“Gods above, grant me [Emperor’s Flame Cloak]… Or [Heart of Flame]… I’ll take [Fire Savant], I’m not greedy,” he pleaded. His hands trembled, and he was glad no one was there to witness him. He hadn’t slept well in days, his curly, ash-black hair was a tangled mess, and he felt like a fool, pacing in the summer heat, draped in heavy robes dyed to resemble fire while a bonfire roared five feet away.
His entire life hinged on this moment, and Eld knew that despite all his preparations, he stood on shaky ground. In the cities, aspiring wizards were guided, their paths paved to ensure they received a heart skill that would complement a fire mage class. Here, on the kingdom's edge, Eld had nothing but scraps of rumor to guide his way.
He knew the basics, the same as any kid who paid attention. Heart skills were unique abilities that manifested the soul between a person's thirteenth and fifteenth years. A heart skill was said to mirror the deeds and intentions of its recipient, granting them a power that would define their life. The official texts claimed that trying to guide the formation of one’s own heart skill was blasphemy, a sin that would forever limit one's path, but everyone knew that chapter was famously ignored. Nobles employed countless tricks to pass down specific skills to their heirs. The wizard academies in Dria's great cities were built on the promise of consistently granting relevant heart skills to their students. But for Eld, these methods were closely guarded secrets. Instead of facts, he had only superstitions gleaned from ex-soldiers and traveling merchants.
It was those rumors that had fueled Eld's obsession with flame for four years. Two years of triggering his firestarter in every spare moment. Two years of restarting the oven at his parents' bakery and working the bellows for the town blacksmith. Two years of hunting for every scrap of lore he could find about what it took to become a fire mage. And still, Eld knew the odds were long.
As the eclipse reached its zenith, bathing the world in a muted purple glow, Eld felt the Mage moon's power welling up; it came from neither within or without his body. It was an impossible feeling to describe, but it was as if he was suddenly aware of a different direction his body moved in. Neither up nor down, left nor right, to, nor fro. It was a roiling, twisting direction. With each beat of his heart, the magic curled into him, and he prayed fervently that two years of devotion to his fire rune weren't a waste, driving the doubts away as he cycled the moon’s light into his mana channels and held the pure intent of flame in his mind. He would become a fire mage. He would adventure with his friends and fight beasts of legend. He would not receive a baker’s skill. He would not be confined to the Yedda woods for his entire life. He would be a…
[Heart Skill Acquired – Uncommon]
Rune Crafter
Runes infused with your mana at the moment of creation resonate uniquely with your soul.
Effect: Runes you personally craft may be activated by you for –1 Mana Cost.
[Attribute Adjustments Applied]
Mind
-
Memory: +1
-
Acuity: +0
-
Mana: +1
Body
-
Fortitude: +0
-
Power: +0
-
Agility: +0
Soul
-
Creativity: +1
-
Presence: +0
-
Will: +1
Eld’s life was over.
The eclipse passed. The sun returned, reclaiming its reign over the sky. His only concession to its harsh light was to close his eyes, pushing the tears from their corners out onto his cheeks. He tore at the useless robes he and his friends had labored over for hours and wept. He wept for his friends, who had waited six months for this eclipse so he and Thelia would have a better chance at mage-compatible classes. He wept for the future he had lost—a future of conquering dungeons, exploring ruins, and slaying monsters—now so distant it felt like an impossible dream. Finally, he wept for himself. There was no bravery in his tears. They were the indolent tears of a child robbed of something he had no right to expect.
His grief subsided with time. His tears dried up, and before the sun could begin to set, Eld dragged himself to his feet. The pity party he’d just thrown was the only indulgence he would allow. He straightened his back and walked into his new life. The dream of being a heroic fire mage was dead. He would have to figure out what that meant. [Rune Crafter] sounded like a crafting skill, and an outdated one at that. For the last fifty years, Enchanting had been the dominant technique for permanent magical crafting. Runework was commoners' magic, the difference between an armorer engineering plate mail and a farrier hammering horseshoes. The skill’s only saving grace was its rarity. As an uncommon skill, Eld could likely find an apprenticeship in any major city. It wouldn’t grant him access to the best journeyman paths, but it was an opportunity. Eld sighed... thought about trying to figure out the skill... thought about going home to tell his parents, and decided instead to go for a run around Yedda. Without much more thought than a vague desire to return to his comfort activity, Eld finished stripping off the red flame road and left it on the ground next to the smoldering bonfire as he began to run toward the city walls. His breath was labored but even, steady, and so he picked up the pace, circling the town's ancient wooden palisade. One foot in front of the other, one breath setting the pace, and Eld ran as fast as he had ever run. For the first time in years, Eld felt unmoored from his desire to improve. The skill changed everything for Eld, and so he ran. Four times, he circled the town, pushing himself to the limit until his lungs could no longer keep up with his body, and he collapsed against the town walls trying to catch his breath. Eld looked down at his sweat-soaked body and cursed, throwing a fist into the wooden trunk, bruising his knuckles, and causing a nearby farmer in the fields to look for the source of the resounding crack. All those hours wasted. Eld thought bitterly as he remembered the exhausting mid-day runs between his morning shift at the bakery and his evenings split between trainings with his party and studying with Priest Kyn. Eld recalled with ease the images he usually drew upon to keep him going when the exhaustion quit and demanded he stop. He imagined himself in the red robes of a fire mage, dancing beneath an ogre's club before rushing at it and launching a barrage of [Firebolts] into its exposed armpit faster than it could respond. He'd worked so hard to build himself into a mage that could both sling spells and still move like an adventurer. The image no longer pushed him to do another lap. The sun hadn't set yet, and as Eld regained control of his breathing, he estimated there was time for one more lap. The him of yesterday would have done it, would have squeezed out one more lap, one more advantage banked for a future that no longer needed to be banked for. He sighed and began walking back towards home.
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On his way, Eld began rehearsing how he would tell his friends he hadn't earned a good heartskill for mage work. Maybe he could still accompany them. Maybe he could find a way to use his skill to fight. The strength skills granted by the [Smith] class, after all, made them formidable adventurers and militia. Without a dedicated magic skill, he wouldn't scale with his friends or survive delving into higher-level dungeons, but with enough hard work, he might keep up for a few years.
When he returned home, Eld received the kind of welcome he expected, but not one he was excited about. His mother crushed him in an overwhelming hug, squeezing him so tightly that a puff of flour from her clothes clouded the air between them.
“Harold, can you believe it? Our boy received an uncommon skill! This is the best news I’ve ever heard.” Her voice accelerated, a verbal avalanche that buried any attempt from Eld or his father to speak. “This means he’ll give up that silly adventuring dream and stay home. Oh, my boy, I’m so pleased. You know I’ve already spoken with Tom Thatcher, and his youngest daughter ought to be of courting age soon. With an uncommon skill, you should be a lock for marriage and magical crafting! I mean, ideally, it would have been bread-related, but I’m certain we could start talking to Ebbin Smith about an apprenticeship for you…”
“MOM!” Eld shouted, interrupting her. “I’m still going to try to be an adventurer. It’s not ideal, but I will at least talk to my friends. If they’ll still have me, I’m going with them.”
“Eld Baker, don’t you play games with an old woman. Adventuring is for orphans and third children of nobles. You have a future right here in Yedda. There is no…”
“We aren’t having this discussion again,” Eld insisted, his voice hard. “It’s my life. I will live it my way.”
“Don’t you take that tone with your mother!” his father, Harold, interjected.
And so the fighting began, an old battle with well-worn patterns that repeated themselves as the day rolled ever onward. Eventually, they left him in peace, their displeasure a heavy silence in the house.
As the sun set, Eld knew his friends would be coming to see him. It was the end of their workdays, and his house was their team’s unofficial headquarters. With his parents grumbling in the background, he stepped onto the stonework patio and stoked the fire pit. The Warrior’s Moon shone overhead, a silver guidepost lighting the approach. A torch flickered coming from the westward gate. . It was them. He tended the flames as their bantering grew louder. He couldn’t think of a better use for his hands, and in that moment, he wished he could be anywhere else.
Each second ended too soon, and within a few minutes, his friends were before him. Thelia broke from the pack first, her blonde curls bouncing as she ran toward him. “A rare skill, Eld! Can you believe it? Rare!” She flung herself into his arms, and Eld staggered, barely keeping his balance. She looked up at him, her jade eyes bright with a joy that faltered when it found no echo in his own. Eld held her slight frame a half second longer than necessary. Her hair smelled like the forest, and he buried his face in it as he hid his tears from her.
“Not just rare,” came Jesse's scratchy voice as she walked out of the shadows. She wore all black, which matched her curly dark hair, a twin to Eld’s own, and her hand rested on the hilt of a long dagger secured via a leather strap at her hip. Eld used her entrance to wipe his eyes. He was sure Jesse’s hawklike perception saw it, but she had the grace not to say anything and just kept talking about Thelia’s heart skill. “She got a healer skill, [Aura of Renewal]. It lets her channel mana into an aura that slowly mends wounds. It’s not much more than scratches and aches now, but once we build her mana pool, we’ll be practically immortal.”
Eld was dumbstruck by his team’s luck. Thelia was already a level-three priest from her work at the temple, her class skills already leaning toward healing. Her first skill, [Staunch], could temporarily hold a major wound together, turning a fatal blow into a manageable damage-over-time effect. Her second, [Life Siphon], let her transfuse vital energy between willing participants. If that skill ever upgraded to be able to siphon vital aura from unwilling beings, it would become a potent offensive weapon. Stacking her new heart skill on top of that would make long dungeon crawls far easier for them than for most teams at their level. It was an incredible boon. John and Mica stepped forward. John, dressed like a farmer in a straw hat that shaded his bright blue eyes, and Eld couldn’t tell what John might be thinking. He was certain his friend hadn’t missed his hesitation. John’s eyes never missed anything. Mica stood behind him, the hilts of his twin short swords jutting up from his back.
“Let's talk,” John said, his voice calm.
As they sat by the fire, Eld recounted the day's events. He saw the disappointment on Micah and Jesse's faces, while John and Thelia simply nodded, their expressions unreadable. They were his closest friends; if they were angry, they hid it well.
Eld finished with the proposal he’d been rehearsing all evening. “I know this skill doesn’t naturally lend itself to combat. But if you’ll still have me, I want to travel with the team. I’ll find a mage class that works with [Rune Crafter].”
For a brief, telling moment, Eld saw his best friend's smile falter. The cheerfulness that returned to John’s face felt forced, but before anyone else could speak, Thelia made her thoughts clear.
“Of course, you’re still our mage, Eld!” She reached across the space between them, grabbing his hand. “I bet this [Rune Crafter] skill isn’t half as bad as it sounds. Besides, I wouldn’t trust some stranger to watch our backs when things get dire. Right, guys?” Thelia asked, forcing the issue with a look of stern determination etched across her delicate face. Jesse and John voiced their support immediately. Mica only offered a curt, grudging nod. If any of the other three had hesitated, Eld would have surrendered and stayed in Yedda. He wouldn’t be a burden on a team that didn’t want him. Micah’s disapproval, however, was expected; he would have likely opposed Eld joining them even with a pyromancer heart skill.
For the first time since the morning’s disappointment, Eld felt a relief flood his body. His dream wasn’t dead. He could still travel with his friends. He could still go to the Kerdis dungeon, earn a scholarship to the mage college, and see the world. They weren’t leaving him behind.
“Now that that’s settled,” John said cheerily, “Let’s figure out tomorrow.”
For the next hour, the team discussed their well-worn plan. For years, they’d been thinking and dreaming about this moment, and the time had finally come. The nearness of its realization made every detail exciting again—the gear they’d saved for, the meeting time, the location. They talked until the fire burned down to embers and the Warrior’s moon began to slip behind a bank of black clouds.
One by one his friends departed, leaving only John to help Eld douse the fire. As furious as he was with his parents, Eld didn’t want to make tomorrow any harder for them than it had to be.
John swept ash from the patio into the cobbled street. “Nice night.”
“Yeah.”
“Pass me the rake?”
“Of course.”
The silence stretched between them mounted until Eld finally cracked.
“Even if I don't get a Mage class, John, I swear I'll find a way to help the team. Even if I'm just a traveling armorer or something, filling a support role, whatever it takes. I’ll be useful.”
“I know,” John replied, his smile genuine this time. “I was thinking about something else.”
“What’s that?”
“Do you remember where we came up with this mad plan?”
“The playfort in Knobb’s Hollow,” Eld answered without hesitation. “You and I had just stormed the ‘Castle Gates’ to rescue Thelia from the cruel clutches of Mica the Sorcerer. I remember all of us lying exhausted in that pile of sticks when you asked the question that’s been my guide for six years: ‘What if we could live like this forever?’”
John smiled. “That’s the one. And don't forget five years ago, when we nearly died fighting over who would be the party’s shield.”
“You mean that stupid game of chicken, seeing who could survive outside the town gates after dark?”
John chuckled. “If I recall, our rescuers found you fending off a giant trapdoor spider with a stick.”
“Quarterstaff,” Eld corrected out of habit.
John waved away the correction. “I thought we should visit the old fort before we leave. Pay our respects to where it all began.”
“That’s a great idea,” Eld said, a real smile finally reaching his own eyes. “Meet at sunrise?”
“I’ll see you there.”
The two embraced, a solid, reassuring hug. In that moment, Eld knew that as long as John stood between him and the world, he would never have to be afraid. John always saw what needed to be done and did it, without exception or remorse. John was a hero. It was time the rest of the world found out.