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Description
The year was 693A.D. Magic was a way of life. It was all around us, helping us, guiding us. Those with magic became more than just humans. Some even said they were becoming closer to God. It was an era of enlightenment, of prosperity.
I am Evan Valondi. I was born in this peaceful time where mages were revered, children who had been blessed with the ability for magic were the top priority of a family. When it was found out that I had the means to become a Light Mage, the family's savings were spent on getting me into the best medical schools of the time. I was ecstatic. Not only was I going to the most prominent schools and getting an education fit for a noble's son, not a farmer's, I was one of the few who's place in the world was already set for him by the mere fact that I was a mage.
But of course, these golden ages never last. Mages were becoming too prideful, to greedy. It was the belief that mages were better than non-magic users, that it was inevitable that normal humans should follow their higher brethren. The services of mages became more expensive, too expensive for the common man.
At first, the populace was stricken with fear. Sickness ran rampant, unchecked, because there was no one who would heal those afflicted. I watched with my fellow students behind the locked doors of our school as out superiors cast out peasant after peasant. They told us that those with the disease were not worthy of our magic. This was simply nature getting rid of useless material. We believed them. In our secluded learning place it was easy to ignore the horror outside.
It wasn't until the year I was to graduate with a doctor's degree that the people revolted. They hammered their fists against the door, demanding what was due to them. When they received no response, they threw bricks through our windows, shattering the glass. Then they brought torches.
We pleaded with the headmasters. We asked them to open the doors and offer our services, giving them what they wanted. It would not be hard at all to use our magic to calm the crowd. But they had grown lazy in their magic. They would not listen, would not see the danger we were all in.
The crowd was growing violent. Swords were brought out, the flaming torches thrown through the broken windows. Old rugs caught fire instantly, the flames then spreading to the tapestries, the wooden furniture, our books, our papers, everything we had worked so hard on.
And still, the headmasters did nothing. We fled the school, leaving the fattened Light Mages to burn. I remember standing at a safe distance as the headmasters, our teachers, were brought out from their burning school and were beheaded like pigs.

That was the first of my many homes that was destroyed in this war. All over the country schools, villages, homes of mages were burned to the ground. Thousands of mages were slaughtered in whatever way the humans wished.
Yes, we had quickly formed our army. And yes, we were turning the tide. We no longer sat on our backsides with our thumbs in our mouths. We knew how to use our magic, how to kill. Even so, this war is still going on.
It is now 719A.D. I had been involved with the mage army for four years. And now, I am part of the enemy army. I had successfully healed their General and Commander Sycroft kept his word and released the other prisoners. I did not go with them. We came to an agreement. If I stayed and healed their wounded, any innocent mage their contingent encountered would be let go. Sycroft made it clear that they were at war, and the mages who were part of their enemy army must be dealt with accordingly, no matter how innocent they were.
I kept to myself. I had to. There was something about Sycroft that disarmed me. Perhaps it was the way he joked and laughed with his men, not as their commander but just as another lowly soldier. Or the way he simply found anyplace to sleep, no matter how exposed or uncomfortable it was. Maybe it was how he treated me not as a prisoner of war but as a comrade.
How easily I could fall into his trap. But that look in his eyes, always calculating, always watching me when I least expected it reminded me of the truth. He was my enemy, he saw me as an enemy.
There was something about this battalion of Sycroft's that wasn't normal for a human army. Something that was definitely magic.

Description
The year was 693A.D. Magic was a way of life. It was all around us, helping us, guiding us. Those with magic became more than just humans. Some even said they were becoming closer to God. It was an era of enlightenment, of prosperity.
I am Evan Valondi. I was born in this peaceful time where mages were revered, children who had been blessed with the ability for magic were the top priority of a family. When it was found out that I had the means to become a Light Mage, the family's savings were spent on getting me into the best medical schools of the time. I was ecstatic. Not only was I going to the most prominent schools and getting an education fit for a noble's son, not a farmer's, I was one of the few who's place in the world was already set for him by the mere fact that I was a mage.
But of course, these golden ages never last. Mages were becoming too prideful, to greedy. It was the belief that mages were better than non-magic users, that it was inevitable that normal humans should follow their higher brethren. The services of mages became more expensive, too expensive for the common man.
At first, the populace was stricken with fear. Sickness ran rampant, unchecked, because there was no one who would heal those afflicted. I watched with my fellow students behind the locked doors of our school as out superiors cast out peasant after peasant. They told us that those with the disease were not worthy of our magic. This was simply nature getting rid of useless material. We believed them. In our secluded learning place it was easy to ignore the horror outside.
It wasn't until the year I was to graduate with a doctor's degree that the people revolted. They hammered their fists against the door, demanding what was due to them. When they received no response, they threw bricks through our windows, shattering the glass. Then they brought torches.
We pleaded with the headmasters. We asked them to open the doors and offer our services, giving them what they wanted. It would not be hard at all to use our magic to calm the crowd. But they had grown lazy in their magic. They would not listen, would not see the danger we were all in.
The crowd was growing violent. Swords were brought out, the flaming torches thrown through the broken windows. Old rugs caught fire instantly, the flames then spreading to the tapestries, the wooden furniture, our books, our papers, everything we had worked so hard on.
And still, the headmasters did nothing. We fled the school, leaving the fattened Light Mages to burn. I remember standing at a safe distance as the headmasters, our teachers, were brought out from their burning school and were beheaded like pigs.

That was the first of my many homes that was destroyed in this war. All over the country schools, villages, homes of mages were burned to the ground. Thousands of mages were slaughtered in whatever way the humans wished.
Yes, we had quickly formed our army. And yes, we were turning the tide. We no longer sat on our backsides with our thumbs in our mouths. We knew how to use our magic, how to kill. Even so, this war is still going on.
It is now 719A.D. I had been involved with the mage army for four years. And now, I am part of the enemy army. I had successfully healed their General and Commander Sycroft kept his word and released the other prisoners. I did not go with them. We came to an agreement. If I stayed and healed their wounded, any innocent mage their contingent encountered would be let go. Sycroft made it clear that they were at war, and the mages who were part of their enemy army must be dealt with accordingly, no matter how innocent they were.
I kept to myself. I had to. There was something about Sycroft that disarmed me. Perhaps it was the way he joked and laughed with his men, not as their commander but just as another lowly soldier. Or the way he simply found anyplace to sleep, no matter how exposed or uncomfortable it was. Maybe it was how he treated me not as a prisoner of war but as a comrade.
How easily I could fall into his trap. But that look in his eyes, always calculating, always watching me when I least expected it reminded me of the truth. He was my enemy, he saw me as an enemy.
There was something about this battalion of Sycroft's that wasn't normal for a human army. Something that was definitely magic.