed himself between his sister and the creeping sounds; hoping he could act like a shield despite all the adrenaline screaming at him to run.
Kicilia threw the door open, saw both her children cowering behind a bed in the candlelight, and asked them why the fuck they were acting so scared. Cedar asked why she was hurting dad again, gripping her arms tighter around her little brother for comfort.
"That idiot should've kept his mouth shut. I'm just keeping daddy in line. Listen baby, I only do this because I love you."
Sniffling as her eyes watered, the daughter said, "But Grandma never hits us! I don't think you love us at all!"
Cedar and Alder had grown meek from the constant bullying, yelling, and abuse, but Magna had a different response to his mother's mistreatments… he grew angry. When Kicilia walked closer, sober yet irate, and nearly crushed Cedar's wrist to yank her daughter to her feet, Magna finally snapped.
The seven year old boy leapt straight from his sister's grasp, and punched his mom in the kneecap with all his might. The patella didn't take the impact well, and neither did Kicilia; slamming Magna to the ground without a moment's hesitation after being sent down to one leg. Their white-haired bully let her son know that this would not go unpunished. Magna fought at his mother's hand as she held him down by the collar and pulled out her keychain, a hideous sneer across her beautiful features.
He'd rarely seen mom so mad before, and felt a frigid sweat run down his neck as she singled out a key sharper than the rest between her fingers. Kicking uselessly at air, Magna stared up at the angry woman as she balled up her hand into a fist.
"Big mistake, young man."
Back in the kitchen, as Alder nursed the new bruise on his neck, he was startled by the harrowing sound of a child screaming. He coughed a few times as he rose to his feet, but once the battered man got steady, he ran as fast as he could toward that awful sound.
He saw Cedar sobbing in the middle of her bedroom as she pawed at her bruised wrist, but Kicilia was nowhere to be seen. In an instant, Alder rushed to hold his child and let Cedar cry into his shoulder while he stared out into the middle distance. He just let her sob, hugging her tight until he noticed someone else was missing.
In one shaky motion, the wood mage stood up and glanced around the room; praying that Cedar was the one who'd screamed bloody murder just a moment ago. But, lying in the darker portion of the room, there was a ring of bloodied keys on the floor, a flower pot cracked apart in ceramic splinters, and Magna lying motionless in a gathering pool of blood. He had a ghastly head injury, the kind that couldn't be left untreated for fear of something that a ten year old should never be concerned with.
"Mommy started hurting him again, and he, he… Magna stopped moving." The girl said between choked breaths, confirming everything that Alder feared.
Placing both his hands on Cedar's trembling shoulders, the dad gave her a fake smile, and said, "Listen, your little brother's gonna be just fine. I just need you to get that bag we prepared— the one under the candle drawer, and meet me outside."
She nodded her agreement and fled into the other room as her dad lifted Magna from the ground; searching the bedroom for anything that might help, Alder saw only a few toys and bedclothes strewn across the floor. And all that goddamn blood.
They convened outside soon after, where nothing more than the stars illuminated the darkened sky of the forsaken realm when Alder escaped into the night with his two young children. Cedar could still make the trip on foot, but Alder had to swaddle his son in blankets just to stymie the bleeding. The pair of wood mages cast a glance over their shoulders, and prayed that Mom wouldn't notice their absence too soon as father and daughter crested the first blackened hill past the town border.
The journey to another village was fraught with cold, the distant cries of wolves, and the very real fear that Magna might bleed out. Alder didn't know how close or far they were from the nearest healer, so there was no way to be certain Magna would be okay. He pushed these horrid thoughts to the back of his mind, and didn't dare voice them to Cedar. Besides… as long as they were out of that house, they still felt safer.
This particular night was still ready to make the Swing family suffer, however, as within scarce miles of the nearest village—just when they assumed they were home free—they were waylaid by a pack of mountain bandits. And not just any old muggers either. Of all ruffian gangs in the county, it just so happened to be the infamous gang led by Roxanne: A criminal renowned for her violence, greed and cruelty.
The bandits encircled them until there was no possible escape route, a setup perfect for any of the larcenous mages to strike. Roxanne looked down the blade of her knife at the cold, frightened family and felt a thrill run up her spine when she noticed just how tightly this man was clutching the parcel within his arms. She'd been around long enough to know people do that with things that are truly valuable.
Stalking up to Alder with the tip of her knife glistening under the dappled starlight, the bandit leader made her threats obvious; her eyes signaled to the tightly bundled blanket, and she dragged a finger across her throat. When that wasn't enough to make the man speak, Roxanne slammed a hand onto her grimoire.
"Please, we don't have any money." Alder lied, feeling his already sore legs shake like trees in a storm as the confrontation threatened to escalate. "You can have some of our supplies, but please don't hurt us."
"You seriously think you can order me 'round?" The bandit leader said, backing him into her lackeys with her knife like it were a cattle prod, "Show me whatcha got in that bundle, now. Yer' actin' like it's more important than your own life."
Holding the swaddled parcel even closer to his body, Alder met her eyes and said, "He is."
"Wait. He?" Roxanne asked as she wrested the top of the blanket away from Alder's chest. Looking at what was inside her target's bundle made her back up, just enough for her reaction to be visible. The roughneck sheathed her weapon, and looked absolutely pissed.
Turning back from her marks in a huff, the bandit lady ordered her compatriots, "Get these people into the village! now!"
Under the guard of an entire pack of bandits, the peasant family made their way into Rayaka village before the sun rose again. Although they'd arrived long before the boy could bleed out, the village's clinic couldn't heal Magna's head soon enough to avoid the worst of the possible damage, and the boy was scarred for life. For the rest of time, a mark etched on his forehead was the subject of endless questions regarding its origin, and Magna would just say that this particular scar was 'personal'.
Magna's family stayed in town until he'd healed enough to leave, and they continued living in Rayaka long after; permanently making residence once they'd settled in.
His dad fell once again into that pitfall most call 'love', and married the very criminal who'd saved his family on that frightful night. It took a couple years for Alder to stop flinching when Roxanne raised her hand, but he was never scared of the boisterous, animated, and violent woman. It was by that point just an embarrassing habit for him.
And the ruffian herself had more than enough room in her heart for a family; having eyes for a man too soft for his own good, even if she was the sort to hide knives on her person. Cedar too, got along famously with their new mom, but Magna…
Magna would go on to call this roughneck his 'wicked stepmother', and the boy remained deeply troubled for the rest of his childhood.
—————————————
Back in the present, in the deepest, darkest recesses of a Queen's castle, a solitary ray of light shone into Magna's cell. The Clover ambassador didn't know how long he'd been stuck within the stone chamber, but it wasn't more than a few everlasting hours. Regardless, he'd been left alone just long enough for the memories to return.
He'd cried too often lately for anything like a teardrop to leave his lachrymal ducts, and after everything else these past few days, he was feeling pretty numb. Besides, Magna had already dealt with the past— his concern now was with an uncertain future. He tried stretching his back out, but the chains made it rather onerous.
Notably in the present, bootsteps echoed through the dungeon, bearing with them the light of a solitary lantern. The sight and sounds swept down the stone halls until their movement stopped right at the path's end.
"Magnus? Are you holding up? It's me." Deandra said on the far side of the prison's impassive door. She stood up on her boots to reach the viewport and peered in at the room's lone occupant.
Magna was leaning against the metal wall, shackled thoroughly, and without a hint of his usual energy; the man didn't put on any affectation of masculinity or emotion, and simply asked, "So the Queen's just been usin' me. And you knew the entire time, didn'tchya?"
"Magnus, I…" the chamberlain started, searching for something profound to say but coming up with only sincerity. "Yeah, I knew."
"Look, I don't blame you or nothin', it's just," Magna searched the right words, "I thought I could actually trust you. Friends are s'pposed to have each other's backs, and you sold me out."
Deandra looked deeply offended by the implication in his words, "Wait, you don't think I told her anything, did you?"
He cast a glance up past his glasses to actually look the woman in her eyes, weary but with piqued interest, "Huh? You mean ya didn't-?"
"That's right! I never told my Queen a thing!" The witch shouted right over Magna's hesitance, "Your secrets are safe with good old Deandra! After all, we're no-kiss sisters!"
"No-kiss sisters?" The fire mage leaned back while he giggled and conceded, "Can't say it's all that manly, but it's got a nice ring to it. I'd… high five ya, but my hands are kinda shackled in here."
"Seriously? It's like you're only ever in fifty-kilogram handcuffs when you wanna high five!"
"Well, maybe I deserve to live a life without high-fives for daring to call you a snitch."
"At least you didn't call me a bitch!"
The pair shared a big, hearty laugh through the barred viewport, but after their chuckles died down like a symphony winding down from a fortissimo, Magna wiped at his eyes with a shoulder to ask, "Say, Dee… am I going to die?"
Those words snapped the the witch right out of her jocular mood, and she leapt up in surprise at his attitude. "No! You're not going to die! The Witch Queen is coming back to interrogate you soon, and she said she needs you in one piece. She's… she's just trying to keep you safe."
"How can you so sure?" Magna asked, looking utterly exhausted as he rose to his feet.
"I'm not! But she's the one who healed your arm, and it's better to remain positive in hopeless situations. Besides— why are you so scared of a little 'dying' anyway, Magnus?"
"Its just a promise I made. I know it must seem kinda weird to like, actually be afraid of death, but I always keep a promise. And, uhh, Dee, would you like ta keep one more secret for me?"
Magna waited for the witch's affirmative nod, then told her, "My real name isn't Magnus Wing. That's just an ingenious fake name I came up with to keep my families safe."
"Oooh…" the little witch awed, under the impression she'd just received some kind of confidential state matter. "Wait, did you say 'Families'? People don't usually say that in plural."
"Oh yeah, I don't really think about it that often, but I've got two back home. One in my hometown, and another with the Black Bulls. I love them all more than I know how to say, and I swore that I'd see 'em all again someday."
Deandra watched the ambassador's face take on an air of reminiscence. As his expression shifted back to a look of calm defeat, Magna said, "Well, I'm probably not the only prisoner you need to check up with, so if you're busy…"
"—Actually, Jackass is fine, so I was thinking I could stick around here for a while longer." The Ace girl said, rolling her eyes conspiratorially about the dim dungeon, "And maybe even share a couple jokes I've been working on!"
Perking up like a puppy despite the myriad bindings locking his posture, the fire mage had to make sure of something. "Are the jokes any good?"
"Oh, trust me, they're horrible."
"Then what are ya waitin' for? Gimme your worst." Magna said, grinning like a serial killer through the bars of the viewport. Had the chamberlain been a saner person, she might've thought it scary.
Matching her captive audience's toothy smile, and bouncing slightly on her heels, Deandra began to jest. "Hahaha! Okay, Magnus, prepare to suffer! So, here's an awful one: A sad clown and ten narcoleptic horses walk into a bar…"