MYSTIC MAGE
CHAPTER 10: WANTED
"Stupid."
"Idiots."
"Cynthia is my new favourite."
"What a low life."
"Cassian, you are nothing and will always be nothing."
The mysterious adventurer, Cassian, jerked awake, sweat plastering his purple hair to his forehead. He was breathing heavily, the remnants of the nightmare clinging to him like a shroud. It was the same traumatic reel every night, reliving the cold rejection from his parents, siblings, and family.
All that feeling of pain and disorder I keep within me will eventually destroy me from the inside out, he thought, knowing the truth of his internal struggle.
The carriage came to a slow halt. Cassian felt the shift but didn't move immediately, assuming they'd reached their destination. He opened the carriage door and stepped out onto the cobblestones. The old man who had offered him the ride quickly approached.
"Oh, you're awake. Hope I didn't disturb you," the man said warmly.
"No, not at all," Cassian replied, bowing his head slightly.
"Thank you." He reached into his coat and produced a small, weighty pouch filled with silver coins.
"Here."
The old man's eyes widened at the unexpected heft of the pouch. He looked at Cassian, then shook his head vehemently.
"No, I can't accept this."
"It's okay," Cassian insisted, pressing the pouch into the man's hand.
"You are a good man. You didn't know me, but your first instinct was to help me and you gave me a ride. You deserve much more than this."
Reluctant at first, the old man saw the firmness in the youngster's eyes and finally accepted the gift.
"Thank you once again," Cassian repeated, before turning to take in his surroundings.
It was a normally busy morning in Berlin, the Capital City. People bustled toward their destinations; children played innocently in the streets; and carriages, varying in color and design, moved along the road carrying goods and passengers.
Then, something unusual caught his attention: Magic Knights. They marched in two rigid lines, making their way toward the capital gates.
"That seems suspicious," Cassian murmured.
He watched as the people fearfully cleared the road for the Knights. Cassian never truly understood the pervasive fear people held for these enforcers. Not far from him, he spotted a Knight lagging slightly behind the others, holding a scroll in his hand, meticulously scanning the face of every person they passed.
"They're looking for someone," Cassian realized, a faint smile forming.
"Hmm, whose on their wanted list? I bet if I get the guy, there'll be money involved."
His eyes suddenly glowed with an intense purple light, and his sight zoomed in sharply on the scroll in the Knight's hand. Cassian, A.K.A. the Mystic Mage, possessed a unique innate trick: the ability to see through thin objects like paper and walls and instantly perceive the exact inscription or image within.
He calls
"Shadow Sight."
Shadow Sight enabled him to read the contents of the scroll clearly from his position. He was utterly shocked to see a perfect, detailed sketch of his own face, like a portrait, accompanied by a strange inscription:
EGAM CITSYM
He mentally processed the reversed text.
"Mystic Mage. Oh, now I get it."
His smile faded, replaced by confusion. Firstly, how has anyone managed to get such a perfect likeness of him? He was always moving, always shrouded—it shouldn't be possible.
Secondly, what could he have possibly done to make himself wanted by the Kingdom of Berlin?
"I just got here," he said to the empty air. He needed a new plan. "I have to lay low."
He turned to leave, but stopped short. He saw the old man struggling to hoist several heavy wooden boxes filled with potions and herbs off the carriage.
Compelled by a flash of genuine kindness—a rare emotion he allowed himself—Cassian walked back.
"Let me help with that," he offered.