Mage

Created on Midjourney

Battered and bruised, barely alive, Glamir hid the evidence of what the battle had cost him. He strode from the wizard enclave, his face infused with the power that had allowed him to vanquish Bremor.

As he traversed the gauntlet of wizards who had come to watch him fail—to watch him die—he allowed them to see the full measure of his contempt for them. These weaklings who styled themselves masters quailed before him. Today he had erased all doubt. They could not stand against him.

For centuries, the enclave had maintained a stranglehold on magic within the six kingdoms, executing at birth any child born to the lower classes who showed the slightest hint of magic. Until Glamir.

Glamir’s parents had known what he was before his birth. His mother was descended from the last Mage King, though the wizards who had murdered him had thought none had survived their purge. She had felt his magic stir as he quickened in her womb. And that stirring had meant only one thing. The very thing the enclave sought to prevent, and the masses prayed for.

So, his parents had fled the kingdoms, seeking refuge among the nomadic tribes of the desert. There Glamir had flourished in secret. He had grown in magical prowess, living hope for all who had been oppressed for so long.

Though barely eighteen, today, he had proven his magical prowess in combat. Today, he had wrested power from the tyrants. Today he had ensured the survival of all children of magical ability within the six kingdoms. For today, the wizards had met their better—the thing they feared most. Today, they had been bested by not only a mage, but the first master mage born in a millennium.

Today, the wizard enclave bowed to their new master, awaiting his edict for the future. Glamir did not indulge them. He swept onto streets flooded with throngs of commoners who anxiously awaited their champion.

Amplifying his voice even as he trickled magic into healing the deep wounds he had suffered, Glamir stood, if possible, taller before the people who would henceforth call him Mage-King. The wizard enclave, broken, stood behind him, cowed.

“Brothers and sisters,” Glamir began, his soft voice heard by every person in the six kingdoms, “we stand victorious. No more will the tyranny of men afraid to share power mean the death of our children.”

A cheer rose into the air from Glamir’s people. He waited for quiet.

“No more will the right to practice magic be restricted to the wealthy. Or to men.”

Glamir brought a girl of twelve from within the throng. As blond as Glamir, she stood proud beside him. Behind her, gasps and murmurs of outrage broke out among the gathered wizards as she began to glow, softly, at first, then blazing bright as a sun.

“My sister, Glaura,” Glamir announced. “A second master mage born in a single age. Never have two such mages existed at one time.”

The crowd roared its approval, then let out a horrified gasp as lightning arced toward the girl. With an almost lazy flick of her hand, she turned it back on the wizard who had attacked from behind. Not expecting retaliation, the man had not erected a shield. He incinerated instantly, his remains falling to the ground in a flurry of black ash.

Glamir continued, as though nothing untoward had occurred. “Glaura and I will rule jointly. Any wizard who wishes to continue to practice their craft will swear fealty to both of us. Any who cannot or will not, will be stripped of their power and banished from the six kingdoms.”

A cage of light appeared around the wizard enclave, cutting off any chance of escape. Glamir was nearly recovered from his battle, but it was Glaura’s spell that imprisoned them. No one could be allowed to doubt her power—or her status.

As one, brother and sister turned to face the wizards who surely wished them both dead. Oaths would be taken and sealed with a trigger spell. Any who sought to fulfill that wish would die before they could act on it.

It was a new age and a new order for the six kingdoms. For this time, they would have the protection of not one mage but two.

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I absolutely love this image I created. It cried out for a story. This mage could have been evil, but I chose to make him a people’s champion. I didn’t know about his sister until I reached the end of the story.

The powerful so often retain power through oppression and elimination of any they see as a threat. I think we all want to see champions who defeat them and create or restore a just order. If they do so with magic, well, that’s just a bonus.