Gods be praised, I am finally free of that dreary, creaking old tavern. I will find my place in this world and all that hear my name will cheer for the great Toric that has defeated evil in the land.

Toric was thinking thoughts that even he knew were silly, but still, they resounded through his mind with the kind of powerful longing that only a kid is capable of. Sure he was considered an adult by the world now that he was fifteen, but his mind had yet to catch up to his body. For a tavern owner’s son he was an impressive specimen of a human. Tall, standing six feet six inches tall and weighing just over three-hundred pounds, he was broad shouldered and might have had an ounce or so of fat, maybe. A pack rode his shoulders as he pushed through the crowds, headed for the Imperial Recruitment Center near the outskirts of town. He had already said his goodbyes to his father, his friends, and the small shrine in his father’s bedroom that held a portrait of his mother. He was still thinking about what his father had revealed to him just before he left. He could still hear his voice, echoing in his thoughts.

“Listen to me Toric, I have kept this from you according to your mother’s wishes until either you were old enough, or we were to become separated. You are not old enough, but I may never see you again, so it is your right to know. Your mother was not human. All of your unnatural aspects come from her: your height, build, strength, speed, stamina, intelligence, and most of all, the way you heal so quickly. I know you intend to apply to the Imperial Army; you will have to tell them this, though the magi may be able to tell just from looking at you. Your mother’s race is very rare in our world, and hybrid children with humans almost never happen. You are a dracuman, half human and half dragon. Be careful my son, you are not immortal. The only reason I agreed to your leaving, is because I don’t think I can stop you for much longer, and don’t want you to leave without knowing who and what you are. And know how very much I love you. Now I have said my piece and you must go, fare thee well my son.”

It was an earth-shattering revelation for Toric. He had always known he was different than his friends and pretty much everyone he had ever met, but he would never have guessed this was why. The revelation did absolutely nothing however to dim his wanderlust or desire for glory, if anything, it increased the need to escape his hometown. And so he walked down a dusty street and up to a small but sturdy building at the edge of town. A sign out front proclaimed for the entire town to see, the ones that could read anyways, Imperial Army, Recruit Center, Zalkal Province. Taking a deep breath, Toric pulled the door open and stepped inside, gazing about him and noting the spartan look of the place. In this front room there were six chairs against the wall, a desk in the center of the room with a chair behind it and in front of it, and on one wall a map of the current Cruzian Empire. Sitting at the desk was Centurion Davyd, a grizzled veteran serving his final term out here in a quiet province.

Davyd looked up and saw Toric enter the recruitment center. He smiled, genuinely. He had forgotten that today was the day Toric would sign up, but was very glad to see the boy who had been so inquisitive every time he had come to his father’s tavern, The Dragon’s Home. Raising his voice he also motioned Toric into the otherwise empty room, pointing at the seat in front of the desk.

“Have a seat Toric, all the papers are already filled out, I just need your signature and for Mage Tremalyn to check you out.”

Toric walked over and set his pack on the floor, settling down onto the chair in front of the desk. He smiled broadly and nodded; his own voice had finally stopped squeaking a week or so ago, and was deep, strong, and powerful sounding as he spoke.

“Thanks Centurion, I have something to add to my papers, something my father just told me about my heritage as I was leaving to come here.”

The Centurion frowned and lifted an eyebrow to Toric as he reached over to tap the bell that would call the Mage.

“Oh? And what might that be, Toric?”

Toric smiled uneasily and was about to speak when Tremalyn entered the room from the back and froze within three steps into the foyer, staring at the young man sitting in front of Centurion Davyd. He was frozen in shock and could not believe the amount of energy coruscating around the figure of Toric. Even more startling however was that he could tell, instantly, that the boy was no mage. Somehow he had more magic at his fingertips than any being Tremalyn had ever seen, but no way of using that power that he could tell. After a moment Tremalyn became aware of Davyd calling his name and shook his head, turning to the Centurion.

“Davyd, you called for me?”

Tremalyn struggled to keep his voice calm, his mind was whirling down different paths, trying to figure out just what the boy was.

“Yes sir. This is Toric; he came in today to apply for the Army. Is something wrong? You look as if you have seen a ghost.”

Davyd spoke to Tremalyn and then turned back to Toric out of curiosity, after all the mage was staring at Toric like he was a dangerous artifact. Hmm, maybe that thing about Toric’s heritage could help.

“Toric, what was it you learned about your heritage that you wanted to add to the papers? I am sure Mage Tremalyn would like to hear about it as well.”

Toric shook himself, he thought he might be hallucinating, but as soon as the mage walked into the room his entire body had felt strange and tingly, his hearing had sharpened, and he could smell everything in the building, his eyes picked up on the smallest of details, and there was an itch on the back of his neck. It felt like his body was preparing him for something. A danger, or a fight, or to run, he could not tell, just something. But when the Centurion’s question registered he turned back toward him and nodded, speaking just as deeply as before.

“When I was ready to leave the tavern this morning, my father pulled me to the side and told me that he had kept a secret from me, he said I was a dracuman—“

That was as far as Toric got, because as soon as the word dracuman rolled from his tongue the Mage spoke up.

“OF COURSE! That strange energy I see around you, I could not figure out what you are, but that makes perfect sense. You have no potential as a mage, you cannot access the power, at least not in the way magi do. But you do have a way of using it; it makes you stronger, faster, bigger, and smarter, raises your endurance, makes you tougher, and heals you from disease and injuries.”

Toric nodded.

“Yes Sir that is what my father told me. He cautioned me that I was not immortal, just tougher than an average human. And that I am not finished growing yet.”

Tremalyn realized he was still standing across the room and approached quickly, letting the power he had seized upon spotting the young dracuman fade away. He was young for this post, but talented enough to have graduated the rigorous academy and passed the entrance exams for Imperial Magi. At the tender age of twenty-two that was quite the accomplishment. He was five foot and eleven inches and slender, Toric towered over him impressively and was not even full grown. Still gripped by awe that he was meeting a dracuman he stuck his hand out to shake Toric’s.

Toric looked surprised for a moment before smiling and reaching out to carefully grasp the wrist of the mage, having long since learned to be gentle and considerate of his strength. Shaking twice firmly he dropped his arm and looked over at a flabbergasted Davyd. Clearing his throat he spoke as softly as his resonant voice could manage.

“Centurion? Are you alright?”

Davyd blinked and then chuckled.

“Aye Toric, I am alright. I have known since I met you a few years ago that you were something special, but half dragon? I just have to admit, I never imagined that.”

Turning to look at Tremalyn Davyd asked him a question.

“Can you still perform the Question and Anchor on Toric, or do we need to do something special considering what he is?”

Tremalyn frowned in thought.

I really should send him to a Master-class Mage for the Question and Anchor spells, but this is my chance to write myself into history. There has never been a dracuman in service to the Empire before; they are so rare as to be non-existent. I can do this; it will just take an enormous amount of power to bind a being like him.

Taking a deep breath Tremalyn nodded to Davyd.

“I can handle the spells, don’t worry.”

Turning to Toric, Tremalyn gestured for him to stand against the wall in front of the map of the empire.

“Ok, listen carefully Toric, I am about to cast two spells on you. Every recruit is subjected to these spells. The Question is the simplest one, and always goes first. It weeds out those whom are not truly committed to serving the empire with all that they are. The Anchor spell comes second, and only if you pass the Question. The Anchor implants a hook, which is the best way to describe it, into the innermost sanctum of the one it is being cast upon. This hook allows other mages in service to the empire to do a number of things with far less effort than would normally be required. From you all that is needed is to relax and accept the power from the spell; if you do not want the Anchor to work, it will not, and you will not be accepted into the service. For your general fund of knowledge, the Anchor allows other magi to easily locate, heal, summon, teleport, or fortify you against magical attacks. Relax, breathe deeply and evenly, and above all else, accept that this is to help, not hurt, you. Got it?”

Toric looked around just a little nervously, but nodded. He understood that this was necessary and had already talked all this over with Davyd many times over the past month. Taking and deep breath and slowly releasing it he nodded once more.

“I am ready, Sir.”

Tremalyn smiled and then closed his eyes in concentration. Beginning slowly he pulled power from the environment, building the spell to at least triple the usual amount of power before he reached out with his mind toward Toric. The Question was a simple spell and did not delve nearly as deep into the mind or soul as the Anchor. It just read surface thoughts and desires and gave the mage casting it the answer to the question held in the spell. Tremalyn received back from Toric the most powerful assertive answer he had ever felt through a spell question. This young man desired with every fiber of his being to serve the Empire and through that service to make the world a better place. The power of it all rocked Tremalyn around in his own mind, gale force winds of thought buffeting him about like a leaf.

Slowly opening his eyes Tremalyn smiled wanly at Toric.

“You have passed the Question, young man. Now I will cast the Anchor.”

Tremalyn was being reckless and he knew it. The power contained in the Answer from Toric was immense, dwarfing anything he had ever felt before and the next spell would likely bring such a torrent of energy it might knock him out completely. However, he was giddy from the magic flowing through his mind and the air and the earth, just being near the dracuman was making him drunk with power, and he disregarded the tingling warning from his conscience. He began building the spell. This time he amassed all the power into the Anchor spell that he could manage, being certain he could do it if he just powered through the interference.

Davyd had served with Magi for decades and he knew that something strange was happening. This was a powerful spell, yes; but Tremalyn’s hair was floating and electricity crackled down his arms and legs. Davyd was a null, he could not feel or interact with magic at all, other than soul magic like the Anchor and Question, and the power flowing in the room was so thick that he felt like he was swimming in mud. The mage could not be stopped now, so Davyd just backed away from the pair and ducked down behind the desk, praying that whatever happened they would both be alright. A frenzied thought brought an idea and he pulled down a calling stone. Calling stones were emergency magical artifacts made of a soft stone that could be crushed easily. Once crushed they summoned one of the always ready reaction squads, that consisted of two magi and six veteran soldiers, from Imperial City. Holding it ready; he watched.

Toric was curious, he could feel the power from the Mage and wondered if that was normal. Shrugging he stayed still and focused on just letting the Anchor spell do what it was supposed to do. Relaxing and mumbling under his breath, he spoke to the innermost core of what he was and told his very soul to trust, accept, and allow the spell to work. He had no idea if that was what the Mage meant, but he was doing his naïve best to follow instructions. He could tell the exact moment that the Mage released the spell, and in that timeless instant, he knew something was horribly wrong. After that realization came a terrible fire of pain, burning and ripping at his soul. The moment lasted an eternity – he has been asked about the experience countless times and all he ever remembers is terrible, paralyzing, unending pain, and then, nothing. Oblivion reached up and swallowed him whole.

Tremalyn did not have even a moment to realize he had screwed up. As soon as the overpowered Anchor spell reached into the dracuman’s soul, he was unconscious. For the mage that made the mistake of pride there was no punishment of pain; the innocent paid the price.