The mild weather didn’t hold.

It’d been storming since the hour after Dante left home. Home. I have to stop thinking about it like that. He would never go back, except hopefully one day to get Jayden, once he had established somewhere safe for them to go to.

In the meantime, the storm was making Dante’s journey arduous. Instead of making it to Thornsbury on the first day, he was forced to seek shelter from the hail beneath a copse of trees. His clothes had been soaked through, as well as his spare set—and everything else in his bag, for that matter.

He slept miserably, and woke to the same weather he fell asleep to. Frozen to his core, he knew he had to get back on the road. There was no chance of lighting a fire to dry off himself and his things, so moving was his only way to create warmth.

The rain and hail barely eased as the sun rose, and he finally arrived at Thornsbury. He waited until midday to go into town, around when he would get there normally if he came with Ferrick on horseback. He hadn’t wanted to stop in town, nor spend any coin. But, thoroughly soaked and chilled, he broke down and got a hot meal at the inn.

He was approached by a couple of villagers he knew, who were surprised to see him. Dante laughed it off best he could, telling them that Ferrick had sent him to get supplies, and made him go despite the weather to get back at him for slacking off last week. They all nodded in commiseration and told stories about times with their own masters and their various punishments for the crimes of youth.

Dante spent more of his precious little coin on supplies, not only to uphold his deception but also because if he did injure himself on the road, it would come in handy to have some disinfectant and gauze. The herbs that his master had taught him he could find well enough on his own, and he made a mental note to actively look for some on the next leg of his journey.

His journey to… nowhere, in particular. He had no plan. He could go far enough away that no one from his no-longer-home would ever find him. Try to find a new master. Build a new life.

It felt pointless to do so, so far away from everyone he cared about.

He hadn’t even gotten to say goodbye to his mother. Still, it was better than his parting with his father. He shook his head, as if it could shake off his family’s rejection. He was born a mage, and because of that, he’d lost everything. He still couldn’t wrap his head around Milo’s betrayal. At least Jayden was safe, but for how long? He had to find somewhere safe for them.

Perhaps he should head north. Leaving Saridian meant he wouldn’t have to worry about hiding his magic. Getting out was the hard part, though. The border between Saridian and Celeigh was heavily patrolled, as were the ports. If he wanted to come back for Jayden, he’d have to risk the journey multiple times. Perhaps he should have let her come with him now. Everything seemed like a mistake; he couldn’t stop second-guessing himself.

Eventually, he finished his meal and shopping, and couldn’t delay any longer. He’d have to head north and see if he thought of anything better along the way.

He spent what was left of his coins on a simple map. It wasn’t very detailed, but at least it would allow him to stay on the main roads, where he might be able to beg for some food from passing travelers and shelter in towns along the way if he needed to.

It was still raining, but he couldn’t justify waiting out the storm any longer. He left down the southern route towards Briarglen, in case anyone was paying attention to his departure, and then looped around Thornsbury to head north.

The storm got worse. Dante traveled through the rain and hail, flinching at each rumble of thunder overhead. When night fell he was scared to camp in the trees again, lest they were struck by lightning. He spent the night in the ditch, freezing and wet.

He slept little. At least that meant his visions couldn’t disturb him. Wide awake and frozen to his core, he spent a lot of time thinking. Even though he tried to shun his magic, he’d used it. Maybe Milo isn’t the traitor. I am. The crystal orb in his pack was a testament to his failure. A different kind of chill seeped through him.

He had gotten himself into this. Magic lured him into using it, but he should have resisted. He couldn’t regret saving Jayden, but if she had stayed away from magic too, he wouldn’t have had to save her. The king had been right all along. Mortals shouldn’t be entrusted with magic. He would never use it again.

The third night of his banished life, he ran across a group of travelers that were kind enough to take him in, letting him sleep on the floor of their wagon. He was grateful for the chance to dry out. The group consisted of four young men, ranging from around his own age to a handful of years older. When he asked where they were heading, they said they were going north-east, to Kingsguard. The four of them were heading there to join the army.

One of them was especially keen on becoming a mage hunter. Dante stiffened at this revelation and did his best to smile and nod throughout their late night conversations, trying not to show his discomfort.

He reappropriated his earlier lie about his master sending him through the storm as a punishment. They laughed at him.

“If your master is that bad,” the oldest of the boys, Keenan, said, “you should join the army with us. Not that they’ll go easy on you there either, but at least you’d be in good company.”

“Oh, I couldn’t,” Dante said. “I would make a horrible soldier. I’ve lost every fight I’ve ever been in.”

“Ah, well,” Keenan said, “that’s what boot camp is for. They’ll whip you into shape in no time.” He clapped Dante on the back. “Sleep on it, alright?”

Dante mumbled a noncommittal answer. He was grateful to not sleep on the ground, but he couldn’t be more eager to part ways with the soon-to-be soldiers.

In the morning, things were looking up. It was only drizzling now, and the sun peeked out from behind the clouds. Dante shook hands with the travelers, and wished them a safe journey. They were all turning to leave, and Dante sighed with relief.

“Hey, where did you say you were headed back home to?” Keenan turned around to ask. “Maybe we’ll come visit if we’re on duty in this part of the kingdom. You know, badger you a little, in case you change your mind about joining us in the army.”

“Uh, it’s a little place called…” Dante sputtered trying to spit out a village name from his map that would be to the north. It took him a second but a name trickled out. “Called Greystone.”

One of the others glanced over his shoulder. His name was Gideon, if Dante remembered correctly. “Wait. Did you say Greystone?”

“Isn’t that where you were from?” Keenan asked. “Before your family came to Airedale.”

“Yeah, it is,” Gideon said. “And I’ve never seen him before.”

“I moved there recently,” Dante said, mouth dry.

“Yeah? From where?” Keenan asked as he and Gideon moved to surround Dante from the other side.

Dante froze, brain going blank.

“Doesn’t matter,” Gideon said. “I’m not sure I would believe him anyway. Greystone doesn’t even have an herbalist for him to be apprenticing under. Ours died a year ago, right before I left. Why are you lying?”

Dante didn’t know what else to do other than continue trying to weasel his way out of this mess. “My… my master and I both came from Thornsbury. That’s why he sent me there for supplies.”

“Oh come on.” Gideon shoved Dante to the ground. He landed hard, knocking the air out of his lungs. “Your master made you walk three days in a storm from Greystone to Thornsbury? Seems a little extreme.”

“We don’t like being lied to,” Keenan said. Dante tried to sit up, but the older boy put a boot to his chest, pinning him back down to the ground. “So what’s your deal?”

“My parents were tired of me slacking off, so they turned me out. I’m actually from Briarglen. I was embarrassed and I didn’t want to get into it. I’m sorry.”

There was a long pause where the pair of boys standing over Dante considered his excuse. The other two, Wren and Barek, observed from the sidelines.

“If you guys believe that, you’re the ones who are an embarrassment,” Wren said. “Think about it. What would be a good reason to lie to us? A good reason to be expelled from your village, to boot.”

There was a long pause.

“If he were a mage,” said Wren. “He would definitely lie to us. Don’t you think?” He looked over to Barek, his younger brother, who shrugged in response.

“It’s not like that—” Dante started.

“Shut up.” Keenan ground his boot down on Dante’s chest, pressing the air out of his lungs. “Is he right? You’re a mage?”

“No,” Dante choked out.

“Did you see the way he froze up when I told him I’m making a run at becoming a mage hunter?” asked Wren.

“Because I know how dangerous mages are to fight,” Dante said. “It’s a crazy thing to do—”

“And I bet you know that because you are one,” Keenan said. He lifted his foot off Dante. “Get up.”

Dante stood cautiously, glancing in turn at each of the young men surrounding him. His body was tender from the fall and from Keenan’s boot driving into his ribs.

Barek finally spoke up. “I don’t know if he’s being honest with us, but we don’t have any proof.”

“That’s why I’m planning to get some,” Keenan said. “Show us what you’re made of, mage.” He threw a punch at Dante, who flinched out of arm’s reach. “Fight me.”

Dante’s heart pounded like it was about to explode. Keenan rained down an onslaught of jabs, which Dante did his best to dodge and deflect. But the older boy had almost a foot of height on him, not to mention more muscle and actual fighting prowess. It didn’t take long for the blows to start connecting. Fist to shoulder, ribs, stomach. Dante lost track of how many hits he took.

As a last resort, Dante tried to kick Keenan between the legs. If he could take him out for a moment, perhaps he could get away. But he wasn’t fast enough. Before Dante could strike, Keenan landed another fist, a blow directly to Dante’s face. Dante’s eyes stung as pain blossomed from his nose. He stumbled to his knees.

Keenan took the opening and leapt onto Dante, easily wrestling him into submission. The larger boy’s superior strength made it impossible for Dante to struggle free. Unless he used magic. But that was Keenan’s plan—to put Dante in a fight he couldn’t win, to force him into revealing himself as a mage.

If Dante didn’t give in to the temptation, it was possible to get out of this. He had to prove himself, to let himself be beaten to a pulp without magical retaliation. He could do that. It wouldn’t be the first time. He’d been bullied his whole life for being the runt. Who knew that being beaten up would someday become a skill that would save his life?

Then, Keenan wrapped both of his hands around Dante’s neck and squeezed hard. Like he meant it. Dante gasped and squirmed, trying to loosen the grip, to get any amount of air into his lungs. Keenan pressed harder, cutting off his breath completely. Black spots started to fill out Dante’s vision, terror taking over as he fought uselessly to fill his lungs. He scratched and tore at the hands that were strangling his life away, to no avail.

He’s going to kill me. Dante would be choked to death, or burnt at the stake for being a mage. There was no way out.

“Stop it! You’ve gone far enough Keenan,” yelled one of the others. “He hasn’t used a lick of magic, and even if he is a mage, we aren’t actually in the army yet we can’t just—”

“He’s a mage and I know it,” Keenan said. He stared straight into Dante’s eyes. “He’s not getting away.”

“So let’s turn him in,” said another voice. “Barek’s right, even if he is a mage, we don’t have the authority to execute him.”

“The proper way is to burn them anyway.”

Dante’s vision had faded almost entirely to black, but at these words, he flashed back to the execution. His father took him to Kingsmount to watch one after he’d been caught doing magic. That girl. She’d burned right in front of him. Alive. The pain on her face. The life leaving her eyes. The smell of scorched flesh. He’d never forget it.

And he’d never let that be him, either.

With a shockwave of magic rolling out of his body, Dante threw his attacker off of him. Keenan went flying several feet and skidded across the muddy ground. Dante took a couple of breaths, heaving to refill his lungs with much-needed air. The others stared at him in surprise. Their slight delay was all Dante needed. He scrambled up and took off.

He ran toward the nearby brush. He knew he wouldn’t outrun the other boys while he was still trying to catch his breath. His best chance was to lose them in the trees.

He made it into the cover and wove his way through. They soldiers-to-be had to be close behind him. Dante risked a look back, but it was a mistake. His foot caught a root, and he tumbled forward.

That was it, they were going to catch him.

“Here,” a voice said. It was too soft and kind to be one of the boys. “Take my hand.”

Dante looked up. A cloaked man stood before him, hand outstretched. His hood was up, leaving his face shadowed.

“Quickly,” the man urged. His eyes flickered behind Dante, where the sounds of yelling boys came from close by.

Dante, half-stunned, accepted the man’s help up. The man kept hold of Dante’s hand, and used his free one to draw a large circle in the air next to them. Dante felt the rippling of magic as he did so, and watched as the world distorted and fell away within the circle, leaving an image of a field within its borders instead of the trees that surrounded them.

The man stepped through the portal, and tugged Dante through behind him. Dante spun around as soon as the man released him, just in time to see the window back to the forest shrink and disappear.

They were in a field now. Thick teal grass came up nearly to his knees, swaying gently in the wind. It was a wide and open plain, though there were patches of trees with similarly colored foliage in the distance. It wouldn’t have looked so different from the parts of Saridian that he’d been traveling through, if not for the discolorations. Above him, the purple sky was filled with voluminous clouds.

The soldiers-to-be were nowhere in sight. They’d been left behind, and now Dante was… somewhere else. Dante looked back to the cloaked man, who’d taken his hood down. He had shaggy brown hair, and looked older than Dante, perhaps in his mid-twenties.

“What just happened?” Dante wiped his forehead with a shaky hand. “Who are you? Where am I?”

The cloaked man smiled. “My name is Bronwen. Welcome to the Crossworld.”