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 she 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 she sprinted ahead in skill, she lacked behind in the rest. The first friend the little mage made, was her own cousin Keme. Even then, it took her 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 herself were left in the air. Word went she 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 she was 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 she was standing 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 she gained, the more she wondered if it's what she truly wanted. The little mage wondered if this path laid out, was one she truly wanted to walk. The little mage wondered if this image, was one she truly wanted to put up in the house. The little mage wondered if this belief about her, was one she 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 she was anyone at all without her 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 her 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 she gained, the more she felt she was losing it. Snippets and fragments disappeared, a disinterest growing by the second as if a hurricane. Prestige lowering, as if she was sabotaging herself, 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 she was 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 herself. No one else would do it, nor would they hear her whispers in the air, as days in days out, she had no one but her own. Branching out, the little mage looked past the everything, seeking for anything that would speak to her. 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 her own path, for the first time in her 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 she would love the critter without end. Any time she would return, the cat would greet her with a loud meow. Any time she called out for their name, the cat would return it with a loud meow. Any time she shook the tin of kibble, the cat would come sprinting with dozens of loud meows. They 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 her. At first disgust, though followed then with intrigue. A second step followed out of intrigue, it led her 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 her eyes lighting up in wonder, "like a toad's ass."

A chuckle in response, admitting she was 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 her 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, she held a bag of coin in her hands.

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

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

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

"Lancelot, from Fyre's Fuels", the orc replied in return, shaking hands and insisting she 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 she could about his craft, from smelting the small beginnings, to transforming the bendable materials, to honing the final decorative accents. Lancelot taught her how to work tools, weapons and equipment, and Syrinq in turn would add her own flair through hastily drawn blueprints. Leaving limitations behind, she begun to see more to the magic of the world itself.

— GAZE UPON THE PARALLEL —

---

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

Once Syrinq put on the gear she'd pondered about for weeks on end, she felt anew- As if she'd embraced the art and made magic herself, true magic that truly was driven by her own inspirations. Going by an alias, a little mage or a little apprentice she was no more- From then on it was Little Ghost, 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. Her 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 she sought it out, the more skilled she 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 her a sword, which allowed Syrinq to use more than mere incantations and conjurations from the arsenal.

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

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

Returning to her old magely duties became more and more of a passing thought, yet the ghost kept the wisdom to conclude what she'd started. Once it was finally done and over with, the ghost fulfilled her own prophecy. Packing her bags, it finished with a proper goodbye to her cousin Keme and her de facto guardian Lance. Vanishing out of the blue, as if she'd never existed, Syrinq and her 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 she ever have more ambitious ideas to empty tabletops for.

From then on, Little Ghost lived up to her 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 her cat following right after. Seeing more of the region and the world, always in wonder of how much she'd missed out on. Never staying in one place too long, almost no one heard of her except the ones she'd aided- No one quite knew the mercenary truly, as she never would share of her past. To her, at least, it never existed, as she'd already burned down bridges to reach this far ahead.

As if the Little Ghost was hearsay, a tale, a story- Yet it mattered not, as it was by her own volition.

Experiencing life as she willed it from her own, was a journey of freedom she intended to stay on forever.

— A HOUSE OR A HOME —

---

The mercenary, then going by her true alias since a few years, had always operated on her own. On the rare occasion, she'd teamed up with others, albeit never long enough to stick around. Perhaps it was a remnant of her 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. Her natural instincts set in, to immediately turn heel and leave, though she 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 of them notice the mercenary.

"Can't you see we're busy here?" she was greeted with.

"Isn't it better to argue outside?" she 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 she took a leap of faith, she offered her 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 she 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 her 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 her smithy in the unused workshop of their base, Syrinq would quickly feel at home, her 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 her heart.

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

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

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

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

Between the celebrating of yet another triumphant quest, she engulfed her 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 her own volition. A paragon she wasn't by any means, alongside a legend she didn't fulfil at all. A life filled with her own ambitions and dreams, was what she wished for. After eons, Syrinq had reached her destination- Everything nice and spice, this truly was one she never wanted to leave behind.

A journey taken by her 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 herself 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 she 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 her 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 herself to find her 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 her 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 out 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, she 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 her plate, Syrinq would help 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 she felt, one no one could predict properly. Not wanting to disrupt the bonds everyone else was engaging with, Syrinq kept the worries to herself- 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, she accidentally hit some worm. Taking care of the helpless critter immediately, this Grubby made everything at least a little less daunting- Despite the fact she missed her 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, she 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 her workshop, shed in blood, holding tightly onto her cat as she wept tears of relief, listening to Rêve's comforting purrs. At home again, life would slowly return to familiar premises. It was thanks to her 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 her new pet. A role as the leader's right hand, after finally acknowledging she 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 she'd been on, the knight was far from done and living the best of her 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.