fear

I studied the great callificars, learned how they inspired those whom they led.

Tactics.

Strategy.

Politics.

If the Architect willed me to follow this path, I would be the best I could possibly be.

The Incarium was promoting me. Again.

I did not wish to lead men. I wished to end mages.

All mages.

Maybe then villages wouldn’t burn when the insanity took the mages.

But I would do as I was commanded.

As was the Architect’s divine will.

I could not doubt.

It would slow my sword arm.

Make me vulnerable.

Make me weak.

And then I would burn.

The nightmares came back that night.

How many mages had I ended in my tenure as a callificar?

I couldn’t count them.

How many had I saved?

None. Not even my own sister. There was no cure for the madness but death.

Or so the Incarium told me.

For a moment, the magic drained away and her eyes cleared.

And she was the child she’d been before the madness had taken her. Before the magic had destroyed her.

But there was no thank you on her lips.

Only a prayer to the Architect.

Then nothing. She was gone.

Years of training had honed my sword arm, and I struck through instinct.

The child tried to burn me where I stood, but I had been a callificar longer than she had been alive.

I dispelled her magic with less than the flick of my shield arm.

As my sword found its mark.