The God Mage sat at his antique wooden desk, deep in thought. He flipped through the pages of a large leather book laid out in front of him, lit by the dim glow of candlelight. His study was situated at the top of an ancient tower. The room had a single small window which he had covered up with wooden panels a few years before. The regal appearance and aura of power he once had was gone. His pale gold hair was unkempt and his wrinkled blue and white robe soiled by dust. Dark circles hung underneath his sea-colored eyes.
He rarely left these days. Isolation was the only way he could find solace from the anger and hate he knew he would receive if he stepped outside. For all he had done, he realized that this was the fate he deserved. It came as a great surprise as he heard the door to the study creak open.
“Aldere.”
The rough, deep voice startled him. He had not heard another person speak for the longest time. At the sound of his name, he looked up from his book to face an old man whose face was heavily scarred. He paused a bit to try and remember him, looking past his rugged white beard, wrinkles of age, and the many scars he had surely received from numerous battles. After he examined the contours of his face and looked into his grey eyes, Aldere Dameran recognized them to be those of his old friend, the former general of the Abician military. “Ah, Elorin. It’s you. It’s been many years. I almost didn’t recognize you.”
“I cannot say the same about you,” Elorin Lorris responded. “You look the same as you did fifty years ago.”
“Ah, has it been that long? I’ve lost track of time, you see,” Aldere said with a slight laugh.
“This magic. Are you aware of what has been happening in the world while you sat alone here in this tower, doing nothing?” Elorin asked, anger in his words.
“The war is not yet over?”
“Oblivious as always, I see. You really should try to keep track of a war you started.”
Aldere shrugged. “I don’t bother with wars anymore.”
“You know, the people of Abicia, they regarded you as a god. You liberated them from Dehrwany and promised them a new future. But what did you do afterward? You killed millions, including the very people you spent your life protecting, with a single spell! They expected you to be their savior, but you failed them.”
“I never asked for that. And I can assure you I am no god.”
“Everyone says you have lived for hundreds, if not thousands, of years. Even I’ve seen proof you don’t age. What other possibility could there be?” Elorin questioned.
“There are many things I do not know about myself,” Aldere said, looking back to his book, a collection of spells he created himself. Some were useful for everyday life, and some only good for destruction.
Elorin looked the God Mage in the eyes. “I do not like the magic. It only caused harm.”
“It was meant as a gift, not as a weapon,” said Aldere, his eyes drifting downwards, looking back to his book. His tone changed to a low mumble. “Do you not see I am busy at the moment?”
“Then why has your magic been so destructive? Think of the great crater. Your magic took out at least a quarter of this world’s cities.”
“The fact that people still see me as a god after that incident is shocking.”
“You see the largest disaster in the history of the world as no more than an ‘incident’? Do you feel nothing about what you have caused?” Elorin was shouting now.
“I did not mean for that to happen. All I wanted was to destroy the King of Dehrwany. It happened out of anger, nothing more.” Aldere said.
“You think that excuses your actions?”
“I was out of control!” Aldere screamed, slamming his spellbook on his desk. Pages began to rip out of the many books shelved on the walls and fly around his study in a whirlwind.
“Calm yourself, Aldere. This is why you’re not safe. Your power is out of control.” The wind died, tattered pages falling to the floor. “Remember Kirralyn Dennin?”
“Kirralyn…” Aldere said, sadness in his voice. “Don’t remind me.” The former queen of Cassamyr’s lovely face instantly manifested in the God Mage’s mind.
“Every love you have will end in tragedy, Aldere. That’s the fate of someone as powerful as yourself.”
“Aldere…how could you do this to me?” he recalled Kirralyn saying as she died, “I thought you loved me.”
All his memories of her began to play in his head. The outburst after she had failed to defend Mossany, thousands of innocents dying. He now could realize it wasn’t her fault, but his, as he knew he shouldn’t have put that responsibility in the hands of one woman, even a powerful dragon rider like her. Defense of a city needed a whole army, not a single person. Aldere learned the news in the garden behind the tower. He remembered as the rose bushes behind them grew uncontrollably, thorns tearing her clothes, cutting her skin, ripping her white curls he loved so much. And when that last thorn pierced her heart…
He wiped away a tear. “Never speak her name again,” Aldere said, barely keeping calm as he looked Elorin directly in the eyes.
“The guilt is yours to live with,” Elorin said. He began to gather all the book pages scattered around the study.
“I have tried to forget. This is why I’m no god,” Aldere said. “A god would never do anything that terrible.”
“Abicia and Dehrwany…they just signed a treaty.”
“I thought you told me the war wasn’t over,” Aldere responded with confusion.
“No. It is still going on. They have agreed to never fight with magic again. Too many lives will be lost.” He finished picking up the mess of paper and handed it to Aldere.
Aldere nodded, taking the papers. He set them on his desk. “That is a good thing. Nobody else deserves to die…”
“I can think of at least one person,” Elorin said, looking Aldere directly in the eyes. The candle at his desk flickered.
It took Aldere a few seconds to realize what he was saying. “That is probably true. I have lived far too long; caused far too much suffering,” he said calmly. “I will not fight back. Do what you must, Elorin.”
The old, battle-scarred man drew his sword, an ancient weapon carved from a dragon’s fang. The God Mage closed his eyes, standing still, a final tear falling down his face. If only magic was not so strong, so dangerous…the world would be a happier place. That was his last thought before he felt a sharp pain through his chest.
The candlelight flickered one last time as it finished melting down into a small pool of wax. Elorin stepped out of the dark room, leaving his blade behind.
