Sweat runs down my hands. I've been here before. I repeat the process every night that I can't sleep, every time I force myself to do so in order to not return to the world of nightmares. Intensifying my body to bear the weight of sleep was the strategy that gave me the dark circles under my eyes. Covering my face has given me some marks. Suppressing the urge to sleep is the one that allows me to be so alert to escape at midnight.

  The feeling never changes. At six, I realized it when I wanted to steal a candy from a street vendor. At nine, when I wanted to kill a cat that wouldn't stop meowing near my house. I concluded that it's the feeling of being handed over to evil, just as I feel every time I use Chaos.

  I walk towards the fence that guards the outskirts of the barrier. The patrol goes around in circles at night, doubling up because of the increase in casualties. When I notice their metallic footsteps, I lower myself into the shade of the tree next to me and observe my surroundings. I wait until the patrol has passed and count down the time until the next one appears.

  Not only had the soldiers been redoubled, but also the thorns that cover the fence—four meters high, three meters thick—prevented a small and very close jump. Behind her, one of the village's four ten-meter towers casts its shadow over the ground and shelters a soldier in chain mail at its top.

  Right.

  Magic originates through mana—the engine of authority to change the world—and is sustained on the basis of the pillars that make up what can be changed. Specifically, it is divided between what it is—with the manipulation of pre-existing nature and that which is conjured through the transmutation of its own mana —, how it is—through the intensification of innate properties—; and how it is perceived to be, through the manipulation of the perception of others with illusion.

  I make the hand signals and repeat the incantations in a whisper, then intensify speed and move like a figure through the shadows. I conserve my mana for when I get close to the patrol, and when I notice the group of guards moving, my speed explodes.

  One minute.

  I concentrate the air into a sphere over my hand, building up its pressure as I run and feel the breeze wrap around me like increasingly dense ribbons.

  I explode the air against the ground all at once, being thrown into the sky a meter above the thorn fence—I could’ve sworn one of them was going to tear my clothes off. As I fall, I push the air in the opposite direction to slow my fall against the concrete of the tower. There, I manipulate the shadows and am swallowed up by them.

  Just then, the watchman looks at the place where the sound of the wind hit his ears, but finds nothing. Without the mana detection alert, he returns to his normal position.

  The quality of a mage is given by power and technique. Whether the tower finds me while I'm hiding my mana depends on whether its control is precise enough to pierce the chasm of power between us.

  It isn't. Despite the seal delaying my emission, nothing ever is. The abundant power allows me to stay hidden in the shadows with ease, so I move carefully along the edge of the tower until I'm towards the barrier. I face the watchman at the top, then I channel.

  If using magic is the same as exercising a spiritual muscle, five minutes is my approximate time limit before it became sore. The greater the power, the more the time I have decreases. Everything after five becomes a struggle to keep it from rupturing and the worst happening.

  Affinities play an important role in this exhaustion, with each person being worse or better at something different. Shadow and fire are my least unstable elements, and almost everything else is too risky to even be useful. Fortunately, refracting light—a bad element for me—isn't the only way to become invisible.

  “Illusion.” I chant.

  Hypnotizing the guard, I hide my presence and invest against the barrier while pushing myself with the wind. In a few seconds, I pierce the energy dome that separates us from the forest and feel the spiritual weight of fighting against the tower's detection disappear from my shoulders.

  Over time, I slow down my run and let the wind flow normally so that it doesn't risk overloading me. When I stop the spell, I feel the tiredness of the run along with a drop of sweat on the side of my face. I inhale and exhale slowly to regain my strength and walk through the dark forest along the path that was already standard for me.

  A half-second smile breaks out. Fire and shadow are my best and most stable elements, but I'm starting to get decent at wind. Not that I'm a master of either, but for my age -- compared to the others in my class—I'm advanced. If it weren't for this curse that falls upon me—

  The smile fades into a frown. I continue walking through the dense emerald-colored forest, the ill-adaptation to the light almost making my eyes hurt. Their sturdy canopies block out the silver illumination of the moonlight. This scenery—the pieces fall into place before my eyes and, as usual, I feel a sense of déjà vu.

  “You took your time, huh?”

  I stop.

  The tale has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the violation.

  “Good?” Elron says and waves to me, leaning against a tree.

  “What? How do you—”

  “You're lying to a liar. If not me, no one knows of a shortcut in this village,” he says. “Even one out of it.”

  I raise an eyebrow. “And why didn't you ever tell me?”

  “Perhaps I didn't want you to know.”

  “Would you prefer me being caught by a guard and locked up?”

  “I'd prefer that you didn't try to be eaten by a monster.”

  “Ah, yes. The monsters. If I was drunk and half-dead, maybe they'd be dangerous to me.”

  Elron frown. “I should let you go just for that. Get over yourself.”

  “Learn to take a joke, dumbass.”

  Elron smiles pretentiously. “Wow. You managed to tell a joke without standing there staring at my face like a weirdo this time. Since when did you learn to use irony?”

  “I'm leaving you behind, simple as.”

  “… I'll take care of your pride later. Now… You're going to the lake, aren't you?”

  I breathe in and nod.

  Elron squeezed his eyes shut. “Yes, of course you are. Whatever. Let's go.”

  “What?”

  “The amount of monsters increased. You can't stay unprotected in the woods. I'll go with you today. The test will be tomorrow anyway, one day won't kill us.”

  “You don't have to. You shouldn't.”

  “I'm not exactly excited, Sieg. Don't change my mind. Let's go. The faster you open the Gate, the faster we'll get back.”

  I drag my eyes around the woods and the soldiers. After a few seconds of thinking, I shrug. “Let's go.”

  I start walking. I feel the strength returning behind the exhaustion and increase my speed. It's not long before I'm running along the dirt track. I'm careful not to trip over stones or hit a tree or branch, but knowing the path with the back of my hand, the danger is nil.

  I could feel the lake more than a hundred meters away, coming closer together with the anxiety that ran through my chest to meet her again.

  Elron stops the race. “It would be better if I stay. Do what you need to, but don't waste our time.”

  I nod. I start running again and soon reach the first fruits of the clearing. The fireflies have stopped avoiding me, and the blue has turned the night black. I pull a few vines out of the way and, as always, I'm amazed by the beauty of Fairy Lady Lake.

  The waterfall flows in a circle with a perfect perimeter, and the milk-colored light of the moon reflects on its crystalline blue. A few meters of thick, low grass are adorned by large, three to four meter old stones. The wet smell of the forest complemented the cold wind, and the hooting of the owls made up for the silence.

  The natural clearing seemed to be a perfect painting to attract visitors, but it is now forgotten in the depths of time. In the torn-up history books, the commentaries and the legends told around the village, the lake is mystical. Its mysterious properties were the subject of fear and wonder during the formation of this civilization, even though they don't even know about it today.

  The stones tell their story in cave markings embedded in the gray, colored by the noble blue that adorns them, but despite trying so hard to decipher them, I never succeeded. Written in ancient language and intricate runes—probably what gives the place its power—they pulsate with the same yellow-green as the fireflies in the air. They all seem to point, however, to the main attraction.

  In the center of the lake, the statue of the Fairy Lady stands on the stone platform in the middle of the water, simple and cracked.

  “Good night, Lady.” I say as I walk through the grass. Colorful flowers adorn the green ground with red and yellow, immune to my corruption.

  I break the branch of a tree and begin to draw through the soil of the grass, taking care not to disturb its shape. By morning, it would be as regenerated as ever.

  “I'm sorry it took so long today. They've doubled their defense of the barriers. Don't worry, I can make it back.”

  Having finished the circle, I approach the edge of the lake. There, I bend down to see my hideous face reflected in the water.

  “I always thought you didn't like my presence. You're the only one who doesn't seem to mind, but you do it because you do it with everyone. It’s not like you have a choice.” I say, then dip my fingers in the water. “I'm sorry for tormenting you like this. It will soon be over. Tomorrow will be the final test. If I fail, they'll increase my seal, and I don't know if I can stay stable for long after that.”

  “I can't stay long today either, as my friend is waiting for me and I don't want him to be eaten by a bear.”

  Comfortable. Yes, that's the word I would use to describe the clearing. My safe haven that uses its art to recycle what little sanity I have left, reflected in my dreams as an immutable principle of purity.

  Memories come in waves. The first time I was here, I hesitated at the thought of corrupting the Lake. I well remember the relief I felt when I realized that it resisted not only the influence of Chaos, but also of time.

  Never altered, never deformed, his connection with the Fairy World makes him almost a miracle.

  “I don't think you've ever heard me chatter so much. I have good reasons. Maybe this is the last time we'll see each other. That's good news for you, but-”

  I stand up and crack my back, then stretch out my legs and inhale. Here, in this inviolable barrier that I have found against the will of the cosmos itself, I link my hands and feel the air flow around me. I feel the fire coursing through my veins, the itch behind my brain that pierces until it meets the crimson storm.

  “I'll miss you.”

  This silence, preparedness, and comfort that surrounds me, contrary to what I want to believe, bothers me. It makes me tremble with anger, even if I don't notice it. The emptiness of non-agitation and the stillness of a simple life causes a burning disgust in my heart, which repeats itself every time I wake up in the morning. Even though I hate not only the truth, but also the admission of this fragment of it, reality still overrides my will: I hate.

  My throat is dry. Open the gates. A standard procedure that I must do. That I must face. Even if my hands are shaking. Even if-

  I frown.

  Even if…

  No. There's more. That's not the fear I felt in the test. I- Something is-

  “SIEGHART!” Elron's voice echoes through the Aldwyn forest.

  Something is wrong.

  I turn around, my eyes wide at the presence of the creature watching me from behind the trees. Presence becomes matter, and between the worlds of the possible and the impossible, a creature sneaks out of the woods.

  Its legs rise to the size of my body and support the three meters of the slender, ragged form of what once looked like a man. Disheveled black hair trails down to the floor and contrasts with the skinless freak's flesh-red face. Long, skinny arms and thin claws simulate proportion, contrasting this time with the belly

  That mana—No. This isn't magic.

  This presence—

  “You…?”

  The creature stares at me. It opens its mouth and curses the world with its voice, the shrill, low sound similar to a man's last breath. Then, a wail that drives the animals away echoes louder through the trees of the forest, until it explodes into a deafening scream of scandal and madness.

  Run, child. A sweet voice echoes through the wind.

  The abomination charges.