My body was drenched in a cold sweat, my arms exhausted from carrying the weight, my head swimming and dizzy. Come on, Crow. You pull this off, and it will be the greatest feat they’ve ever witnessed. Do it... FOR THEM!

I was crossing the cottage in record time, dazzling my parents with my expert crawling. “Way to go, Crow!” 

“That’s amazing! Wow!”

Normally, I wouldn’t buy into such patronizing celebrations, but crawling had actually proven itself quite the difficult task to master! Aside from my twilight expedition to the bookshelf, I had not had much time to truly practice the form. The focus required to move my hand as well as my leg at the same time was on par with sustaining an arcane shield while hurling stone arrows. Now there was a day I hadn’t thought about in a long time...

It was midday in the palace courtyard. The High Arcanist had come for our weekly lesson in spellwork, which I was expected to master under his tutelage. Though I had shown remarkable skill, even at my young age, my father was unsatisfied with my progress. 

“You wish me to be impressed that you surpass your peers in the ways of magic?” my father would ask. “My son, that is the expectation.”

He decided he would observe this day’s lesson, a practical application of combat magic. He told the High Arcanist to push me to my breaking point.

I had only my sparring gloves, low-tier artifacts incapable of inflicting major injury. He had a staff of Whitewood, inlaid with a crystalline core. It was not a balanced fight, to say the very least.

I had nearly been exhausted just countering his blows. Quick jabs of his staff conjured bursts of flames, and I would desperately swipe at the infernos, dispelling them before they could scorch me. I would attack in turn, hurling bolts of fire that he’d counter with effortless flicks of his wrist.

The stitching in my gloves was coming undone under the stress, as any artifact would after channeling enough magic. After waving away a final burst of fire, one glove ripped and hung loosely at my fingers, useless. The bout paused, as one normally would when an opponent is rendered artifactless, until my father commanded the High Arcanist to continue.

I remember the pity in his eyes, but even a High Arcanist knows better than to deny the emperor. I held the torrent of flame at bay mere inches from my body; the thin translucent shield projected from my hand was the only thing keeping me from becoming a pile of ash. The threads on this glove weren’t going to last much longer. I needed to disrupt him somehow, but options were near inexistant while sustaining the arcane shield with one hand and having no artifact to channel the Font with in the other.

Most Imbued would be useless without an artifact. Most. 

Conjuring a pebble was all I could muster. The dirt at my feet slowly drew together, transforming into the tiny hardened form. My mind strained as I shaped its tip to a crudely sharpened point. That’ll work. My glove was nearly threadbare; the shield was faltering. The High Arcanist stood over me, pouring down endless fire and sensing the battle’s coming to a close. 

Artifactless casting would severely dampen the stone arrow’s impact as well as lessen its precision, but if my attack could make purchase, it would disrupt him long enough for me to get an upperhand. With a flick of my finger, I used my magic to send the stone arrow flying toward my opponent. My nose bled, and I cried out with desperate effort, but my plan worked!The arrow pierced the High Arcanist’s wrist, and the propulsion of fire ceased as his staff fell from his grasp.

I closed the distance in an instant, seizing the High Arcanist’s good hand in mine before he could conjure anything else, and pushing the staff he had dropped against his neck in threat. He raised his injured hand in surrender--I had won. I looked to my father, hoping to see his approval at my victory. Instead, my father simply walked away, sending clerics to tend to the High Arcanist’s injury and saying how I would require a new tutor.

I found myself back in the cottage and in the arms of my cheering parents, overwhelmed with excitement over my accomplishment. “Look at that, Crow! You crawled this whole way,” my mother observed.

“We’re so proud of you,” my father said. My heart swelled. My head swiveled between them, unable to decide who to smile at. So. This is how it feels.

It seemed my parents weren’t the only ones celebrating my victory. Outside the cottage, a commotion was heard in the street. Mother opened the door to villagers cheering as they walked toward the square. Mother asked a passerby, “What’s all this about?” 

“The Guild,” the man replied. “They’ve brought back a huge stag, first one in weeks!”

Mother turned to Father at the news. “That will fill some empty bellies! I should get to Bev’s and lend a hand.” She plucked me from my father’s hands and started out the door.

“I’ll get a pot on the fire,” I heard my father call after her. “Don’t forget to bring some back for us!”

A streak of blood along the cobblestone led us to the square where a crowd of villagers cheered for the guild. The stag was strung up in the square like it was some sacrifice for old gods. How barbaric. As emperor, I always stayed out of the kitchen for this very reason; no need to know how sausage is made to enjoy it. Still, I was hungry for something other than squirrel meat, and if I needed to witness its chopping to receive one of the first portions, then so be it.

The butcher set to work, skinning and dressing the catch, when a scream was heard among the celebration. The entire crowd quieted and turned their attention to the source. It had come from behind us, close to the woodline. I felt my mother’s grip tighten around me as we all stared in silence, not knowing what would come. Smoke began to plume in the same direction, and, not long after, villagers came running from the area, screaming for their lives. 

“Wolves!” 

Members of the Hunter’s Guild jumped to the ready, drawing bows as they formed a line between the oncoming beasts and the rest of the villagers, but wolves did not wholly describe the things that emerged.

The creatures that stalked forth shared many features with the common lupine beast, only with some unique additions. Steam rose from their paws with each step that met the cold earth. Thin lines of smoke snaked from their snouts. Among them, a wolf measuring twice the size of any of its brethren stepped forward, its coarse, jet black fur flickering with a dull orange glow. When I thought it would open its mouth to release a howl, it instead unleashed a stream of fire.

The pack charged toward us.