Intermission: Childhood's End
In the early morning hours the wind howled down from the mountains, washing over the lone figure who stood vigil there.
Lucas had been prepared to sacrifice anything to achieve his goal. He had never thought to ask whether he was ready to kill for it.
In the ancient tales, knights often fought and slew their enemies. Generals, monsters, followers of evil gods... They were brought to ruin in battles for the ages. Their ends were poetic. They spoke wisdom with their final breaths, or confessed their sins and were redeemed.
He had only been confused.
The man had been a predator. A bandit. He wanted to kill a boy for his food, or coin, or maybe just for sport.
But he still breathed and bled.
It lingered with him. It would continue to linger. The pride he'd felt in the moment, as he felt the adrenaline rush of victory, brought with it the burden of knowing that his hand had dealt the telling blow.
It was his life or yours.
If only he could believe that. Perhaps, had he been stronger, he could have made the man submit. Defeated him and brought him to the Fireblooded for punishment for his crimes. Redeemed him, maybe. He was forced to do what he did only by his weakness.
As the young man looked back at the camp he spotted something he'd missed, glinting in the snow.
The spear!
The thought made him wonder. He rushed towards it, scooping away slushy snow and ice until he finally uncovered the weapon. It was intact, somehow. In the sunlight he could see that its make was peculiar, certainly not any old weapon. It was not strongly enchanted, but he was certain an artificer had made this. That it fell into the hands of the bandit might have been chance, or theft. For non-Magi such a weapon had little benefit. Yet there it was.
He lifted it up. Its weight felt good in his hands.
The balance of a spear reminded him of the shepherd's crooks and shillelaghs of his village. He'd trained some with a quarterstaff before. But this was just different enough that he knew he'd need help learning, if he took it with him.
He looked back at the cairn.
It was his by right. He'd won it in the battle. But it had more meaning than that. This weapon had torn at his own flesh. The scar wrought across his side would always remain. In its lifetime this weapon had surely been used for evil. Now, perhaps, it could be used for good. To protect innocents instead of hounding them.
And to help him remember...
That in the end, every choice has a consequence.