The Bragg estate was quiet today. All attendants and apprentices had been dismissed for the day, in honor of Harvest Day. It was traditional after all, for apprentices and students throughout Tyrman to have the day off. It was a day of celebration, marking the end of the final harvest for the year, and the start of the autumn season. It was also a day that most official business and organizations closed their doors, letting everyone out to enjoy the games, food, and various other activities that would take place.

Accordingly, the entire Mage’s College was closed for the day, and its students, masters, and Archmages left the property to pursue their own celebrations. For Samuel Bragg, the Archmage of Knowledge, that meant a quiet, peaceful meal with his wife and daughter. This meal, prepared for them by the best chef in Milagre, Mandra, was one of a few rare chances that Samuel got to forget the weight of his purpose in the world. He could sit down, talk with the woman he loved and his only child, and relax.

But, as always happens to those involved in weighty affairs, even days off are not safe. As Samuel sat, his fork loaded with roasted chicken, head tossed back in laughter at something his daughter had just said, he felt a sharp pain stab in the back of his head. Instantly, he was on his guard, his mana flaring up to cover himself, his daughter, and his wife. Ryllae was a little behind in her reactions, but she too sensed the moment of tension and raised her hand, fingers sparking with power.

But there were no enemies and no attacks. Samuel glanced around the room, searching for what had disturbed him, and frowned. He’d felt a very sharp pain for but a moment, then it had faded. What could it have been? Then the answer came to him, and he felt a thrill of fear. Eric! He leaped over the chair, landing cat-like on the soft carpet, and racing down the hall to his room. There was a scrying mirror there, which he could use to survey any part of the world that he wanted. He flicked his hand quickly the instant he entered, bringing up a picture of Eric.

Eric was bleeding horribly and looked rather weak. A wide, deep slash on his chest was gushing blood, and Samuel could see the color leaving his face. Feeling as if his stomach were dropping out of his body, Samuel quickly scanned the surroundings. There were no enemies, living or otherwise, that he could identify. A few civilians, doubtless of Sheran by their dress, were clustered around the young man, their faces as concerned as Samuel.

“Eric!” He said, his voice cracking with the fear he felt. “Eric! Can you hear me?”

Slowly, Eric lifted his head in recognition of the words. He couldn’t see Samuel, of course, but he knew who had addressed him. His lips moved in a nearly inaudible whisper. “Samuel? I don’t think I’m going to make it.”

“Who attacked you?” Samuel demanded. Then he pushed the matter aside. “It doesn’t matter. Activate the runes I put in your body! It is your only chance of survival!”

Eric’s face looked vaguely confused for a moment, then his eyes cleared. “Right. Forgot about that.”

Samuel could see the mana of his runes beginning to flare up, as light poured out of Eric’s wounds and attempted to close them. Something was wrong, he thought desperately to himself. The magic wasn’t working. Had he made a mistake with the runes? He quickly searched his memory. No, the runes had been done perfectly. He’d been sure of that, as they were a less complex version of the runes that he’d inscribed on his own body. He’d made those runes hundreds of times.

“What’s wrong?” His wife had entered the room behind him, a bit slower due to her old age. She spotted Eric in the mirror, and her face instantly switched to one of great concern. “I thought you gave him runes.”

“I did!” Samuel exclaimed in torment. “They’re not working!”

“But they’ve worked for you countless times,” Ryllae replied. “What else could it be?”

“I don’t know,” Samuel admitted. Then his eyes hardened, and he clicked his fingers. His sword appeared out of thin air, and he spun on the spot. “But that’s not all I can do.”

It was strange. Eric couldn’t feel the pain of the wound he’d opened in his chest. He was sure that such a deep wound should have caused immense agony, but all he felt was numb. And weak, he added. Why couldn’t his limbs move the way he wanted them to? He’d cut the rune. He should be up and on his feet, running to take down the conspirator and his accomplice. He knew that was his job. So why couldn’t he move?

Maybe I should just take the chance to rest, he told himself. Clearly, he’d wounded himself a great deal. The runes that Samuel had put on his body would do their work, and he’d wake up. He might have failed to capture the conspirators, but at least he’d live. But if the runes were supposed to be healing him, why was he so weak and tired? Just take a nap, he told himself. Sleep for a bit, and figure it out later.

“Eric!”

A flash of light appeared before him, so bright that he could see it through his closed eyelids. With a supreme effort, he opened his eyes and looked to see the bottom of a dark blue robe in his field of vision. Then the person dropped to their knees and rolled him onto his back, and he saw Samuel’s face, even paler than usual, above his own. Samuel sure looked worried, he thought to himself. He didn’t see any reason for it. In a few hours, the runes would do their work, and he’d be right as rain.

The Archmage was lifting his hands over Eric’s body now, and bright spots of light were falling from his hands to coat Eric’s wound. It was the first time that Eric had actually seen mana, not just perceived as a vague sixth sense but an actual object that he could identify. Samuel’s mana was white as the purest snow, almost blinding in its intensity. Like a deity, he thought. That would have made him laugh if he’d had the strength.

Now there was another figure in his vision. It was a man, clearly plain in appearance, watching him and Samuel with a neutral sort of curiosity. There was something familiar about the stranger, Eric thought. Samuel looked up at the stranger too, and his face went, if possible, paler. Then Eric recognized the figure. It was Arcana, the god that Samuel served and worshipped.

“You cannot fix him.”

Samuel looked up, shocked not only by the words but the person that said them. Isip stood before him, watching his attempt to heal the young man with his trademark curious nature. After only a second of scanning the situation, Isip had given the terrible statement that tore at Samuels’ heart. After all the trouble that Eric had gone through to become this strong, he was just going to die?

“But I have to do something!” Samuel said, the fear and sadness exploding out of him so that he actually shouted at the ancient being that he devoted his life to. “I cannot let him die here in an unfamiliar world!”

Isip held Samuel’s gaze for a moment, and the mage could see his own sadness reflected there. The God of Knowledge shook his head slowly. “His soul is different from ours, Samuel. Our revival magic won’t work on him.”

“So I’m supposed to sit here and watch him die, am I?” Samuel asked angrily. “Is that your decree?”

The people of Sheran, upon hearing these words, seemed to finally realize who the stranger was. As one, recognizing a member of the Divine race before them, they all dropped to their knees and bowed their heads in reverence. None of them had seen this god before, neither in picture nor person, but his identity was clear. They all knew Samuel Bragg and the god that he served.

Isip ignored the crowd, as did Samuel. “I will not decree it, for it is not necessary. The boy cannot be healed by any magic that Ahya possesses.”

“So he will die,” Samuel retorted coldly. “Is that it?”

“No,” Isip said calmly. “Look closely. There is small magic inside him, born of his own world. It is unknown to the likes of us. It is trying to repair his body. Let it work.”

Warning!

Your hit points have hit zero. You are now unconscious. You must succeed three Consitution saves to survive. Three failures will result in death. Rerolls may not be used.

Rolling Death Save…

1d100 (18) + 20 = 38

Failed.

Rolling Death Save…

1d100 (29) + 20 = 49

Failed.

Rolling Death Save…

1d100 (38) + 20 = 58

Success.

Rolling Death Save…

1d100 (10) + 20 = 30

Failed.

You have died.

Samuel watched, frozen in horror, as Eric let out a final breath, and the life left his eyes. All of a sudden, he was back in front of the grave of his first true friend, who had died in the defense of his city. The sense that the world’s great hope had gone was a weight he could not bear. Rage boiled inside him, almost instantly quenched by grief. He lowered his head as he felt the tears begin to fall.

The crowd, sensing the connection between Samuel and the fallen young man, all made muted sounds of sympathy. Though they could not understand the exact connection the Archmage had with the boy, the sincere care and concern were obvious. They all respected Samuel and the work he did, and so his grief was reflected through them. An older man, in the front of the crowd, once again bowed, placing both of his hands and his forehead against the cool ground. Then a woman and her husband copied the action. Then more, until the entire crowd was bowing in veneration of the life lost before them.

The Mother’s Embrace, Samuel thought. Even Isip lowered himself in honor. It was a common formality at funerals and the ends of battles, but it was also the highest honor one could give to the departed. It was gratitude and celebration of their life, wrapped up in one simple gesture. It was the oldest Ahyan tradition. He did not doubt that Eric deserved the honor, but he should not receive it. He should live, or at the very least, return home, where he could be safe.

Suddenly, Samuel stood. He knew what must be done. If he was the reason that Eric’s mind and soul had been brought to Ahya, then he would also be the reason that it was returned safely. He cast out a net of mana that wrapped around the still body and made a tugging motion. The body, being made of energy, simply reverted to its original state. There, amidst the glowing mass of energy, was the soul he sought. He pulled it to him.

Eric’s consciousness was still there, but barely. Soon it would be removed, both from this world and his own. Samuel closed his eyes in fierce concentration, weaving the power he needed. A strange humming sound filled the air as he tapped into the ancient, unknown reserves of magic that were his to command. The Sheranites all watched in silent awe, seeing the obvious effort that Samuel was putting into his spell. Finally, with an upwards flourish, Samuel sent the weakened soul and the energy that had once surrounded it, into the sky and away from Ahya.

“Return home, now,” he said softly. “Thank you for all that you have done.”

Isip looked up at the ascending essence, his eyes narrowed against the bright sunlight, then back down at his Champion. The young man had, yet again, created a new piece of magic never before seen in the world. And he had done it for the right reason, to save a friend. He thought, just as he’d done five hundred and twelve years ago, that he couldn’t have picked a better successor.