Everyone knew his name but no one knew who he was - not any more. They all assumed that he was dark and twisted: the cause of all the fear in the world. All of it was because he was not pure. People thought that, with their perfect white magic, they were safe. That's false. To be truly safe, grey neutral magic is needed. Rythian knew that, and that's why they both feared and hated him so.
It was odd. The Magic Police thought they could tackle him with the science bombs and the magic spells that they had cursed him with. They never managed to kill him - only his one friend, his apprentice, his sister. They murdered her... They took her from him... They would pay...
The boy - if you could call him that - pulled away from his thoughts as a lone drop of rain plopped onto his forehead and cascaded down his nose. Another plunged into the deep water that his injured ankle was slowly bleeding into. The icy liquid rippled outwards in a symmetrical wave, lapping at his ankles like a small puppy. Before long, Rythian was soaked, crystal droplets submerging every part of his hunched form. Rythian didn't particularly care. The rain was strangely fitting - it was raining in his heart as well.
Rythian sighed before struggling to his feet and glancing around the dark forest. Gazing left, he could see a pair of glowing, jack-o'-lantern eyes; on his other side was a near-exact mirror image. He huffed and glared at them. Rythian knew they didn't dare harm him, however, that didn't stop him disliking them. He stared up at the crescent moon and muttered a short prayer to whichever god was watching - be it Ridge or some other one- before limping forwards and into the shadows.
Stumbling through the forest on his leg was not exactly enjoyable. Rythian had to stop every now and then to take a few breaths, and, every other harsh step, he would curse out one of the god's names. It was painful, but it really was vital for him to make it out of the forest before the sun awoke from its slumber and rose.
Only after, maybe, four hours the pain really began to flare up. It started off as a slow burn around his right ankle. Before long, however, it began climbing up his leg, twisting in his veins, digging its knife-like claws into him. Rythian's mind was cloudy and he knew that he couldn't go on for much longer. Still, he pushed through the torment and almost collapsed when the grassy lowlands were sighted from between each charred tree.
It was as he made his first tentative step out from under the dark leaves that his legs finally gave way. From where he was sprawled out on the dirt, he could see the soft grass stretching out like a blanket for miles, only marred by the splattering of trees. In the far distance, he could spy the deep chasm that he used as a marker and central spot for all his travelling. People usually avoided the dark depths which was why Rythain used it. After the first small pool of water on the ground, turning down the small cave on the left and then the right one and then going through the tight gap in the middle, you would reach a larger room-like space that the mage liked to call home.
On the left hand side of the hide out was a slightly sheer purple curtain that separated his bed and chests from the rest of the area. On the other side was a shallow fire pit, a cauldron and an altar. It was also there that Rythian knew his many piles of books were, and consequentially, all the leather-bound journals on healing that he had gathered a year before while Ana was severely injured.
Rythian began to gather together his power. He could feel it scattered everywhere, light and dark nodes intermingling like many nails to a magnet. The mage grasped them with his fingers, pulling them and morphing them into one large globe. Elegantly, he splayed out his fingers to feel the soft kiss of energy on his skin before thrusting it beneath him with both hands. He flew forwards.
This was always Rythian's favourite bit. He could feel the cool night air as it surged over his skin like water; he could taste the wild flowers from the ground on his tongue; he could hear the nodes whispering soft words of encouragement in his ear and it was great. Every time, it was so different yet so similar in hundreds of ways.
As he reached the chasm, he lost his grasp on the ball; throwing his hands out to send what was left back to the universe. He fell to the ground once again to pull off his small leather shoulder bag. From there, he pulled out another small pouch. It was made of black velvet and had intricate gold stitching around the hems; even a blind man would be able to tell how treasured this was. Inside, sitting on another soft fabric, were many rings. Each one was made of some kind of metal that had been infused with magic through the unique runes that were etched into it. At various points around the ring were different jewels. Some had just one single circular emerald on a side while others had beautifully contrasting patterns of peridots and garnets. No one was the same.
The band Rythian pulled out was the most precious and most complex. Around the outside were lines and lines of runes and spells that infused the ring with the powerful magic of the End. In the centre was a lone opal to focus the power. He smiled and caressed it softly as if he was greeting an old friend. Rythian slipped it over the fore finger on his left hand and gave a deep sigh. As soon as it was over his finger, he could feel the power it was permitting him to use. He wriggled his fingers before taking a deep breath and - Yes! It worked! He looked around but he knew exactly where he was. This was the entrance to his small base. All he had to do was crawl through the hole and he would be safe.
Rythian gave a terse smile. Finally, he was home. Crawling over to his journals, he began to rifle through them, hoping he had something, anything, on magical damage. Suddenly, the young man sat up, frowning. Something felt off. It wasn't a potion, no, wrong direction... The bad feeling was coming from behind the - as Rythian worked it out, he whipped around, his arms outstretched. But, it was too late.
The Magic Police bust out from behind the curtain, and Rythian was blasted backwards into his table. A deep throb began working its way through his lower back and a white hot pain seared through his stomach and abdomen. Spell after spell was fired at Rythian, the two men taking it in turns to target him. Rythian could feel his leg begin to bleed steadily again, but that was the least of his worries. The agonised boy threw his head back in a harrowing scream. He likened the pain to the time when he was seven and had fallen into the brick kiln at Axel's residence. Another spell sent Rythian spinning. He looked up, trying to focus but not able to find the will. It was easier to just close his eyes. So he did.
When Rythian came to, his head was still spinning. He winced and pulled his eyes open. Instantly, they snapped closed as the light pierced him. He repeated the action a few times until he could scrutinize the cell he was encased in. It was small, made of some kind of black stone - basalt maybe. At the front of the room, there was a line of silver bars. Outside, there was a single blinking light bulb, casting shadows upon the floor. As it went out again, Rythian shivered. For him, it felt like the room was closing in, aiming to snap his bones and squeeze his insides out like a python.
The sound of a low, drawling voice helped Rythian to ground himself. "Finally, Sjin, we have him." Rythian frowned. He recognised that voice. And as the view of the two men - Lalna and Sjin - came into view, everything came rushing back: the fight, Zoeya's death, Tee leaving, his injury, going home, being attacked, he remembered it all. A sob racked through his cold, lonely body, even while he was trying to keep it in. He had to seem brave; Sjin and Lalna would taunt him and make it even worse if he showed any emotion. But it was too late.
"We killed her."
As quickly as it had come back, the sadness turned into rage. The anger was the burning kind, the kind that wouldn't go away until you did something about it, it was the painful type, and it consumed him. He had never given into his rage before lest he kill everyone. Rythian just didn't care anymore. He had nothing left to live for. Zoeya was dead and not even his magic would bring her back. For a second his enmity twisted into sorrow again - but only for a second. After that, the fire was back, slowly cooking his insides.
His magic exploded outwards in a dazzling formation. This power like was a star in its final minutes, a supernova. Everything was glowing, bathed in a golden light. It all blazed, heat twisting and turning everywhere. The screams of the Police were refreshing. He opened his eyes and rose above the ruins of the mage tower and their limp bodies, revelling in the feeling of the smoke that contrasted his pale skin so delicately. Looking down, Rythian could see the fire dancing beneath him. It was a beautiful show, one that a person would pay hundreds for. The limbs stretched up towards him; a child reaching up for his parent. Each beautiful golden strand of the flame waved around in an intricate design. A single spark flew up, landing in Rythian's hand. He smiled and carefully closed his fingers around it. The flames were beckoning him, trying to pull him in with seductive licks at his ankles. A tendril grasped one arm, tugging him in. He let it. Rythian could see everything, though with a slightly golden tinge. He didn't care about the heat or the strange sight he was being granted. It was over soon.
He was home at long last.