One of the faiths goes that magic is in everything.

From the tiniest fraction of a leaf, to the largest constellations in the skies.

It is everywhere, all around and within us, ever shifting the currents of the world. 

Once, word went of a young prodigy, who would one day become as great as the archmages and grand spellcasters before her. Excelling in the arts, of course, whispers uttered they ought to surpass these forces. Put into tutelage as smallest of all, days in days out were filled with nothing but literature and incantations. The paragon would learn and learn and learn, never a pause, as there always was new knowledge to be found. While they sprinted ahead in skill, they lacked behind in the rest. The first friend the little mage made, was their own cousin Keme. Even then, it took them a few years to warm up to company. 

There was no time for pleasantries and social ties, treated as insignificant afterthoughts. It'd always been this and that, priority over anything else, going by so quickly that any muttered words from the prodigy themself were left in the air. Word went they would become a significance easily, an archmage, a force alongside a ruler, a legend within a lineage of legends. For that reason, the little mage was shoved in a corner, witnessing the limitless magic while at the limitations of everything else.

One had to embrace magic entirely to learn it.

Magic was at the heart of it all.

Or so they were taught.

— FALL FROM GRACE —

---

Encapsulating all of existence to one's self proved exhausting. The first signs arose in the shape of mindless scribbles. Left out details on papers. Short pauses from acting interested. Strategies derived out of the blue. Withdrawal from the present. Visions of passing daydreams. Wistful stares pointed to the outside world.

To the little mage, it felt as if they were stuck on a small island, floating in the middle of nowhere, without a destination in sight. Supposedly, there was an end of the line to be reached- Yet the more experience they gained, the more they wondered if it's what they truly wanted. The little mage wondered if this path laid out, was one they truly wanted to walk. The little mage wondered if this image, was one they truly wanted to put up in the house. The little mage wondered if this belief about them, was one they truly wanted to follow.

Word here, word there, it was naught but stories and tales and hearsay. It would go one ear in leave out the other, it'd become standard to tune it out. As if worth nothing but, the little mage wondered if they were anyone at all without their expertise. Reflections shown in mirrors or waters mattered not, as an unfamiliar entity stared back every time. Questions asked still unanswered, left roaming in the back of their mind longer than necessary. How different it could've been, had they focused on other areas besides mere wisdom. Wondering if the tides would change, had they witnessed the disaster stirring underneath the exemplar exterior.

The more experience they gained, the more it felt they were losing it. Snippets and fragments disappeared, a disinterest growing by the second as if a hurricane. Prestige lowering, as if they were sabotaging themself, yet truly the little mage didn't know what was going on. Confusing, the matter turned from incantations and conjurations into hocus pocus and mumbo jumbo. Concerning, the mind morphed from knowing all into knowing nothing. Was everything merely becoming more complicated, or was the little mage not all they were cut out to be?

If prodigy was all needed to surpass, then why did it feel so lacking?

It made no sense.

If legends was all their lineage would be, then why did it feel so languishing?

That, too, made no sense.

If magic was all there was, then why did it feel so limiting?

Everything, from the tiniest fraction of a leaf, to the largest constellations in the skies- All of it made no sense.

— WALKING THE LINE —

---

Fallen into a pit, the little mage had to reach out themself. No one else would do it, nor would they hear the mage's whispers in the air; Days in days out, they had no one but their own. Branching out, the little mage looked past the everything, seeking for anything that would speak to them. The first sign arrived in a fleeting moment, a young stray running past with a stolen fish gnashed between teeth. A trader in the distance, angrily reassorting their stand back up to standards. Curiously, the little mage set the first step in setting their own path, for the first time in their life. Following what zipped past, in an alley the little mage found a critter the size of a kitten. Shy and afraid, albeit curious- The little mage extended a gentle hand, bringing the secret back to quarters.

By the time the cat was discovered, the little mage had already bonded to them far more than anything or anyone else- Even given them a name, Rêve. Begrudgingly agreed to, the cat would be the little mage's sole responsibility, and with glee they would love the critter without end. Any time they returned, the cat would greet them with a loud meow. Any time they called out, the cat would return it with a loud meow. Any time they shook the tin of kibble, the cat would come sprinting with dozens of loud meows. The two became inseparable, a first taste of magic outside of mere books and spells.

The second sign arrived whilst roaming as a passerby- Following in the shadows of elders, merely out for ingredients- Only there to exist, not to be anything of substance. Then, in the busiest parts of the markets, the smell of burning iron hit. At first disgust, though followed then with intrigue. A second step followed out of intrigue, it led the little mage to an orc clad in old attire and new metals, covered in dust- Hammering away at a glowing sword, barely visible in the floating smog. A voice in the background, yelling to hurry up already, yet ignored for a tad longer. The little mage asked what he was creating.

"Art," the orc gruffly, but proudly responded, "changing a clump of iron into a broadsword. It's my specialisation. My own type of magic."

"It smells bad," the little mage said, despite their eyes lighting up in wonder, "like a toad's ass."

A chuckle in response, admitting they were right. The same voice, yelling once again to get moving already. Ignored once again for another short time. At that, the orc shortly paused with his smithing, looking down upon the little mage. "You ought to listen to your elder, little one", he advised, gesturing for them to go. "Though you are welcome to watch my craft come to life, any other time."

It was approximately a week after, the little mage visited again, though this time, they held a bag of coin in their hands.

"Can you teach me your magic?" they asked, then blabbering afterwards they weren't sure how much he'd charge for his lessons, so they had to estimate, putting nearly all they could find into a leather sack.

The orc laughed, interrupted them and asked for his new apprentice's name.

"Syrinq", the little mage responded with a smile, feeling acknowledged despite all the sentences they'd thrown into the air.

"Lancelot, from Fyre's Fuels", the orc replied in return, shaking hands and insisting they didn't need to pay a single penny. "From today on, I'll teach you all I know about smithing and enchanting."

Days in days out, the little apprentice would hop by the orc's smithy at least once a week. Learning all they could about his craft, from smelting the small beginnings, to transforming the bendable materials, to honing the final decorative accents. Lancelot taught them how to work tools, weapons and equipment, and Syrinq in turn would add their own flair through hastily drawn blueprints. Leaving limitations behind, they begun to see more to the magic of the world itself.

— GAZE UPON THE PARALLEL —

---

It was about a year after they'd picked up smithing, when Syrinq shoved all the rough drafts off the apprentice's spot, putting down the most ambitious idea they'd come up with yet. The orcish smith, whom they'd grown to see as an actual guardian figure, glazed over the sketch and widely approved of it. Gathering the materials together, the smith and apprentice spent the next few days tinkering away and paying attention to the finest of details.

Once Syrinq put on the gear they'd pondered about for weeks on end, they felt anew- As if they'd embraced the art and made magic themself, true magic that truly was driven by their own inspirations. Going by an alias, a little mage or a little apprentice they were no more- From then on it was Wisp, a mysterious amateur mercenary who longed to help out the folks in need. Aiding locals and the community directly, was plenty times better than looking over mere reports and blabbing on orders to some royal forces. Their heart had planted itself in the right spot, far away from where the tides aimed to take it. 

The first thrills appeared in the form of simple errands- Aiding old ladies with their groceries- Assisting kids with their pets stuck in trees. The more they sought it out, the more skilled they became through genuine interest. Small favours turned into fending off petty burglars and tracking down stolen goods, each thank you received made the mercenary glow with joy. Eventually Lance gifted them a sword, which allowed Syrinq to use more than mere incantations and conjurations from the arsenal.

Mixing the arts of their existing knowledge with newfound discovery proved beneficial, as they now could combine two types of magic into one. As if forging a new meaning of magic for themself, exploring what it meant, Syrinq could finally create a genuine connection to it- Along the way, it allowed the mercenary to look at themself, no longer feeling it was a stranger returning the gaze. Through their own ways, Syrinq learned what it felt like to experience life as one's true self. The path taken was theirs and theirs alone- It washed over them as a gentle wave, instead of the hurricanes others dared to predict so wrongly. If others failed to see this image was nothing but a phantom, then that was not their problem anymore.

Freedom was on the horizon, a journey they intended not to miss.

Returning to their old magely duties became more and more of a passing thought, yet the wisp kept the wisdom to conclude what they'd started. Once it was finally done and over with, the wisp fulfilled their own prophecy. Packing their bags, it finished with a proper goodbye to their cousin Keme and their de facto guardian Lance. Vanishing out of the blue, as if they'd never existed, Syrinq and their beloved cat left it all behind, insistent on not looking back- Albeit with a promise to visit every now and then to the smithy, should they ever have more ambitious ideas to empty tabletops for.

From then on, Wisp lived up to their name. In various places, yet never known where exactly- The mercenary would pop up, help out the ones in need, vanish and appear somewhere else. Syrinq travelled from place to place, with the straight tail of their cat following right after. Seeing more of the region and the world, always in wonder of how much they'd missed out on. Never staying in one place too long, almost no one heard of them except the ones they'd aided- No one quite knew the mercenary truly, as they never shared any of their past. To them, at least, it never existed, as if they burned down all bridges to reach this far ahead.

As if the Wisp's Wanderer was hearsay, a tale, a story- Yet it mattered not, as it was by their own volition.

Experiencing life as they willed it, was a journey of freedom they intended to stay on forever.

— A HOUSE OR A HOME —

---

The mercenary, then going by their true name since a few years, had always operated on their own. On the rare occasion, they'd teamed up with others, albeit never long enough to stick around. Perhaps it was a remnant of their past, being so reclusive. Moving from one fleeting moment to another, a ghost phasing through walls upon walls. Yet, one night Syrinq would be caught by surprise, thanks to spread rumours and the stereotypical hearsay.

An argument had broken out in the bar a few blocks ahead, with annoyed patrons scouring the streets for another spot to spend their evening. The noise was deafening, once the mercenary set foot in the bar. A disgruntled barkeep failing to get a trio clad in armour out, the quarrel was utterly incomprehensible. Their natural instincts set in, to immediately turn heel and leave, though they wanted to keep the peace as well. Walking over to the ruckus and sitting next to them, as if it was nothing in the world, made one notice the mercenary.

"Can't you see we're busy here?" they were greeted with.

"Isn't it better to argue outside?" they retorted. "Could do you and the pissed folks some good."

Scurrying the trio out of the building, Syrinq merely saluted the barkeep and nearly slammed the door shut. Witnessing the three outside, the mercenary figured two of them were related. Before they were about to continue the bickering, Syrinq told them all to shut up and take in a fresh breath of air. After receiving some thanks, the trio introduced themselves as the brothers Trine and Arzanium, with their pal Raptor.

As if they'd drank themselves drunk to confess poorly, the entire argument rolled out- Something about a conflict, their base being destroyed, having to bend their backs and beyond to attempt and rebuild it. This had taken a hit on their bond, though they remained optimistic despite it. They'd been lifelong comrades, refusing to give up, at least according to Arzanium. Then, equally as surprising, as if the mercenary took a leap of faith, they offered their aid. Meeting these folks no less than mere minutes ago, offering to run an errand worth lifelong friendships, or at least an extremely hefty sack of coin. 

That evening, on the off chance they cared just a smidge less, Syrinq would've missed out on a whole lot. Spending weeks together complaining about how boring brick laying was, or how they were out of tools again- The mercenary didn't know these folk quite yet, but something about them shimmered in a way that Syrinq didn't want to leave behind. Wondering about any further aid, or if they were perhaps recruiting for their group, which was cheesily called the Knight Squad- It took another few weeks for Syrinq to show off their skill, getting along splendidly both in conversation and combat.

Thus, changing the course towards a new journey, the mercenary became part of the Wynthrox brothers' and Raptor's lives without issue. Setting up a smithy in the unused workshop of their base, Syrinq would quickly feel at home, their cat moreso as they could sleep in the warm sunrays without disturbance. The mercenary, then a knight, went on adventures with primarily Trine and Raptor initially. As their friendship and guild rank improved, word of their group spread throughout the country. Syrinq would directly witness the camaderie grow beyond the trio of friends, which was something that warmed their heart.

Curiosity of the world grew, and so Syrinq would crawl out of the shell and break down the wall they'd kept up for years.

The knight met new additions to their squad- Such as Savoi, a mage of nature, a year later after they'd joined- Or Bartholomew, a humorous rogue they'd also form a great bond with. The knight greeted familiar friendly faces at the market, whenever they sold their crafts- Such as Guntram, a knightly acquaintance but friend in the trade. The knight petted plenty of animals, whenever they offered aid at Peyton's rescue. The knight returned a firm nod, when they met once again with their cousin, who'd also left the old behind. The knight beamed brightly whenever they caught up with Lance's woes and weaponry- Even more so when he praised them on coming so far from such beginnings.

Between the cursing of yet another wretched game, they smiled at the idiocy.

Between the giggling of yet another stupendous pun, they laughed without a worry. 

Between the celebrating of yet another triumphant quest, they engulfed their pals in a tight hug.

It was quite a lot, taking in everything that existed- Yet it mattered not, as it was a path taken out of their own volition. A paragon they weren't by any means, alongside a legend they didn't fulfil at all. A life filled with their own ambitions and dreams, was what they wished for. After eons, Syrinq had reached their destination- Everything nice and spice, this truly was one they never wanted to leave behind.

A journey taken by their own freedom.

Upon discovery, it was home.

— END OF DAWN —

---

Home wasn't always necessarily tied to a place, yet it shattered when Syrinq found themself in a spot anew. Shushing Keme and Nestor, their nonsense somehow tied to the conflict Raptor was involved in years ago. Water under the bridge they argued against the two; There were more important matters to attend to than feeling 'betrayed' about supposed 'lies'. The knight wasn't one to give into their temper, not anymore, though the only exceptions were superficial stupidities such as this. Telling them both to shut up, they quieted, until the three of them found familiar faces. It resulted in more than two folks arguing and not seeing eye to eye. Syrinq didn't see the point of it, retreating themself to find their cat. When they were nowhere to be found, as well as other familiar folks, it soon became clear not everyone they knew was here.

Marking the End Of Dawn, Syrinq and their allies had apparently found themselves in a whole new world.

It felt as if they were transported on purpose, which gave the knight an underlying feeling of dread. Syrinq was the first to snap, forcing everyone to put all their crap behind and get the fuck along. There was something more going on- And they had to find out what exactly. A strange world, yet they all had been shoved in a corner.

Aiding Trine, the two set plans for a hopefully temporary base. Utterly awful to get a whole group to listen, though it became easier once tasks were divided and ordered- Even when more familiar and unfamiliar folks showed. Syrinq, a tad mischievous, assigned clashing individuals on a venture together- It felt as stupid as telling fighting kids to go play in the sand for a bit. Though it proved effective, the more it was done. The less petty drama there was, the better. For that reason, they appreciated anyone who merely got up and did their duty, usually lone forces, such as Torvaldus.

Where Syrinq handled the organisation, Trine handled the social structure, which challenged both. The whole ordeal a ton on their plate, Syrinq helped out where possible, outside of feeling like a pissed off tutor. Scouting areas, collecting resources, ensuring others were doing their part- Everyone was engrossed in their own bubbles. Through Syrinq's lack of bullshit tolerance and Trine's increase in confident leadership, they burst it. Mindless mishaps turned into polite chatter into jovial jest- A large group of allies and enemies alike, finally got the fuck along.

Camaderie increasing left and right, Syrinq could relax a teensy, tiny little bit. The knight retreated to have sole peace at times, as it all was overwhelming. A hurricane was coming they felt, one no one could predict properly. Not wanting to disrupt the bonds everyone else was engaging with, Syrinq kept the worries to themself- Rants and curses left in the air, throwing pebbles at a lake. Unfortunately, sole peace wasn't granted all times- The knight would screech in embarrassment whenever accidentally found by the lone force Torvaldus, having the same idea to retreat. Another time, they accidentally hit some worm. Taking care of the helpless critter immediately, this Grubby made everything at least a little less daunting- Despite the fact they missed their cat more so.

The underlying dread was confirmed, the moment greater beings announced the existence of artifacts. For the purpose of becoming some deity's champion, an individual or singular group tasked to find them. Syrinq wanted to get the hell out of this corner- Clinging onto that notion, they added onto the shared effort- Persisting still with former allies turning their backs, the world becoming more dangerous, and everything morphing into the nonsensical once more. 

Through hardships and willpower, the mortals made it through the End Of Dawn, albeit it felt like mere luck to Syrinq. Upon its conclusion, the knight laid on the floor of their workshop, shed in blood, holding tightly onto their cat as they wept tears of relief, listening to Rêve's comforting purrs. At home again, life would slowly return to familiar premises. It was thanks to their and Trine's efforts primarily, that water truly was under the bridge. Everyone, Syrinq not excluded, had changed with the circumstances.

A home became even homelier- A new grub welcomed at base, no one complained about their new pet. A role as the leader's right hand, after finally acknowledging they could pull off prestiguous feats indeed. The close-knitness of the Knight Squad turned into closest, a loyalty undying they all cherished. New allies and friends accompanied, a call for adventures grand. One lone force returned consort, a roll of the eyes followed by forgiveness.

Despite all the adventures they'd been on, the knight was far from done and living the best of their life.

Always looking forward to the next journey, Syrinq felt truly free and right at home.

After all, home is where the heart is, and that happiness was everything.