The monstrosity lay smoking at my feet, finally stilled in death. I pulled my sword from its body and channeled a little more fire into the blade to burn off the blood, then sheathed it in the scabbard at my hip. It rattled a bit against the tasset, reminding me of the need for silence. That last one had gotten too close before I’d seen it, even with the enhanced vision Mordon’s helm offered. I must have been getting tired.

  Scanning my immediate surroundings in a complete circle just to make sure nothing was sneaking up on me, I then looked up into the canopy to get a sense of where the sun was. I could barely tell through the density of the foliage, but it seemed like it was getting close to dusk. The forest was dark as night except for a couple of patches of leaves that were still burning. That light would reflect off my plate armor, possibly giving away my location, so I quickly stomped them out before they could spread. Though I couldn’t see the sun, judging from the level of gloom and my rumbling stomach, I guessed it must be about supper time. It was a good time to quit for the day.

  Using a bit of scrying magic, I made sure the place I was thinking of going was free of obstacles and onlookers. There was no one walking in the cobbled alley, and no one was in sight. There were no windows in a direct line of sight on either side of the alley, which was one of the prime reasons I used it. Knowing it was safe, I teleported there, making the trip from the wilderness to Mithram’s inner city a short one.

  Now that I was safe inside some walls, I switched my armor with my civilian clothes in an instant with a command word directed into a thin bracelet I wore for the purpose. I ran a hand through my hair, which sweat had matted into the shape of the interior of my helm, but without a mirror, there was no way to make myself presentable without taking a bath. I gave up after the first time my fingers made it through without snagging in my hair, then walked around the corner to my brother’s door. The city was pretty loud, so I couldn’t hear anything from within, but I could smell stew even over the stench of the city. My stomach rumbled again as I knocked. Bran answered the door. He looked taller than usual. No, I was slouching without knowing it, and I straightened up my posture.

  Bran waved me in. “Hiya. Come on in, Jeron.”

  “Thanks.”

  I stepped inside their home, which was cheerily lit against dusk. Across the living room was the kitchen and dining area. Elle and Blossom were sitting at the table, and it was clear that they’d just eaten. Their empty bowls were still on the table along with about a quarter of a loaf of bread. Elle looked to be getting up, which, at this stage of her pregnancy, would have required a good bit of effort, so I waved her back down.

  “Don’t get up for me,” I said.

  Elle relaxed and put a hand on her belly. “Good to see you. There’s still some stew in the pot if you’re hungry.”

  “Nice of you to offer, thanks.” I didn’t waste any time crossing the room to the stove.

  “How come you only come over at dinnertime?” Blossom asked. She was young, about ten years old, and she hadn’t really heard of a thing called discretion.

  “She means it’s always good to see family,” Elle said with a pointed look at Blossom.

  Once I filled my bowl, I sat at the table, which Bran was now sitting at, regarding me pleasantly.

  “How come you smell like burned meat?” Blossom asked, with her head cocked to the side.

  Just about to take a bite, I paused. “I… Um…”

  “Blossom, why don’t we let him eat before you question him to death,” Elle said delicately.

  Elle was one of the nicest people I’d ever met, and with her absolutely stunning good looks, at least in my opinion, Bran was the luckiest man alive. Elle had blonde hair, which was rare in Stonekeep, and only a little less so in the capital city of Mithram. She was usually thin, and was graceful in her movements even in pregnancy, with a runner’s physique. Blossom, on the other hand, had long black hair and very different facial features from Elle. Most notably, I could feel the presence of magic within Blossom with my higher senses. She was going to be a strong sorcerer one day, probably much like I was. Poor girl. She was hugging her stuffed rabbit tightly as she regarded me, clearly a little nervous because I was there. She could probably sense the magic in me, too.

  Between bites, I looked over to her stuffed rabbit and smiled as disarmingly as I could. “How are you settling in, Bun-Bun?”

  “He likes it here,” Blossom said shyly.

  “Even the lessons?” Bran asked with an arched eyebrow.

  “He doesn’t like the lessons so much,” Blossom said with a sour face.

  “But he’ll see the value in them later,” Bran said.

  “Whatever,” Blossom said under her breath. She left the table to go play with her bunny in the corner of the living room.

  In record time, I devoured my bowl of stew along with the remainder of the bread, then sat back, letting my upper arm rest on the table.

  “Feel better?” Elle asked.

  “Loads. Thanks again.”

  “Are you sleeping all right?” Elle asked gently. She was looking at my hand, which was shaking a little bit.

  “Not so much,” I said, making a fist to try to keep it from shaking.

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  “It wasn’t your fault.”

  I looked down. “I know. But it doesn’t matter.”

  “Then why do this to yourself?”

  “Who else can do what I can do?”

  “Can you right all the world’s wrongs?”

  “No, but shouldn’t I at least try?”

  “Of course you should, but you have to see what this is doing to you. You need to rest. To deal with your trauma.”

  “I can’t.” At that moment, I was flooded with memories of all the violence and all the evil I’d seen. And done. My hand started shaking even worse. “I just can’t. I don’t know how. I don’t sleep well, if at all. But I can’t just sit back and do nothing.”

  “Jeron.” Elle reached across the table and held my hand. Our eyes met. “You have to find a way to deal with everything. You’ve been through worse things than anyone I can think of, but you can’t let the things that happened continue to ruin you. You have to find a way to let go of them somehow.”

  I withdrew my hand. “How? How do I do that? It’s a lot. More than you know.”

  She considered. “Do you feel like it’s all jumbled up and boiling over?”

  I nodded. “All the time. God forbid I hear a loud noise.”

  “Well… Why don’t you try to write it down?”

  “Write it down? What good is that going to do?”

  “It’s a way to quantify things. If you write it down, you’ll be getting it off your chest, and you may be able to sort through everything in a logical manner. You know how orderly you are. Maybe you need to put your thoughts in order. Maybe that will give you peace.”

  I thought about it. Her idea had some merit. And honestly, I’d try anything at this point.

  “All right. How does this work?” I asked.

  “Try to focus on one event at a time. Write it down like it was a story. Use the Throne if you have to. See it, remember it, write it down, and get it off your mind. At the very least, sitting down and writing for a while will force you to slow down and may even help you sleep.”

  I thought about it for a while. “All right. I’ll think about it.”

  I hung around for a little while, letting Bran and Elle tell me how the construction of the temple was going. It was going to take a while, to say the least. I even played with Blossom and her dolls some, but I kept expecting her to use magic of some kind. The possibility of some kind of magic going awry made me extremely wary, even though I’d never even seen her try to use her abilities. She was probably afraid of the pain the magic would cause. I remembered how that felt all too well, and I was glad that using magic didn’t hurt me anymore after my ascension to High Mage. Considering the death penalty sorcerers were under, that was for the best. Exposure of those abilities, even undeveloped ones, would be bad for her and her adoptive parents as well. In time, I decided to follow Elle’s advice.

  “Thanks for supper, Elle. I’m going to give the journaling thing a chance.”

  “Glad to hear it. You’re welcome any time.” Elle gave me a hug.

  “He always knows when supper time is,” Bran said, smirking.

  “Well, somebody has to keep you from overeating,” I shot back good naturedly.

  “Hey, I’m not fat.” Bran looked to Elle, who innocently shrugged. “I’m not getting fat!”

  “If you say so.”

  Elle laughed. “Stay out of trouble, Jeron.”

  “No promises,” I said.

  I waved, then teleported back to the roof of Stonekeep Castle, then activated the portal to go inside. My thoughts were busy and my smile faded almost immediately. What would another person do if they were granted magical powers? Would they do what was right? Or just what was easy? Would they risk everything for a person who needed their help? Would I? How far would I go to make things right? Should I even?

  How long did I pace back and forth in my study? Sure, this was a comfortable place, even if there aren’t any windows and it sometimes feels a little confined. It’s comfortably lit, with shelves full of comforting books on the walls, with a comfortable desk and a comfortable armchair, and the air is always good. It smells faintly like lemon. It’s even a very comfortable temperature.

  Why then, am I in such turmoil?

  Who am I really? Am I Jeron Smith, son of Dortham? Or should I be Jeron Warder, the sorcerer, son of Mordon? Can I be who I want to be without the magic that’s so much a part of me?

  I felt like I was lost. I had to force myself to sit down at my desk. Then I wondered what I should write, and I ended up staring at the empty page for a long time. Eventually, I decided to write about the day’s more important events, which brings me up to now. What was my problem?

  Granted, my life was nothing like the life of a normal person. Unlike most people, my life was steeped in magic. Magic’s sometimes wild and exciting, and at other times it’s absolutely terrifying. At least in the beginning, it was also incredibly painful. Put most simply, magic is a tool, and it was originally put there to help us. It’s like a hammer. That hammer could be used to build a house, or you could hit someone with it.

  Magic has a tendency to bring out people’s secret selves, and that’s not normally a good thing.

  Sometimes I think the events of my life were dreamed up by some kind of morbid, sadistic, or deranged deity. Bran, Elle, and certain experiences have told me that God’s not really like that, but from my perspective, it sometimes feels that way. I’m no god, nor do I want to be, and I think it’s good to remember that.

  It may be paranoid of me, but it feels like if I’m not the one struggling to survive, someone I care about is, and one wrong step will get us all killed. Sometimes, in my lowest times, I wish I had been. That’s a really dark thought, now that I look at it on paper, but I can’t help it. The challenges I’ve faced have darkened me.

  On the bright side, though, I’ve always tried to do what’s right, and when I think about it for a while, I can say with confidence that the good people of Aldon are better off because of me. Most people just don’t know it. Maybe if they could see the real me, they wouldn’t immediately think about executing me for being a sorcerer.

  It hasn’t been easy. At the time I write this, I’m plagued by nightmares. Sometimes certain noises will trigger a shaking fit, even when I know there’s no danger present. The dreams can be pretty bad, but the worst ones are constructs of the darkest possible endings of events that actually took place. The sense that they could be real makes them so much worse. There’ve been times when if things had turned out just a little differently, it would’ve been the end. Not just the end of me, but of those I love, too.

  I feel a little better, just to write even this little bit, now that I think about it. I’m going to try to put these things into a perspective that I can handle, one that helps me understand how my life developed. Like a story, just like Elle suggested. Maybe it’ll help me understand. Understanding the past may help me gain control of my future, so I think she may be right. She usually is.

  Though I’m no king, I’ve inherited a Throne of great power. The magic of the Throne shows me almost anything I want to see. I can’t help but think the Throne was cut from that gem with deliberate purpose. The back and seat are unyielding, very uncomfortable to sit in after a while. Every facet is polished to perfection, all the better to focus light. With the vision it provides, I’d like to see the best in people, but I often see only the worst, which makes it easy to be a pessimist. I don’t want to be that way.

  But it’s hard to be optimistic when you’re marked for death.

  To make some sense of everything, tomorrow I think I’ll start at my beginning, now that I have the power to see it.