The screeching sound of metal grinding against uneven stone shocked Rane awake. Despite sleeping naked on the cold, stone floor, he was drenched in his own sweat and tears. Light invaded the cell and Rane squinted, trying to make out the figure standing by the door.

Each morning he was filled with longing. Hope that he’d be found, that someone would come to free him from his suffering. The man who walked inside dashed that hope like always. A long and thin cut ran across his face and vanished behind his scarlet hair. A scar Rane had caused, back when the will to resist hadn’t faded.

“Get up,” Sydell barked. “We have a lot to cover today.”

Rane grunted as he stood, barely supported by his skeletal, bruise-covered legs. He glanced down at his trembling knees, then back at his captor in jealousy. Sydell was tall, with lean muscles and broad shoulders. Rane used to be like that once, before he became a slave. Now he could barely stay standing. Years of nothing but dry bread and stale water would do that to a man. They did share one thing. Rane sported a scar on his forehead too, yet it wasn’t a simple cut. It was different, bizarre, like an eye carved onto his forehead. An Oathbrand.

Sydell leaned against a wall. “Start casting. Don’t try anything funny.”

Rane followed the command without much thought. Disobedience, he had learned, was not a wise approach. His gray eyes glinted as he focused. With a snap of his fingers, a small spark appeared over his palm. A faint, grey fog seeped out of Rane’s body and fed the flame, which greedily sucked the nora until it was the size of his fist. It persisted for a few moments until he let it dissipate.

Another click of his fingers produced a new flame. Magic had become second nature to him, as effortless as breathing. This was the only life he knew. Each day he'd wake up, cast spells, and be treated worse than livestock. He didn’t know why he was forced to do this and every attempt to remember had proved futile. At some point, he simply stopped trying. Memories of his childhood would surface at times, hazy recollections of his mother and father, siblings and friends. No matter how faint and distant they felt, they proved that he once was a person, and not a thing.

That thought stopped him from giving up entirely. He had tried to escape countless times, but he couldn’t get past the guards outside his cell. To his surprise, he wasn’t punished for his escape attempts, only confined again. It was like a game meant to mock him. To make him feel insignificant.

I just have to endure until I get another chance, he thought. Yet his hands trembled rebelliously and the flame flickered. Rane’s complexion grew ashen and the nora oozing out of his body slowly vanished. The flame went out with it.

“What a shame,” Syddel said, smiling. “It seems this is your limit for now.”

Rane dropped to his knees and braced himself for what he knew would follow.

It was time to learn.

Sydell removed his glove and pointed at him with a red, withered finger. Then, the pain enveloped him. Scorching heat crawled inside him from every direction and lit every nerve with pain. Rane screamed and spasmed, the agony consuming every other thought before it had time to form. His blood boiled underneath his skin and he tried to latch onto the cold floor to relieve the sensation.

“Pitiful.” Sydell twisted his hand and the pain intensified.

Rane bit down on his arm and his body contorted in agony.

“Remember.” Sydell walked closer, every motion of his fingers ravaging Rane’s insides. “Emotions are the source of a caster’s power. If an experience is intense enough…” He put his glove back on and Rane finally stopped writhing. “It can form nora in your soul. Simple, isn’t it?”

Rane could barely hear anything during his torture. He simply lay on the floor, gasping for air.

Sydell planted a boot on his back and pushed him down, denying him even that. “Your soul is brimming with it, so why? You should be able to progress further and spark.”

Rane coughed and tried to push himself up. “And be like you?”

“You’ll never be like me.” Sydell slammed him back down onto the ground. “I have no idea what master Leylin sees in you. Four years and you still haven’t sparked to become a proper mage.” Sydell retreated and Rane was allowed to draw breath again. “That’s enough rest. Let’s keep going.”

The pain still hadn’t subsided, but Rane managed to stand. He wobbled in place, but he managed it. A small, fickle flame appeared on his hand. The torture would begin anew if it went out, so he struggled to keep it burning. He pushed and pulled at every ounce of nora left in his body. For a few moments, all other thoughts faded away and his eyes glazed over the magic in his palm. The only thing that existed within his mind was that tiny wisp of flame, frantically fighting off its inevitable demise. Just like him. He thought back to the fragments of memories that held meaning still, drew all he could from them. Simple thoughts like playing hide and seek with his siblings or watching the sun set atop the city’s tallest tower. They were random and mundane, but to Rane, they were everything he had.

“It went out.” Sydell dragged him back to reality.

Rane looked down at his empty palm and then at his captor with pleading eyes, but he already knew that there would be no mercy. Only the finger. Only torture. Rane’s pain began anew, until his throat was too hurt to scream. He caught glimpses of Sydell’s twisted smile whenever he looked up. Several hours went by until the man decided to stop, after making sure Rane was completely drained.

“You did well today. Maybe you’ll break through the barrier within the month. Isn’t that great?” Sydell delivered a kick to his side. “I’ll be back tomorrow morning, love.”

The metal door ground to a close again. Rane was plunged back into darkness, too exhausted to move or even weep. His tiredness demanded sleep, yet the lingering pain denied it. He simply laid there, looking up at the dark stone, until the voice that haunted him returned.

The stone by the door is sharp, it said. You could use it.

Whenever he was broken and afraid, the voice would return, a grim reminder of his future. Rane didn’t think himself insane. At least not insane enough to imagine voices in his head. Then again, what crazy person ever did?

“Shut up,” he mumbled.

Worthless. Why live like this?

“What else can I do? I can’t escape.”

You really are pitiful. Do as I say and you can be free.

Rane clenched his fists. What more did the voice want from him? Couldn’t he at least suffer in silence? He had spent many nights on that stone floor, his only company being the incessant echoes of that voice. It whispered twisted words of vengeance and death. It demanded action.

Kill them all. Why can’t you do it?

He did his best to ignore the ravings, to not surrender to the madness. No matter what the voice promised, Rane knew that if he lost himself only more pain would follow. Darkness crept on the edges of his vision and he closed his eyes. He couldn’t stay awake any longer. He let himself drift off, praying his dream would be peaceful, not swarmed by phantoms of the day before.

A gentle haze settled over his mind. Rather than the torture and the pain, it was the distant past that haunted him tonight. The single memory that hadn’t been wiped away, relived again and again in this dream. The buildings around him burned, but he was so cold.

“Mommy has to leave now, ok? Stay here.” Her arms wrapped around him and white light surfaced from her hand, freezing his body in place. “Don’t cry! I’ll be back before you know it.” Lies. He knew she was lying. There was a strange sadness in her voice. She didn’t want to go.

“Promise me.” Her hands wiped the tears from his cheek. “Promise you’ll be different from everyone else, Rane. You have to carve your own path. Please...” She choked down the last tinge of doubt in her eyes and turned around without another word. Silver hair fluttered on her back, shining under the moontouched mist. The dream was a curse. He couldn’t change the outcome, no matter what he tried. Unable to move or speak, all he could do was stand there and watch her leave.

Over and over again.

The door being forced open cut the dream short and shocked him awake. Rane pushed to his feet quickly, nearly losing balance. He had come to learn that tardiness meant pain, and Sydell was always eager to deliver it.

“You’re already up.” Sydell said with disgust written all over his face.

The man took off his glove and Rane reflexively backed away. What was he being punished for now? Was it because he couldn’t progress enough? His back found the wall of the cell. “I’m sorry,” he pleaded with a hoarse voice. This was his only chance to speak, before the pain came and robbed him of anything but screams. “I will create more nora, I promise. Just don’t burn me any more.”

“You get to rest today, maggot. The lesson will be different this time.” Sydell cast him a gaze full of hatred. “Orders from master Leylin.”

Rane heaved a deep sigh of relief. His unseen tormentor, the one who pulled the strings, had ordered for something different today. Whatever it was, it made Sydell unhappy. And that could only be good. “What do I have to do?”

“Sit down,” Sydell said, shoving him down to the ground instead of waiting for an answer. “Observe your betters, and maybe you’ll learn something.” Red mist sprung from Sydell’s palm, twirling in the air from the twists of his withered finger. “Some things, even an animal like you understands intuitively. Nora is a person’s innate energy. It fuels different kinds of magic, like energy being shaped to take on different forms.” A flame sprung from his hand, then was extinguished by the water formed right after. “The nora you use is yours, and yours alone. Only you can exercise control over it.” He kicked Rane’s leg lightly. “You do it. Change the shape.”

Rane called his nora forward, a pale and thin gray sphere, barely visible compared to Sydell’s vibrant crimson. With a twist of his hand and a bit of focus, he managed to form some ripples on its surface. It truly felt intuitive, although he couldn’t alter the shape that much.

“After being used to manifest a spell or magical effect, nora doesn’t disappear. It simply takes time for it to return from the environment to its owner.” Sydell went down on one knee, touching his palm against the cracks in the stone. Small wisps of red travelled up his hand and vanished into his skin once more. “For some mages, reclaiming can take hours, while for the gifted and talented ones, mere seconds.” Sydell sneered, then stood back up. “You and I are painfully average, it would seem, so it takes close to a minute.”

Rane looked down at his hands. Today was different. He’d spent months being tortured, day after day. His body almost lingered by the pain’s absence. “Why are you telling me this?”

Sydell crinkled his nose. “I’m doing my best to train you for what is to come. Time is running short, after all. Soon, you will need to serve master Leylin yourself.”

Rane looked down at the cracked stone between his legs. So that’s what they were torturing him for. He was simply a pawn in someone else’s game. An underling that would fight and lay down its life. For some reason that angered him, more than the torture, the insults and the pain. “What makes you think I’ll serve him?” Rane raised his head in rebellion. “I’d rather die.”

“Oh, you’ll wish for death,” Sydell chuckled with raised eyebrows. “Not that you can choose. You’re a naked boy, in a cell.” He poked Rane’s Oathbrand with a finger. “And you have this. Do you know what it means? That you’re just a pawn. That’s all you will ever be.”

Rane was left staring at the man’s smiling form, the rage in him swelling. He’d always been underestimated. His resolve was real, he knew it deep in his heart, and Sydell was making fun of it. Still, he clenched his fists and stayed silent.

“Okay, okay.” Sydell calmed himself. “Let’s continue today’s lesson.” He whistled, calling the two guards inside.

At some point Rane had noticed that the men worked in shifts. These two were the morning pair. He had tried to strike up conversation with the younger of the two, but the older, bearded man intervened to scold his colleague. Ever since then, none of them spoke to him. They only dropped him some food and fiddled with the door.

Sydell crossed his arms over his chest and sized them up. “Which one do you like more?” he asked without turning.

Rane and the guards exchanged awkward stares. They were part of the reason he couldn’t be free. What was there to like? Still, he pointed to the young one.

“Leave,” Sydell snarled at the older guard as he rounded the man Rane had selected. “Now, you know a lot about nora, but you’re unaware of one crucial detail.” Sydell put his hands under the man’s arms and pushed them up. The guard didn’t resist, the confusion in his face only growing. “Nora’s primary use is not spellcasting.” Sydell’s right hand rubbed over the guard’s chest softly, as if feeling it up. “Everyone has some nora inside their soul after all. Spellcasters much more than others, which is what allows them to cast spells and call forth a manifestation of its essence. In either case, nora is what keeps mind, body and soul united and in balance. Without it...” Sydell grimaced, and the young guard tensed up.

Rane jerked away from the sickening crunch and the spray of blood that came bursting out of the man’s chest. A cold shiver embraced him as the body flopped to the ground. There was no scream or resistance. Only stillness, and a smoking hole on the man’s back. A person had died right in front of him. He felt dizzy at the realisation. A person had died, for nothing.

Sydell walked closer to Rane and opened his palm. Amid the blood and the burned flesh lay a small crystalline sphere. “This is a soul.” Sydell held it up and shook it. Tiny waves of mist danced beneath its bloodied surface, like a stormy sea. “Without it, the body cannot function. The mind shuts down.” He glanced over his shoulder at the body. “Well, in this case he’d have died from the injury alone, but you get the idea.”

The words danced around in Rane’s head, drowned out by the sight of the corpse and the tang of copper in the air. “Why?” Rane mumbled. “What did he do?”

“Huh?” Sydell seemed surprised. “Here I am, revealing the secrets of magic to you, and you care about some random guy.” He threw the soul to the ground and crushed it to pieces under his boot. “Get a grip,” he said, before whistling again.

The older guard returned, bending down next to the body and dragging it away. He asked no questions, didn’t even bother looking up at Sydell. A few moments later all that remained of the guard were blood and smoke.

“Do you understand now?” Sydell asked. “How the soul functions?”

“Yes…” Rane replied without thinking. “Yes, I understand.”

“Good.” Sydell turned to leave. “I’ll be back in a bit. We have a lot to cover.”

The door slammed shut behind the man, and Rane let go of the tears he’d been holding back. He covered his mouth and cried out the fear and frustration in woeful bursts. If the alternative to torture was lives being lost, he’d rather burn all day under Sydell’s magic. To think he had almost allowed himself hope today. The voice was right, it was pathetic.

Rane wailed until his throat grew numb. How long that took, he couldn’t tell. Time was hard to measure when he was confined between four walls and the only source of light came from a small gap under the door. Even by the time that weak light faded completely, Sydell had not returned. Rane lay down, so that his back touched the wall. It was cold and uncomfortable, but it was also the only way he could sleep without touching the man’s blood.

Find me. Follow me and kill them.

Like clockwork, the voice returned to haunt him in his dreams, but he was too weak to reply. It was weird, how he knew his mind was injured and broken, yet he couldn’t stop the echoes of his thoughts. They played over and over in his head, even drowning out that foreign voice as they pleaded for him to survive. To weather through this storm and make it out alive. Why wouldn’t they stop? All he wanted was sleep. The pressure in his head grew.

They’re only human. I’ve seen you kill them.

“Shut up!” Rane writhed on the bloody floor, crawling to the loose stone by the door. “I’ll use it!” He pressed his neck against it, feeling the sharpness of it cut into him. The madness in his head only grew louder. If he hit himself with enough force he could end it all. He could--

The door was pushed open, its metal shoving his frail body back. Rane jerked away instinctively and shielded his eyes from the light. He clenched his teeth and prepared for punishment, but no pain came. The older guard -the one who had survived Sydell- dropped something soft onto his lap. Rane didn’t understand what it was at first. He had forgotten how clothes and fabric felt to the touch.

“Dress,” the man said, painting the word with as much empathy and regret as he could muster.

“Thank you,” Rane replied with a hoarse voice. He held up the rags and struggled to get his head through the hole right. With a bit of fiddling, he got them to cover most of his nakedness. After months of being left exposed, his skin felt strangely sensitive to them. Memories of another time surfaced in his mind. A time when he was human. He looked up at the guard again, the pity in his gaze. “Why?” he managed.

The guard simply shook his head as he retreated back outside, grinding the door closed behind him and plunging Rane back into darkness. “Good luck,” he whispered, then left.