The landscape grew rockier as Jason approached the large mountain in the distance. He scanned the surroundings from atop one of the many boulders in the area.

"Come on, anything," he whispered.

Then, in the distance, he saw a road. Excitement coursed through him as he climbed down from the boulder and ran towards it. The road looked like one of the old Roman roads he had seen on his vacation to Italy a year ago. He had to make a decision now and choose which way to go.

"What was that?" Jason said, turning his attention to a noise from the opposite direction.

It sounded like a horse. Realizing there might be people in that direction, he began following the winding road. After a few minutes, he spotted a group of figures in the distance. The heatwaves distorted the view, but he could make out human shapes.

Eager to attract their attention, Jason cupped his hands around his mouth and yelled.

"Hey! Over here!" His voice echoed across the desert. He started flapping his arms around, hoping the erratic movement would make him stand out.

To his relief, one man separated from the group and spurred his horse into action, riding toward him. However, as the rider got closer, Jason's initial relief turned into unease. The man had a sword drawn at his side.

"Fuck, I don't think he is friendly," Jason said to himself.

All his senses told Jason to retreat. Spotting a cluster of rocks nearby, he bolted towards them, seeking cover. He looked behind to see that the man was still following him. His heart raced as he darted behind the rocks, his breaths coming in quick, shallow gasps.

Crouched down and hidden from view, Jason saw the rider dismount and begin searching the area.

"Wait... wait, I have the fucking Force; why am I hiding?" he said out loud as he realized he could fight the man with his new found powers.

As the man slowly approached where he was hiding, Jason stepped out from behind the rocks, his hands raised, attempting to look as non-threatening as possible.

"Skorī daor, jorrāelagon," he said in a language Jason didn't understand.

"What did you say?" Jason replied back with a look of confusion.

"Dārilaros, ñuhaan," he said as he stepped forward.

“Oh, you are messing with the wrong person, buddy,” Jason said confidently.

He raised his arms against his would-be assailant, trying to summon his power, but nothing happened. He tried again, making different gestures with his hand, but nothing seemed to manifest.

"Oh," he said in a small voice.

The man seemed to be amused by this. "Skorī avy ivīlībagon, ñuhaan," he said, cackling.

The man continued to mock him. Sensing his distraction, Jason looked at a large rock at his feet. "Well, plan B then." He grabbed the rock from the ground and threw it with all his might.

Even he was surprised at how fast he threw the rock. It sailed through the air, catching the man by surprise. The rock struck him on the shoulder, momentarily throwing off his balance, and his sword fell from his grip, clattering to the ground.

Seeing the sword, Jason sprinted towards it. The man, recovering quickly, also lunged for the weapon, and a struggle ensued.

The two grappled for control, each determined to claim the sword as their own. Jason fought with determination, fueled by the desperation to survive.

The man, however, proved to be a formidable adversary, and Jason found himself on the brink of defeat. In a last-ditch effort, Jason resorted to striking the man's head, desperately trying to free himself from his grip.

As his hand made contact with the man's forehead, an electrifying jolt surged through him. It was as if a door had been thrown wide open; he found himself assaulted by a barrage of images.

He witnessed scenes from the man's past, like fragments of a dream playing out before him. A village nestled in a lush landscape, the sound of clanging swords in a training yard, the warmth of a hearth shared with comrades, the honing of his skills through years of training, his first battle. It was as if Jason had absorbed the very essence of the man's skill he had acquired in his entire life.

"What did you do, boy? What did you do to me?" he screamed out loud, but this time Jason could understand him.

"What the fuck," Jason said as he slowly stood up.

He quickly went for the sword again and picked it up. He pointed the sword at him, his hands shaking as he did.

"Can you even use that, boy?" the man said as he lunged at Jason.

To Jason's surprise, his hands moved on their own, as if he had done it a thousand times before. He thrust the sword forward, its blade finding its mark in the man's chest. The man's eyes widened in shock, and a gurgled gasp escaped his lips as he crumpled to the ground.

For a moment, Jason stood frozen, the weight of what he had just done settling on his shoulders. The reality of taking another person's life hit him like a wave. His hands trembled as the sword fell to the ground.

"Holy shit… he’s dead,” he said in shock, his voice barely audible against the vast backdrop of the desert. The gravity of the situation sank in, and a sickening feeling twisted in his gut. He stared at the lifeless form before him.

“He was going to kill me… I was just defending myself,” he said to himself as he sat down on the ground.

The distant sound of hoof beats reached Jason's ears, snapping him out of his shocked stupor. His hand trembling as he tried to steady himself. The realization that more danger was approaching fueled a surge of adrenaline. It was then he noticed rocks floating around him again.

"Oh, now it's working," he said to himself as he stood up and  turned to the direction of the approaching riders. He raised his hands towards them.

.

.

.

Garth watched in surprise as the man killed the bandit.

"Zykagon onon, ynomaan ao zykorverdrivar. Skorverdon ao ñuhaan," the leader yelled out as he led the other bandits to the man.

"Well, looks like he won't be joining us, but at least he killed one of them," Garth heard someone say behind him.

What happened next would change the way he saw the world forever. He had read about magic in ancient tomes within the Citadel, but those were regarded as mere legends—stories from a bygone era.

He was taught that magic had been gone from the world, but he and his fellow Maesters were proven wrong when he saw the man raising his hands against the men riding towards him.

He felt the ground shaking below him as the bandits were flung up from their horses into the sky. Panic spread through the remaining bandits near him.

Seizing the opportunity, the remaining caravan guards subdued the panicked bandits near them. Garth looked at the man again; the bandits were suspended in mid-air, their limbs flailing helplessly.

The air echoed with their desperate screams, and the oppressive weight of the invisible force seemed to crush the life out of them.

The once-silent desert now echoed with the sounds of their anguish; he could hear their pleas. The ground beneath him trembled once more as screams of the suspended riders intensified, and then suddenly they stopped and dropped to the ground like marionettes whose strings had been severed.

The desert had once again reclaimed its silence. The man dropped to the ground along with them.

"We have to go quickly before that monster kills us too," the caravan master said as they were freed from their bindings.

"Without him, we wouldn't have been saved. We must help him," Garth said, looking to the others for support but received none as they looked terrified of what had transpired.

"Are you mad? You want to help that monster? Did you not see what he did?" one of the guards exclaimed.

“Did you not see what he did?" another man chimed in.

"Maester, we are leaving with or without you. I am not staying anywhere near that thing."

Garth looked at the man on the ground in the distance. He was afraid as well, but the chance to learn of the unknown magic that the man possessed was too enticing to ignore.

"Fine, you can go without me," he said as he took his possessions and walked to where the man lay.

Garth walked towards the mysterious man. He quickly walked over the dead bandits; their limbs had been crushed. It was not a great way to die. Garth slowly approached the man. Suddenly, he shot up from his prone position, his hands pointed towards Garth.

“I am here to help; I am a Maester,” Garth said quickly with his arms up in the air.

The man looked confused and seemed to calm down. He studied Garth for a moment and spoke.

“What the fuck is a Maester?”