As Isaac and Roltar started their trek to the new village, the young forgemaster found himself wondering what this place would be like.

"The entire village could be made of magic," he considered, fascinated. "Even children might practice the mystic arts. I suppose they would have to learn it like any other skill and a village of magicians would not find it strange to begin such education at an early age."

Soon, Isaac could barely contain his excitement and turned to his traveling companion. "What have you heard about this village–apart from it harboring magicians?"

Roltar tapped his chin as he contemplated. "I heard that you can sense the magic before you even enter. Also that magic is ingrained in their culture. Apparently, everything they do from building homes to preparing food involves magic of some kind. That's pretty much all I know, though. It'll let us be surprised when we get there at least."

"Have you met many other magicians?"

"Not as many as I'd like, but I've been able to interact with some." The man looked at his hands and smiled widely. "The feeling of your own power is indescribable when it's combined with other magicians of equal strength. It's as if you all form one omnipotent being. You become a perfect team. Those are the best fights. Whoever you're attacking can only make his peace with his place in the world and accept death."

Roltar let out a low chuckle as he reminisced. There was almost a sinister tone to it which made Isaac frown slightly.

"Do you know if that type of magic has ever been used for something other than killing?"

"I don't actually, but I'm sure it's possible." The magician stopped to look at the map. "We should be close now."

Isaac waited a moment for him to begin walking again. While he did, he heard a noise deeper in the forest. Grabbing the dagger, he got ready for a fight and gestured for Roltar to be quiet. Instead, the magician's eyes glowed and flames surrounded himself.

"What are you doing?" Isaac asked in a harsh whisper.

"Telling them we're here."

Isaac looked around himself and drew his dagger in defense but could not defend against flames which sprouted from the ground like enraged weeds. They surrounded him and began closing the circle. Just outside, Roltar's eyes blazed and a cruel smile spread across his face. Seeing no way to fight the fire, Isaac braced himself and ran through. As soon as he did, the earth opened up beneath him. He managed to jump in time to land on solid ground, but an icicle sliced through his side as it flew past. A large group of brigand magicians had arrived on horseback. Two were controlling the water from the trees and trapped Isaac in the liquid. They turned the outside into hard ice to keep him from getting free. Isaac stabbed the ice and turned it into red flames. His actions caused the group's horses to move back, but it did not stop the people.

Roltar's eyes landed on the hand which held the dagger. This resulted in fire appearing in Isaac's right palm. He switched to hold the blade with his left, grimacing from the burn. A freezing sensation came when more magicians used a band of ice to wrap around his neck. This time, to stop him from melting the ice, another band was used to bind his wrists together and behind him. With several magicians controlling the ice, it was too strong to break. The band around his neck squeezed tighter until he could no longer breathe. Isaac tried to run, but the ground began cracking once more. He had to stop if he did not want it to break and fall through. The magicians closed the space as Isaac's mind raced.

"I can't turn any of them into night creatures at this distance and anywhere I step could cause the cracks to widen," he thought anxiously.

The gang had him completely surrounded, but Isaac could barely even see them anymore. Dark spots were appearing in his vision. Still, he did not give up and surrender. He refused to be captured without fighting back. Skillfully jumping, he got on the back of the nearest horse and knocked off the rider. He had acted too quickly for the magicians to stop him, but Roltar responded by using a whip of fire to catch his neck and yank him to the group. It was even tighter than the ice band. Without oxygen, Isaac's grasp of consciousness began slipping away and the fire-creator stole his dagger. Then, Roltar got two ropes. The first he used to tie the young man's hands and the second he used to wrap around his neck, replacing the magical bonds and allowing his allies the ability to no longer strain themselves. Once these were securely tied, he attached the other ends to the saddle of a horse which had not had a rider–his horse. Afterwards, he motioned for the magicians to release their bands. Isaac choked and sucked in several breaths. Even with the flames gone, it still felt like his neck was on fire. Adding to his anger was the sight of Roltar admiring his dagger before putting it in a bag. He took another knife and a small cup out, then eyed Isaac in an inspecting manner.

"Why are you doing this? You are also people of magic. Why wouldn't you want to work together?"

At this, Roltar scoffed. "Don't liken yourself to us. You're not a person. You're a forgemaster–a demon at worst and an ingredient at best."

"'Ingredient?'" Isaac echoed, horrified.

"You heard me correctly. There isn't much good that can come from forgemasters, but I've heard your bodies have enough magic in them to be used in spells." The man smirked. "If you care so much about magicians, you shouldn't mind helping us out."

Roltar took the knife and caressed Isaac's face. The forgemaster moved back, but another magician pushed him forward with a wall of ice. Roughly, Roltar grabbed his head and sliced into the right side above his scar. As the blood dripped down, he caught it in a cup and held it up for Isaac to see.

"You're going to make us a fortune, monster. Don't worry, though," he whispered in Isaac's ear. "We won't kill you. Not for a while anyway. Not for as long as there's still use we can get out of you. Before you eventually die, we'll scrape off all your skin, grind your bones to a fine powder, drain your blood for our own potions, and sell your organs. You wanted your life to have purpose. Now, it does."

Roltar snapped his fingers and got his friends to start moving their horses. Consequently, Isaac was yanked forward. He could hear his heart beating in his ears. The forgemaster wracked his brain, trying to formulate a plan to escape, but he had none. His weapon was gone. Without it and with the ropes, he expected little success in fighting the gang. Still, there had to be something he was not seeing–some way to get away from them. Surely, he was not given the chance to start a new life only for him to be slowly dissected. He had to be meant for something more than that. At least he hoped this was true, but doubt was starting to take the place of this belief. It had plenty of time to do this as they walked. The group traveled for a while. It became a genuine concern if they would ever stop, but they finally reached a village. They quickly caught the attention of the residents. Isaac could feel their eyes on him. These eyes were hateful and fearful. With every step he took, they followed him. Once the gang arrived at a stable, they entered and then stopped. Roltar dismounted his horse and glanced at one of his buddies, then pointed at the forgemaster.

"Keep him still," he instructed.

Doing as ordered, the magician began manipulating the air. It became difficult to move. Whenever Isaac pushed against the air, it pushed back, keeping him in place. Even a small step forward was made impossible.

"Potential buyers are coming tomorrow," Roltar explained. "Those who come first get the most options for what they want."

The magician replaced the ropes with chains, ensuring no possible escape even after they had left.

"Try not to stress too much. I've heard it makes the meat less valuable. Acceptance really is key. In the morning, it all starts. There's no avoiding that, so you might as well enjoy your final night intact."

With smug grins, the magicians left. Isaac glared them down, then felt consumed by the gravity of the situation once they were gone.

"One night," Isaac thought miserably, "Hardly enough time to come to terms with being torn apart, but that does not change that it is all I am granted. Perhaps I was too naive in my dreams of the future. To think that I would ever be capable of such an impact on the world was a child's fantasy. It was foolish to believe anyone would see me as someone who could help them. I need to see what is real. This–being seen as nothing but a tool–is reality. These people I want-wanted to help only have an interest in strengthening themselves and destroying each other as well as everything else they see. They're a disease in this world. A plague. Maybe it is better that they do not view me as human. I would never want to be part of the plague of humanity."