Far away from Draghiem, high in a tower, overlooking a grand and magnificent city, a boy peers off into the distance. Unkempt black hair and pale, freckled skin. No more than perhaps 14 or 15 years of age. Seemingly normal, if not for his eyes. For this boy, barely over a decade old, possesses the God's Eye. Large, iridescent green irises, with pupils akin to a shining star. His irises appear to be constantly shifting. Like a pool of green, swirling water, with traces of gold flashing here and there. All who meet his gaze are mesmerized by the sight.

“Dorian, what has you looking so pensive today?” Another boy, only several years older than Dorian. Perhaps 20 years old, with long, dirty blonde hair and olive skin. Clearly of Sarketian descent.

“Hm?” Dorian half responds, not truly paying attention.

“Dammit Dorian, I thought we talked about this. A little warning the next time you decide to peer into the very fabric of our existence.” Sarcasm was perhaps Soren’s favorite thing that Dorian had taught him.

“Impressive. You got it in one.” He replied, flatly and without any humor.

“Wait, I was kidding Dorian! I was trying to be sarcastic. You can’t possibly be serious. Do you need me to remind you of how it went the last time you tried… what did you call it? Peering into the Ether?”

“If you could, that’d be great.” Again, just as plainly as before.

“You nearly went mad! As a matter of fact, for several months you were mad! You couldn’t even feed yourself, let alone get dressed. And then, you went stark raving mad, and started spouting off pure gibberish.” Soren very clearly remembered the events following Dorian’s first forays into the Ether. Seeing his friend in such a state was not something he was keen on repeating.

Dammit Soren. We really do need to have a chat about your keen sense of humor.

“I know, Soren. Believe me, I remember.” Of course he remembered. Never before had Dorian’s gift frightened him. Not in his 14 years of being called a freak, or monster. Harsh words, he could take. Awkward staring and spite filled glances, he could take. Losing nearly a year to madness, that is where Dorian drew the line.

“I don’t wish to subject myself to that fate any more than you do, my friend. I’ve been feeding myself since the ripe old age of 8 months. I don’t wish to be reduced to that again.” Doran still remembered the day he finally managed to grasp his tiny fingers around that rage-inducing spoon. He remembered even it, with perfect clarity. His mother had long since left him in the care of the church. Leave it to a Le’ Lision to think I was some kind of devil.

“Then why even entertain the idea? Certainly you learned enough from the first experience. Even after your sanity had been regained, I was certain you’d relapsed. Talking of the Ether, and Theria particles, and Barrier fields. I doubt there’s a soul in The Institute that could make heads or tales of your nonsense.” Sometimes, Soren was truly amazed by Dorian. And after he had...returned from his venture into the Ether, Soren had found himself yet again amazed by this 14 year old child. The wonder and enthusiasm that he’d spoken with, let alone what was very possibly reality altering insight into Ruha and magic. Soren, despite his...distasteful background, was still a scholar at heart, and knowing that he’d been a part of so much discovery gave him more joy than he’d ever thought he’d know.

“Because, my friend, there are dark forces at work in the world. Something...truly dark. I caught glimpses of it the first time, and perhaps, if only for a bit…” and again he was lost to thought.

“You’re starting to sound like an addict. Dorian, really, look at me.” Soren reached out to his friend, who had been straddling the back of a chair.

Feeling Soren’s hand on his shoulder, Dorian let out a light sigh, and then turned around, righting himself in the chair and coming face-to-face with the olive skinned Sarketian. Damn him and that perfect skin, and that perfect hair. How is any woman ever going to look at me with him around?

“I understand you feel there is something important held within that world. Some secret that might very well undo us all,” Dorian’s eyes were already starting to droop again. “But,” Soren snapped his fingers in front of his face, capturing Dorian’s attention once more. “You don’t know that peering beyond the veil again will give you any answers. For all you know it could elude you once more. Leaving us right back where we started. Perhaps, this time you are able to see more of this dark force, and learn this terrible secret, but we lose you to the madness. Forever lost ranting about brittleberries and fairy wings or who knows what. For all you know, the next time you cross that threshold you are gone forever. Swallowed whole by this Ether. And where would we be then? The world would have lost the one with the Sight, and we would stand absolutely no chance of defending ourselves from whatever darkness may lay ahead.” Soren paused a moment to let his words sink in.

“Where there is darkness, there will be light. And I believe you are that light, Dorian.” After having said what needed to be said Soren stood back up and crossed over to the one window in the little room that was Dorian’s study. He turned and leaned against the wall, as he shifted his head to peer out onto the sprawling city beneath.

“There is another way Dorian. You just need to find it.”

Several minutes passes as both friends sat in silence. Dorian, lazily folded over in his chair, resting his chest upon his knees, and Soren, leaning against the stone wall, watching the citizens of Rahk Sur mill about far down below, no bigger than ants.

“There might be another way, though, I highly doubt you’ll like it.”

“I’m sure it will be infinitely better than watching you go mad.”

“Fair enough. So tell me, Soren, have you ever been to visit the Tower of Draghiem?”

“....You were right. I don’t like it.”

****

Two figures, eating alone in the woods. A warm campfire, burning brilliantly in the night, between them. One figure is clearly a man. A titanic man, who made the other figure look small and insignificant, even while sitting. The other, not quite a man, but not quite a boy either. Toned muscle ripples across his skin, all except a few places along his abdomen, which is bare to the night air. Here, there is red, cracked skin, and deformations within the muscle. Clearly a grizzly wound that was still on the mend.

Rygart sighs heavily, unhappy with his progress. Doran had said that it would be slow going at first, but Rygart thought that there would have been some progress. Something to show for the hours of meditation. Yet still nothing. Rygart felt no closer to actively sensing Ruha now than he had the night before. Sure, it had only been a day since Rygart began trying to open his mind to the Ruha, but to Rygart it had already been a day. A full day. He had thought that, with this being the easier part, he would have made at least some progress. But all he’d gotten today were some cryptic words about feeling, breathing, and life. Nothing that Rygart really understood, or found helpful.

Noticing Rygart’s mood, Doran tries his best to lift his spirits.

“So tell me, Rygart, how was it growing up in Brekt? You have family there, yes?”

Hearing Doran mention Brekt, Rygart begins to reminisce about his home.

“Yes, I have family there. I was raised by my uncle, and I lived with his family. For as long as I can remember.” A smile creeps across Rygart’s face. “Once, when my uncle was teaching me to ride horses, I fell off the damned thing. Nearly broke my leg. My uncle runs over, thinking for sure I was dead, and he grabs me, and gives me a good look over. I’m not crying or anything, just kind of...stunned. Anyway, once he’s done examining me for any protruding bone fragments, he stands me up, gets down on one knee so we’re both at eye level, and he says to me, ‘Don’ you tell your auntie about this, understand’. And in that instant, in the ridiculousness of the situation, I just burst out laughing. We both do. I laughed so hard that day, I nearly peed myself.” Rygart’s smile grows bigger.

“And then there’s Master Osrowies. I think you would like him. Straight-laced, and by-the-book, usually. Firm when he needs to be, but full of kindness. He always treated me like I was his son. Even when I was an obnoxious little brat. For 10 years he taught me. Not just swordfighting, but everything school, or uncle Brahn couldn’t. Etiquette, survival, but most importantly, The Towers. Man, I just….fell in love with the idea of the Towers. 2 parts magical, 1 part terrifying. A place where only the truly strong could thrive.”

Doran leaned back, stretching out his muscles, sore from sitting. He really was getting old. Every day he felt it more and more.

“Well, it sounds like you had plenty of people who loved you. More than most, I’d wager.” Rygart smiled and nodded his head. “It makes me wonder, why would you leave all of that? And to come to a place like Draghiem. You won’t find much of love within those walls.”

Something about that question...affected Rygart. His eyes seemed almost, glazed over. It was as if something had walked over his grave.

“Well, to understand that, we’d have to go back a ways. Back to when I had just barely turned 6. I was brat back then. Although, I suppose most kids are. My poor aunt and uncle, they had three of their own you know, and I was quite the...spirited runt. Anyway, I may have been high-strung, but I had someone there to keep me grounded. He was the first kid to come up and talk to me, after my uncle took me in. I can hardly remember it now. He just walked up, and asked if I wanted to be fiends. For the longest time people treated me like I was...some sort of walking memorial to my parents. But not him. To him, I was just Rygart. The stupid kid he had to keep bailing out of trouble. Well, one day, as we are getting into said trouble, we were taken. A gang of bandits had come through town. Me, my friend, Wane, and several others. Men, women, children. Dozens of us. All chained together. At first, I didn’t understand. Why would anyone want to chain up so many people? But then, one of our captures comes over to gloat. Some man, one of us that’s chained up, he’s begging, pleading. Says he’ll give him everything he owns to set him free. Well, mister bandit, an ugly little man. Face pockmarked, teeth half rotten, he just smiles at the man, showing off his hideous little smile. He goes on to say that the man is gonna be sold for more than he could ever earn in a lifetime of farming. These bandits weren’t bandits. They were slavers. This, merry band of men, he’d called them, was headed to Sarket, to sell every last one of us. The Sarketians didn’t care if you were man or child, woman or not. They had a need for all kinds of slaves.”

Rygart falls silent for a bit. Obviously overwhelmed by powerful emotions and unable to continue.

“I’ve come across slavers before,” Doran says, “Vile creatures. Truly twisted, to do what they do. I’m surprised that a child, barely even 6, was able to escape them. You must have shown true bravery, and cunning, to escape with your life.” Rygart shakes his head, and tears begin to well up in the corners of his eyes.

“No. That’s just the thing. I did nothing to escape. Nothing to deserve my freedom. Wane, you see he was the one. He got the stupid bastards to remove the chains. They thought they were being smart. Coming to beat us for being naughty children. But Wane played them. The moment he had the chance, he leapt at their faces. Scratching, kicking, biting. Took an ear off one of em. All the time he was screaming, ‘Run Rygart, Run’. And...I ran. As fast and as far as I could, I ran. I cried, but I ran.” Rygart stopped to wipe the tears from his eyes. “At some point, during the skirmish, I had gotten a pretty nasty cut. I still have no idea who or what it was. The whole thing was just, insanity. It wasn’t just Wane. Several of the other grownups saw what was happening, and they threw themselves at the slavers. Tripped them up, did whatever they could to help me escape. In all that chaos, all that emotion, I never even felt it. I just ran. Bloodied, half dead, soaking wet from the rain, I ran. Until I fell over, face-first right into the mud. I could still hear Wane screaming for me to run, but I just couldn’t anymore.” Rygart paused for a second. He took a deep breath before continuing.

“Anyway. Not long after I collapsed, some soldiers found me. There was a local garrison, and evidently they had been called in to go after the slavers. They found me, cleaned me, bandaged me, and took me home. I was the only one to escape. None of the others were ever found. Including Wane. The next day, after all that had happened because of my weakness, I swore to myself, to any and every deity that exists, that I would become strong. So strong that I will never be at the mercy of someone else ever again. That I would never lose a friend like that again.” After Rygart finished his story, several minutes of silence passed by between the two.

After hearing Rygart’s story, Doran finally understands just what it is that drives him. What compels him to become stronger. And he sees the appeal of a place like Draghiem. For there is no better place to forge yourself into something stronger. Rygart’s soul has been tempered by the flames of despair. His will was iron, and would not bow to pressure. Doran found himself constantly surprised by Rygart, and still his respect for the young man grew. After another few moments of silence Doran decides they should get some rest, and he tells Rygart that he would have something special for him in the morning.

When morning comes, Rygart and Doran go through their usual routines, only now Rygart has to be careful not to overexert himself, as his body still wasn't fully healed after their little "training accident" as Doran called it. Once they were both done with their morning rituals, Doran explained to Rygart that focus was integral to any kind of magic. He expressed his concerns that perhaps Rygart's focus was lax lately, with the impending Eisenverd Festival growing nearer everyday.

“Listen Rygart. There are two steps to awakening your Ruha sense. Clear your mind. Everything from your mind. All thought and emotion must be purged. Then, you must focus. You must achieve a razor sharp focus.”

“That sounds nice and all, but do you have any tips on how this is supposed to be done?”

“As a matter of fact,” as Doran speaks he pulls something out of his pack and hands it to Rygart. It is a wooden medallion, with a strange, archaic symbol carved into the front. The medallion wasn't perfectly flat, like a gold coin, yet neither was it perfectly round, like an egg or a ball. It was somewhere in the middle, perhaps leaning a little more towards being flat. The wood was perfectly smooth, all except the subtle signs of age. The medallion had clearly been well used, though for what Rygart couldn't even begin to guess.

“This, is a totem. Most mages use some sort of totem as a focus. Some use rods, or staves. Others, use pendants or weapons. Life magic, is a bit different though, as we are manipulating Ruha within our own bodies. This totem, will help you concentrate during your meditation. It is difficult for the human mind to focus on nothing, after all. Your mind is a bit like a blank canvas. If I just leave you to stare at it, your eyes will wander all over the place. This totem, will be like placing a dot on that paper, which will immediately draw your attention to it.”

"Does it do anything?” Rygart asked, half expecting there to be some arcane purpose beyond just helping Rygart focus.”

“Not at all. This is just an ordinary piece of wood, with a symbol from an ancient language carved on the face, to give it character.”

“Oh.” Rygart was a little let down. After all, the last trinket that Doran had produced had sent Rygart flying through the air, nearly killing him in the process. “Well, what does the symbol mean?”

“Power.”

Rygart stared at the wooden medallion for a bit, just eyeing it over as he passed it between his hands.

“I’m ready to start whenever you are.” Doran had already made himself comfortable on the ground, and was eyeing Rygart expectantly.

“Oh, er, right. Sorry.” And with that, Rygart positioned himself across from Doran, and sat on a small mat, which he’d been using as a bed.

And so, Rygart sat, legs crisscrossed, with the medallion clasped between the palms of his hands. At first, he focused on his breathing, finding a rhythm that he was comfortable with, then he focused on the medallion. He pictured it within his mind. He saw the lines of the wood, the slight wearing, and finally, he saw the symbol carved onto the face. Power. For a long time Rygart sat there. Yet he was so intensely focused on that lone piece of wood, he lost all concept of time. Rygart felt nothing. He thought of nothing. Soon, he even forgot himself. His world consisted of nothing but the shape carved into that one piece of wood.

Finally, something happened. Without Rygart ever even realizing it, there was something there. He could hear it...no. He could see it...no, that's not right either. There was no way for Rygart to describe it. At first. But then, he felt it. Before he knew it, he could truly feel it. Nothing could have prepared him for this sensation. He could feel it everywhere. Then, suddenly Rygart truly could see it. It was as if Rygart's world had consisted of nothing but darkness, but then suddenly, an incalculable number of infinitesimally small explosions of light erupted all around him. Inside him. There was nowhere these bursts of light weren't. Rygart's body didn't exist. The trees and the earth didn't exist. Nothing but tiny stars swirling through infinity. Rygart could focus on one, and follow it forever. Bursting and collapsing, flowing, never stopping. It was beautiful. Rygart had never seen anything so beautiful. The colors were indescribable. Shades that he didn't even know were possible. Rygart could truly lose himself in the swirling energy of his new world. But in an instant, it was gone. Nothing but darkness again.

Something was happening to Rygart. What was this? Oh, hearing. I think I'm hearing something.

“-y-r-t!”

Yes, that's it, I can definitely hear something.

“Rygart!”

What is that again? Oh, right, that's my name. Me. And with that sudden realization Rygart was thrown back into his body.

“RYGART!” Doran was shouting, shaking Rygart furiously.

Several hours after Rygart had starting meditating, there had been a shift. Something changed within Rygart, Doran could feel it. Then, Rygart's breath had nearly stopped, along with his heartbeat. That's when Doran began shaking Rygart, yelling in his ear. Even slapping him across the face. At one point, he had even grabbed the water meant to douse the flame, and used it instead on Rygart, desperately trying to wake him. Finally, after another hour of this, Rygart's eyes opened, slowly. When he looked up, there was clearly some confusion as to what exactly was happening.

“Who are...? Doran? I don't understand... What just happened?”

Hearing his young friend speak finally allowed Doran to release the breath he'd been holding since he saw his eyes twitch.

“ Damn kid, I'd thought I'd lost you for good.”

Rygart still seemed confused, but much of his color had come back to him, and he was looking around now, eyes just beginning to get their youthful gleam back.

“What...the hell? I feel like I'm waking up after dreaming for a few thousand years. Is this real or....another dream?” Rygart was now looking at himself, patting his arms and face.

“Trust me, this is real. If you want, I can smack you around a little bit more. That part I was actually kind of enjoying.” The corner of Doran’s mouth pulled back. The closest he ever got to a smile.

“Oh, so that's why my face feels like I passed out, face-first on to a glacier.” Rygart griped as he felt his cheek and worked his jaw.

“Sorry kid, but I had to get you back somehow.”

“Yeahhh, about that. Get me back from what exactly? What the hell happened?”

Doran's brow furrowed slightly as he thought.

“Well, to be honest, I don't quite know. I thought you were just, really really taking the whole 'razor focus' thing seriously, but then the Ruha in the air shifted suddenly, and your heartbeat and breathing all but stopped. You'd have a better idea of what happened then me, I'd wager. Did you see something?”

Did I see something, Rygart thought. I can't remember what the hell I've been doing for the past, damn nearly 12 hours from the look of the sun. Rygart was shocked. How could an entire day, and an apparent near death experience, all go by without him remembering a single damn thing.

“I don't...know. The last thing I really remember, was trying to focus on that medallion you gave me.”

For the first time Rygart turned his palm upwards and opened his hand. There lay the medallion, much the same as it ever was.

“Well, can you sense the Ruha now?” Rygart looked back up, looking about himself.

“What? I don't…” And then it hit him, the image of innumerable tiny stars, cast in a sea of darkness. “I can... I can! Oh, wow, Doran. How.... how did I never notice this before!?” Rygart truly could feel it. Power swirling all around him. The new sensation made the hairs on his arms stand on end.

“See, I told you, all you needed to do was recognize it.”

Rygart's face was lit up with wonderment. It truly was just as Doran said it would be. But still... he thought. The smile slipped from his face, and again his eyes cast downward. What the hell was that? I'm starting to remember, some of it.

“Doran, have you ever had someone....whatever, when trying to find their Ruha Sense?” Doran shook his head.

“No. That was an entirely unique experience for me as well. I suppose it has something to do with your innate ability to manipulate Ruha. Perhaps you are more...sensitive to it than most? That's the only thing I can think of.”

“Sensitive? How do you mean?”

“Well, you know when your eyes have been exposed to the dark for a really long time, and then suddenly a candle gets lit, and there's all this light? So much so that your eyes hurt. Maybe it's similar to that?”

“You think?” Rygart was again contemplating himself. Looking at his hands, and arms. Any part of him he could easily see.

“I'm not sure Rygart. I told you, I'm no true mage. I am not neary qualified to suppose just what the hell to expect with you.” Doran could see Rygart was letting the strangeness of the day overshadow the good.

“Rygart, you can actively sense the Ruha now. We can finally truly start your training. Today marks the first day of a new Rygart.”

“You’re right.” Rygart smiled, and looked Doran in the eye. “I think it's time you taught me what magic can really do.”