Thank you!

Thank you!

From the little that I remember of my parents, I know they loved me. It was just that they had their priorities. You know, mages. Their magic was their life. The fact that I was also a part of their life seemed to be of little importance in any day to day function. I tried. I actually tried very hard to become part of their world if only to just spend a little more time with them.

For years I studied like they did, getting help from their assistants and their apprentices all the while trying to reach for their attention. I was good. At least, I think I was good. Being as young as I was and pushing passed men and women in their mid-twenties with magic that was meant for a master mage hopefully meant something. They went to my demonstrations and for a while, I seemed to meet their expectations.

The work that I did seemed to give me nothing but respect in return. As a kid, I just wanted to be loved. Being told, good job or well done like I was their charge was as hollow as the birthday cards they got the secretaries to write. Even when they talked to me, it didn’t sound like they were even the ones to sign off on the emotion they used.

It got worse when he arrived.

I didn’t know where Path came from back then nor did I care. Everything that I had been striving for, even desperately reaching out to, seemed to collapse the week that old man arrived. My parents, their attention, just seemed to disappear. Why? Research needed to be done. It was simple. I should have understood but I didn’t. How could I? I was twelve.

Weeks turned to months. Path, my parents, several of the grand master mages, and what was bitterly called the inner circle were all locked away in the college's basement. Sub-basement. Whatever, it was deep. Deeper than I ever had been. They said it was for safety reasons and the shockwaves that would shake the college made sure no one thought twice.

I kept up my studies but it felt like the drive was gone. Bending fire, compressing it into an arc and expanding it back out into a trap was really the only way that I could focus my anger. Or was it my loneliness? It didn’t really matter when I was able to focus.

Something happened, though, that I wasn’t expecting. The months that slowly ticked by turned to disappointment. I could feel it. Somewhere in the college, it was starting to slowly seep into everything that we did. The rumblings from the basement started to get more frequent but when people talked about them, it wasn’t in awe anymore. They were just another nuisance. Not that it mattered to me.

Another rumble, another day alone, another candle lit, another bowl filled, another stage set, and another drill ready. Pulling the flame toward me, I dragged it over the small bowl of oil and in my wrath, compressed the light until it twinkled like a star in front of me. White light enveloped the room as I tilted the energy away from heat and pushed it out into the room.

Now in darkness, I felt at peace. The quiet of my mind was a facade but the control was what kept me together. I could have stayed like this forever. Somewhere just beyond though I felt something different. A presence. It wasn’t intrusive. It was like a new painting had been hung on the wall but all the dust in the room had already accepted it. If not for this state, would I have noticed? Letting my mind focus, I let my hidden arc hit the target and blow a small hole in the panel in front of me.

“I felt that.”

It was Path, the old man my parents had abandoned me for. Why was he here? In a castle full of empty promises and false hope, why would he disturb the one place where I could feel numb? I let out a sigh longer than I was meaning to before turning and bowing to him.

“My apologies,” I spoke as neutrally as I could, “I did not know I had an audience.”

“But you did,” the Path mused, cutting off anything else I had to say as he walked toward me, “I felt your mind see me and see past me. How did you learn to do that?”

“I didn’t,” I muttered, shaking my head.

“Talent enhanced by training,” Path stated, I think more to himself than to me, “Your parents must be very proud of your progress. Who are they?”

“You’d know better than me,” I shouldn’t have said it but it came out like a flame. Biting my tongue quickly and looking away I took a breath and focused. This was an honoured guest. I quietly apologized and muttered, “Sorry, umm, they are Masters Byron and Aria-Lynn.”

“That’s a shame,” Path nodded as looked me over.

He didn’t say anything else that day and left after a couple of long minutes of awkward contemplation. Nothing was said about it at dinner that night. My parents were locked up in their studies as always and their assistants were just as absent. Had Path said anything? Nothing seemed amiss but shouldn’t there have been something?

I started noticing him more and more outside of the grand hall and the guest areas. Sometimes he was in full garb and gown but other times he was dressed like a worker. Sometimes he was actually working, sweeping the halls or mopping an entrance. I tried to help. He would simply straighten up and leave when I got too close. That was until one day he just handed me a mop.

“Can you clean without being disturbed?”

“Is this a test?” I asked back, now very confused.

“If you want it to be,” Path explained, “Or if it would help to think of it as one.”

“Umm,” I muttered, taking the mop and rolling up my sleeves, “Okay.”

And then we mopped.

We mopped the entire entranceway to the south hall. Him in a servant's tunic and me in my robes. Why? Multiple times, I started a thought about what we were doing but Path broke in before I spoke and told me to stay on task.

When we finished and Path had set his mop down he took a look around at the crowded entrance as people, many of them mages, floated by us. It was easy to be ignored by them as I had made my life about only being noticed when I wanted to. Path on the other had seemed pleased by it.

“Can you be seen without being heard?” Path asked curiously.

It took barely a moment to look someone in the eye and for them to chuckle at me.

“Did you get yourself grounded, Oliver?” one of dad’s apprentices scoffed at me. His name was Barry? I couldn’t remember. Dad only muttered the names of those he liked or those that disappointed him. Barry was just boring.

“Finally, someone of promise,” Path beamed.

It wasn’t overnight but the college felt a little brighter after that day. Path watched me practice after he had finished whatever he was doing with my parents. I may have resented him but the man was persistent and knew so much that it overrode whatever I was feeling before. He made me feel seen. If that makes any sense. It felt like the journey I was on suddenly had a purpose.

I didn’t know that purpose nor Path’s true form until some years later and by that time it didn’t really shock me. My parents, in all their ambition, managed to annihilate themselves trying to achieve a fraction of the power that Path had contained within himself. That was a hard day but as shocking as it was that it happened I wasn’t surprised by it. I wrote and read the eulogy and was told how strong I was to do it.

Path was with me throughout it though. He had become the parent that I never really expected but always sort of hoped for. Not the, I want to be your best friend, type of parent mind you but the type of parent that it mattered to me when he said he was proud. I cried the first time I realized he meant it when he said he loved me.

I was twenty-five when he transferred his power to me and it took a couple of months after that for me to actually start living again without him. The only thing I attended in that time was his funeral. I could remember how cold the world was before I had met him but it seemed sharper now that I had known him. Dragons had this power of presence that seeped into anyone around them and for a while, everyone and everything felt the sting of losing him.

He had become my father.

I had become his son.

As he was a dragon of old, I was sure he would live long after I had passed into the abyss and my name was forgotten to time. Fate, the gods, or maybe it was just time itself seemed to deem that unwise. Where he had come from or why he had chosen to make our little college his last refuge, I don’t know. I will be forever grateful for the time he chose to spend with me.

I closed my journal as I finished writing out one of his more unusual stories as I sat in the office that I grew up in. Path, as he had put it, had only finished his first life. His second, the stories that he had created and shared were still going strong and I would be damned if I didn’t strive to make sure his second life stayed vibrant and healthy. My books, my training, and my leadership would push Path’s struggles into the light.

“Sir,” a squire, not as young as I was at the beginning but still greasy, yelled as he entered my office, “Sir, there are hunters at the west entrance.”

“Mage hunters don’t concern us,” I scoffed, waving him away.

“They aren’t mage hunters, sir,” the boy explained, “They say they are dragon hunters.”

“Well, then tell them they are about six months too late,” I chuckled, Path would have found this hilarious. He had warned me that these idiots, with their crossbows and swords, may come looking but the old man had always kept his presence hidden.

“Sir, umm, Jai sort of did but they said they are here for the dragon in the spire,” the squire tried his best to explain, “Do they mean you, sir? You aren’t. Right? I mean I know. I tried to tell them but they kept pointing up here.”

“Well,” I said with a frown, “If they are threatening the college, it doesn’t matter who they are hunting. We are all mages and we treat mage hunters all the same.”

“Yes,” the squire said with a quick and firm nod, “Understood sir.”

After the young man closed my door, I muttered as I got up from my table, “What did you do to me Path?”

My career has not gone well. Whenever I seem to get some sort of traction under me, I’m always caught in the “we can make this department more effective by cutting hours, freezing pay, and expecting more” mantra of new managers. Three jobs later and I don’t have any sense of accomplishment anymore. My escape is writing.

I posted a couple of stories here eight years ago and thought back then that I was just wasting people's time. Looking back at them, I can say for certain that they were awful, and I definitely was. I’m so sorry for anyone who read them. However, a bunch of personal stories later, I got to a point that I felt like I wasn’t posting junk. Probably still was and it was terrifying, but as hard as it was, I felt more for them than anything I had done to further my career.

What made me get serious? I survived the first round of making my department more effective in my current job only to get hit by the second round last summer. The difference this time is I had paid off my student loans. I hate my job. It stopped being a career back then. So if that’s just a job without any path forward, why not do something I like? Now I wake up early and write or try and write on my days off instead of voluntarily doing stuff for work. I think I’m up to about eighty stories, two of which I turned into serials for a bit. They aren’t all that great, but they are mine, and no one other than my husband knows about them in real life. It has made my sense of pride entirely my own.

Round three of nonsense just happened at work and I burnt out hard because of it. I’m definitely recovering faster this time and I’ll probably start posting again some time in the next week or two.

As always, thank you to the community and the mods for making this space so inviting. I have something to look forward to because of it.

Thank you kindly, I’m glad you enjoyed that part.

You’re very welcome, I’m glad you enjoyed the story.

Full moons and wide open plains have always had a certain serenity to which the city could never compare. Out here, in the dark and cold, Ember felt lighter than a feather. The horses added to that as they pushed her around but that was their job and hers was to guide them and the carriage south.

Winter’s edge had started to be felt far up on the slopes of the mountains and they needed a couple of supplies before snow made the path difficult to travel. Her parents and a cousin were all in the back as the last of the sunlight had faded. They argued. Ember tried her best not to pay them any mind.

It was late, night had come early as deep clouds threatened yet only stood menacingly on the hillside till they parted as the wind changed. Luna crept over the horizon as Ember settled for the night and started her fire. Small kindling and a couple of dry logs that she had found crackled softly as she pulled out her small pot. Salted meat and a couple of vegetables flavoured a skin of water as they were all brought to a simmer. Holding a piece of pork back from the water, Ember smiled into the fire and held a small piece of meat to it.

“Esseem, protector and guardian, please watch over us as you always have,” Ember whispered as her family tried to set up the small tent they had brought with them. Her Ma wouldn’t approve, she didn’t believe in the family’s ancient guardian nor thought it was wise to invoke a deity that hadn’t brought them any fortune in living memory. From the moment her great-grandfather had spoken to her of the old legends, Ember had felt a kinship to the ancient spirit and their stories. Taking a deep breath, Ember sniffed the pork and then whispered, “I wish there was more I could give you.”

"You know, I would very much prefer my food un-burnt," a whisper returned to her before she was able to place the meat in the fire.

Ember flinched away and dropped the dried morsel next to the fire. A small cat, darker than the night around her bounced out of the bushes and pounced on the meal Ember had left for them. Biting down, it gave out a bit of a warble in frustration as the hardened salted pork pocked at its mouth. Ember watched.

“You humans make your food so tough,” a whisper came from the creature as they hissed at the food and then glanced up at the pot of now boiling water, “Is that any easier to eat?”

“Yes?” Ember whispered back, glancing at the pot and then at her family by the carriage. Was this real? Taking a cube out of the pot she flung it toward the dark-furred cat and watched it eat. Seemingly satisfied, the cat licked its paws and gave out a quiet meow. Ember hesitated for a moment but had to ask, “What are you?”

“You’re guardian,” the cat whispered before declaring, “I am the lord Esseem.”

“You're a cat,” Ember argued back.

“Very observant human,” Esseem acknowledge, “You will make a brilliant new high priestess.”

“What? No, hang on,” Ember tried to argue but the cat ignore her and went to the pot. Before the thing was able to look into it, Ember grabbed it and pulled it away, whispering, “No, that’s not yours.”

“Human!” the cat called out as it struggled, “Unhand me! This form needs substances.”

“I’m going nuts,” Ember whispered to herself as she dragged the cat away.

“You are not,” the cat argued, “I, your faithful protector, have… umm… protected you.”

“From what?” Ember argued back, “Mice?”

“Among other things,” the cat explained as it twisted and tried to get out of Ember’s grasp. Barn cats weren’t all that hard to move once you learned how to get the claws facing away from you and Ember had more than a little experience at this point. Never had a talking one though. That was new. The cat stopped struggling for a second and looked around, “Where are you taking me?”

“Away from our food,” Ember scoffed as she carried the cat passed the light of the campfire and put it down facing away.

“How rude,” the cat whispered, “You offer me food and then pull me away from it?”

“I didn’t,” Ember argued, “I offered you one small piece, not the entire pot.”

“Ember!” Ember heard her father call out and glanced at the carriage, “What’s wrong?”

“There’s this weird cat,” Ember yelled back and looked down to now bare land. A scuffle behind her and she saw the black cat was almost back at the pot. “Hey! No, you stupid… Don’t you dare.”

The cat only had its paw in the pot for a second but was able to scoop up a large piece of meat for itself and bolt away. Her father saw the thing as well and ran toward the fire but it was long gone before either of them got to it.

“Till your next offering!” a small, wispy voice carried on the wind behind the cat.

Ember could only watch the thing go as her father gave her a confused frown.

—

If you want to read more of my work, you can find it over at r/asolitarycandle. Not sure what to read, check out my favorites.

Thank you, that’s very kind. I was trying to work on a couple things I learned with this prompt so I’m glad it worked out.

Thank you, I was trying to write in a different style with this prompt. I’m glad you enjoyed it.

Thoughtless prayers.

That’s all Margot ever heard when the news said what they di. Parents lining up for blocks to say to the world that they were praying in a tragedy just seemed self-absorbed. Great, what were they actually going to do though? What’s the point of asking the lord for help if you aren’t going to step up yourself?

To Margot, her faith was private but her support was clear. For small things in town, she sent handmade cards or gift baskets that she made herself. Tea, candles, and soaps for those who have passed peacefully and food for those who hadn’t. It came with a small, handmade card with well wishes and hope for a brighter future.

Margot didn’t know what to get Abigail's family. Barely five years old, the little girl had been at the park and had fallen. Kids do such reckless things but they always get up afterwards like it was nothing. They were supposed to get up. She was a dancer. Margot had seen her fall so many times. Why didn’t she get up?

Abigail’s mother was there, screaming, as Margot phoned for an ambulance with her daughter held tightly to her chest. She kept asking why? Margot didn’t have an answer that she felt would make sense to a five-year-old. Why was Abby lying down like that? Would the Wee-Woo van help her? That was their job, right? The Wee-Woo van helped those who had fallen down.

How do you tell a child that young that their best friend was in trouble? What do you do when the crushing truth of mortality is on everyone’s mind? Faith. Margot had to have faith that there was something to this. There was a lesson that had to be learned from this. Maybe a reality check for everyone that life is sacred, that we are only here for a short time, or even that we aren’t valuing what we have until it’s too late. Abigail would pull through. This was just a test.

Breathing heavily as she sat quietly in her living room, Margot watched the pandemonium outside. The park was less than a block away. The Wee-Woo van was gone and her daughter was asleep but many of the policemen were still there. Camera vans, noisy neighbours, and a bunch of Ones had shown up.

Margot believed the little dots were a curse, a burden that she had to bear, and a gift from the lord above. Most people had nothing. Summerview, the neighbourhood she had scouted and settled on, didn’t have a single dot. Everyone here was a pure, virtuous person. None of them had ever been responsible for the death of another human being.

Now? Now wasn’t the case. Somehow the Ones always seemed to show up to these scenes, they always seemed to want to share some self-absorbed sense of grief for a girl they never knew existed before today. Their words were tragic but what are they doing to help?

Inside the gloom of her head, a light touched her hand and brought her out of the darkness. She never heard the creak of her daughter's bed or the light patter of feet on the linoleum. Lily was always her light. When things seemed hopeless, Lily was what pushed Margot into action.

The street lights were on and the wind had picked up. It was getting late. How long had she been staring at the park? She should be baking. Maybe a pie?

“Mom?” Lily asked quietly as she climbed into Margot’s lap. The usually joyful girl now sounded sullen and scared.

“It’s okay sweetie,” Margot whispered, closing her eyes and hugging her daughter tightly.

The light scent of lavender hand soap and freshly washed pyjamas filled Margot’s head as the two hugged each other tightly. Why was this happening? Margot held back tears. As much as she was hurting, she couldn’t imagine the pain that Lily was going through. To see her best friend like that. It strained Margot’s mind the pain that her daughter will have to endure the next little while.

“I’m scared,” Lily whimpered.

“It’s okay, it’s okay sweetie. Everything’s going to-“ Margot was losing it as she spoke but opening her eyes and seeing Lily's big brown eyes made it impossible not to. The pain. Tears welled up in both of them and fell, landing softly. Margot pushed Lily’s head into her neck as she swallowed hard. She needed to be strong. Her daughter needed her to be the rock that she had always been. Steading herself, Margot let out a long, calming breath and opened her eyes to the worst that had come so far.

A dot.

A chill ran from Margot’s forehead, back behind her ears, and then flowed out over her shoulder and down her back. Sadness left her. Panic set in. The grieving mother was set aside the moment she registered that dot in her mind and a guardian sat in her place. What needed to be done? How was she going to protect Lily? Swallowing, Margot blinked in what felt like a lifetime and set herself to task.

This was going to require more than a fucking pie.

I loved this. Reginald sounds content.