By the use of magic, the boundaries of the imaginary and the real are easily trespassed. With power, humans were able to create cities and shape the world to defend themselves from savage and supernatural horrors. However, without the divine authority granted to them to change the world, they return to the tyranny of reality and the carnal weakness of mortality.

  Without magic, I cannot make the sweet imagination of being full a reality. I would no longer glue my muscles in place and prevent my body from collapsing. I would not move the earth to protect myself from a bomb. I would starve, bleed to death or burst.

  The light returns to my eyes and brings with it the same weight of reality that has taken the limp lives of so many others.

  I failed.

  A sickening ringing goes through my ears. My blurred vision slowly recovers. My hands are tied behind my body to one of the arena's columns, so tightly that they almost bleed. The floor is cold, my body is hot. Something feels wrong. It's me.

  I inhale and wander my eyes. Broken concrete beneath my feet, still shaking as it tries to patch itself up more than it can. Meters below where the test began, a crater surrounds me, its irregular patterns creating strange, misshapen symbols. Paints, candles, and utensils scattered in a magic circle surround me and complement the restraining power of the destroyed arena to counterattac.

  The dim light makes the shadow of the instructors loom over me. Glances weigh on my shoulders. Wide-eyed looks. Eyes of fear.

  Zherdos, especially…

  “Sieghart…” The instructor approaches. “Can you hear me? Is that you in there?”

  Eyes of pity.

  I frown. “Who else would it be?”

  “…”

  “Have you seen him?”

  “… What are you talking about?”

  I nod to myself, then face the instructors. Men of respect, honor, and conduct. Dedicated to the study of magic, trapped in the poverty of a village in the middle of nowhere that only remained standing because the heavens blessed them with a few people who were better than completely mediocre at magic. Apart from Zherdos, I never recorded their names or faces. I barely bothered to do that with him.

  I spit out a laugh. Look at the way they stare at me. I can almost hear their thoughts. “How arrogant for someone who failed!”, or “Why on earth did the Trine Flame bless someone like him so much?!”. They wouldn't understand, even if I explained it to them ten times over.

  “… I failed to hold back the sun. In drying the ocean. To change the white of the clouds into smoke. If I asked you to do that, you'd fail too.”

  “What?”

  I intensify my strength and maximize the output. I clench my teeth and push against the enchanted ropes until they explode. The ground shakes. My wrists bleed with the effort, almost in living flesh. The soldiers get ready, moving into position and handling their weapons. As they approach, all the instructors move away.

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  All but one.

  “Stop moving! You're still weak.”

  I stumble over to Zherdos. “I-” I cough between words. “I did what none of you would try to do. Don't you dare look at me like that. I don't need your pity.”

  The instructor keeps a stoic face. He wanders his eyes around the room as if fitting together a jigsaw puzzle, then inhales.

  “I'm sorry.”

  “…!”

  I clench my fists until they turn white from the effort. My legs shake before I can do anything. No, that's just another excuse.

  I collapse before I can think of doing anything else. My vision blurs again, the ringing resumes, deafening.

  I'm tired. I'm tired of nightmares. Tired of training. Tired of failure. Tired of fighting. Tired of the inevitable existence that will wake me up when I open my eyes, and so tired that I couldn't care less.

  I'm blinded, and even as I struggle against the pressure that pushes me down, the inevitability of reality proves uniquely comforting the moment I hit the ground.

  So, so tired.

  ***

  The sun is setting over the horizon. The same mild heat returns for another late afternoon, the same cold winds blow and herald the night once again. When it came, another nightmare would try to tear my face off. When I woke up, another futile attempt to control the uncontrollable. I wasn't even sure of that.

  Step by step, I returned to the house far from the village. I was allowed to walk back or leave whenever I wanted, as long as I had legal authorization to enter official buildings or was taken by one of their agents. All actions require observation, but the soldiers don't like the idea of being in proximity.

  The party continues in the streets. The night is illuminated by the stars and the bars, with the fragrance of flowers and the odor of beer. Some windows close as I walk past, and the cats that use treats to survive hide. The freedom allowed to me by law is taken away by people. As usual, I don't blame them. As usual, I can't.

  I can, however, remember. I make a point of doing so — of not forgetting any face, any word, any look or any stone in my path. I stop walking and squeeze my eyes shut to avoid the thought. I focus on the path and, although I want to take refuge in my imagination, I don't allow myself to become immersed.

  At the end of my vision, ahead, a small orange wooden cabin stretches out in front of a dark green garden. A nostalgic discomfort seizes my chest as, step by step, the three-headed lion faces me in front of the structure.

  I go into the house and shower. I fix my hair, throw my dirty clothes in the middle of the room and get dressed. I look for something to eat, forgetting that there was nothing and that I should go hunting. Failing that, I grab a book and distract myself from the rest of the day with it.

  I'd stay hungry on the whim of laziness. It's not as if it matters—I'll do the hunting and resource gathering tomorrow. For today, however, I delve into the words until night comes. As soon as it does, I leave the book on the table and sit down on the bed.

  “…”

  I've never got used to this time of day. Thoughts are worse at night. According to them, this is the end. Tomorrow will be the ultimate test to control the Unknown—and it's impossible to appeal to them to change the limitation change. They know I'll fail. That's what they expect. Somehow, that infuriates me.

  Going to the Unknown is fortunately not such a common occurrence. Sometimes I'm taken by surprise. Today, I know I'll dream of destruction and death when I go to bed. I know I'll be pulled back into the world of nightmares to be beheaded and hunted. But what would I do? What could I do? What am I doing?

  What is the point?

  I would die again, only to get up in the morning worse than I got up today. I'd be taken as I have been dozens of times, and I'd fail as I have dozens of times. What's missing? Why?

  I squeeze my mattress.

  Looks of fear. Looks of pity. Lions and dragons on the edge of my vision. I need to do something. Something. Anything.

  Whether it's a blessing or a curse, a memory comes to me. The memories are as clear as day. Turning on its axis, behind me, the forest looms over the land. Beyond it, there is the village barrier. Beyond the barrier, there is the lake.

  Beyond the lake, there is a creature — a creature that is capable of invading the Unknown.

  A creature that seeks me. Even so, if it had just one hundredth of a chance of working out -

  I get up. I pick up my uniform and change in the bathroom. In it, I stare at my cadaverous face and inhale before myself.

  There is one way. Only one way.

  One more time.

  One last time.