Ch4: Magic

Two months had passed since Archeas had stolen the old man's bag, and in that time, he had found no answers about the peculiar items it contained. The parchment's cryptic symbols remained a mystery, the ornate key revealed no secrets, and the stone's strange, shimmering light was the only thing he had found a practical use for.

Archeas sat in his usual alley one evening, the stone glowing softly beside him, providing a gentle light as he counted his latest haul of brass coins. The city of Crolas was quiet at this hour, and he enjoyed the rare peace.

"Still no closer to figuring out what these things are," he muttered, turning the parchment over in his hands. "Maybe they're just worthless after all."

He sighed, setting the parchment aside and picking up the key. Its intricate design fascinated him, but no lock he had tried so far seemed to fit it.

"What could you possibly open?" Archeas wondered aloud, holding the key up to the light. "And why would someone carry around such a strange collection of items?"

Despite his frustrations, the stone had proved useful. Its steady glow made the nights less daunting, and he often found himself grateful for its presence.

"At least you make things a bit easier," he said, addressing the stone as if it could hear him. "But there has to be more to all of this. There has to be."

As he lay back, staring up at the sliver of sky visible above the alley, Archeas couldn't help but feel a pang of disappointment.

Archeas thought while closing his eyes, "Maybe I'm just not meant to understand."

Yet, deep down, a spark of determination remained. Archeas wasn't ready to give up entirely. The ring in his pocket, the stone's light, and the mysterious items all hinted at something greater—a puzzle he was determined to solve.

"Tomorrow," he resolved, "I'll try again. There's got to be someone in this city who knows what these things are."

With that thought, Archeas drifted off to sleep, the soft glow of the stone casting a warm light over him.

Archeas stumbled back into his familiar alley, nursing fresh bruises from another failed attempt at pickpocketing. His ribs ached, and his face throbbed where the vendor had landed a particularly hard punch. He collapsed against the wall, cursing under his breath.

"Another day, another beating," he muttered, spitting blood onto the cobblestones. "Can't catch a break in this damned city."

As he sat down, a glass bottle shattered near his feet, spraying shards everywhere. Startled, Archeas looked up to see a drunken hooligan staggering toward him, a malicious grin on his face.

"Get out of here, street rat!" the man slurred, waving another bottle threateningly. "This is my spot now."

Archeas stood up slowly, hands raised in a placating gesture. "Alright, alright, I'm going," he said, taking a step back. But before he could move further, the man swung the bottle, catching him on the side of the head.

Pain exploded through Archeas's skull, and he fell to his knees, dazed. The drunk man laughed cruelly and reached down, grabbing the glowing stone from Archeas's belongings.

"What's this? A pretty gem?" the hooligan mocked, holding the stone up to the light. "Bet I can get a good price for this."

"Give it back!" Archeas shouted, lunging at the man with his bag. They grappled, the contents of the bag spilling onto the ground. Archeas fought desperately, landing a few solid blows, but the drunkard's brute strength was overwhelming.

"Take this, you little thief!" the man yelled, throwing the stone with all his might. It hit the wall and shattered, releasing a burst of energy that filled the alley with a blinding light. The force of the explosion knocked Archeas off his feet, and he blacked out.

When Archeas came to, the alley was eerily silent. He groaned, pushing himself up on shaky arms. The first thing he saw was the shattered remnants of the stone, now dull and lifeless. His bag and other items lay scattered around him, untouched.

But then his eyes fell on the body. The drunken hooligan lay crumpled on the ground, blood pooling around him from a gaping wound in his chest. Archeas's breath caught in his throat, and he scrambled back, horrified.

"What happened?" he whispered, his voice trembling. "Did... did the stone do this?"

He checked himself quickly, finding no serious injuries aside from the throbbing pain in his head. The bag's contents—parchment, key, and ring—were all accounted for, but the stone was gone, its energy spent.

"Did I... kill him?" Archeas wondered, looking at the corpse. "No, it was the stone. But what kind of power did it have?"

Fear and confusion swirled in his mind as he gathered his things, his hands shaking. He needed to get out of there before anyone discovered the body and blamed him for the man's death.

"Got to move," he muttered, stumbling to his feet. "Can't stay here."

With one last look at the scene, Archeas fled the alley, his heart pounding. The mysteries of the old man's bag had just become far more dangerous, and he knew he had to uncover their secrets before they led to more death.

"Whatever this is," he thought, clutching the ring tightly, "I've got to find out. Before it's too late."

Two weeks had passed since the night of the explosion in the alley. Archeas had managed to avoid any suspicion regarding the dead hooligan. Living on the streets of Crolas had exposed him to death before, but the feeling of unease from that night lingered. It wasn't just the memory of the corpse—it was something deeper, something he couldn't quite place.

As he wandered through the city, he felt a strange sensation within him, a pulsing energy that seemed both familiar and alien. It gnawed at him, refusing to be ignored. Finally, he decided to find a quiet spot to sit and focus on this peculiar feeling.

He slipped into an abandoned building near the edge of the marketplace, a place he knew would be empty at this hour. Dust motes danced in the beams of light that filtered through broken windows. Archeas settled down in a corner, taking a deep breath to steady his racing heart.

"Alright, focus," he told himself, closing his eyes. "What is this feeling?"

He sat still, allowing his mind to drift inward. At first, there was nothing but the usual background noise of his thoughts—the worries about food, safety, and survival. But as he pushed those aside, he began to sense the faint pulsing again, like a heartbeat not his own.

"What are you?" Archeas murmured, trying to home in on the sensation. "Why do you feel so familiar?"

The pulsing grew stronger as he concentrated, spreading warmth through his body. It felt like a current of energy, flowing from somewhere deep inside him. Images flashed through his mind: the shattered stone, the burst of light, the symbols on the parchment.

"Could it be... magic?" he wondered, barely daring to believe it. "Is that what the old man's bag was hiding?"

His thoughts raced. He had heard stories of magic, of course—tales told by older street kids, rumors of powerful artifacts and ancient spells. But he had never believed they were real, just fanciful stories to pass the time.

"Could I really have magic inside me?" he whispered, opening his eyes. The pulsing sensation didn't fade. If anything, it seemed to grow stronger the more he acknowledged it.

Archeas pulled the parchment from his bag, staring at the unfamiliar symbols. "Maybe these aren't just random markings," he thought. "Maybe they're instructions, or a map."

He traced the lines with his finger, feeling a strange resonance between the symbols and the pulsing within him. "If this is magic, I need to learn how to control it," he realized. "It's dangerous to have power like this without understanding it."

The sun was setting, casting long shadows through the broken windows. Archeas stood, a new determination filling him.

With the bag slung over his shoulder and the ring safely in his pocket, Archeas stepped out of the abandoned building.