The Endless Mage

Year 3917 of the Almanac of Ages, in a remote rural region

The sun had just risen when I opened my eyes, though I hadn’t really slept. I stared at the tent’s ceiling for a few moments, listening to the silence of the camp. Only the crackling of the dying embers and the rustle of the wind through the trees broke the quiet.

I sighed and stood up, stretching. It was time to see what was left of that disaster.

I walked through the abandoned tents, observing the sad remains of a bandit’s life. Nothing of real interest—just stolen trinkets and worthless junk. I opened one of the last tents, its torn fabric hanging sadly from worn seams. The air inside was thick with a stale smell. I expected the usual loot, but then… my eyes fell on something unexpected.

A girl, bound and gagged, lay on the cold ground. She was tied tight, like a piece of meat, with her hands behind her back and her ankles bound by ropes so tight they’d left deep bruises. Her eyes were wide, filled with fear, staring at me in terror. One look at her battered body was enough to understand what she’d been through. Her torn dress, the bruises on her wrists and legs, told the whole story.

I stood there, frozen for a long moment, saying nothing. Complications. I hated them, always had. Nothing in my plans involved a complication like this. I had to decide what to do, and the truth was, I didn’t want to deal with it. I knew what she’d ask of me, what she would want, and I wasn’t exactly the hero who could save her.

Her pleading eyes pierced through me like an arrow, but I still didn’t move. I could have just left her there, pretended I hadn’t seen her. It would have been easy. No one would have ever known. But then something occurred to me: I would know.

I shrugged and closed the tent. “To hell with it,” I muttered under my breath. I hated these situations because they forced me to make a choice. And choices always lead to problems.

I returned to the camp and began cleaning up what was left. I piled the bodies of the bandits together, covering them with old blankets and bits of wood. There was no time for a funeral, and they certainly hadn’t earned a proper burial. Clean, efficient. Another habit hard to break. Once finished, I gathered what little was useful: food, a few tools, and some clothes.

While rummaging through the sacks, I found some eggs. I chuckled to myself, shaking my head. “Why not?” I said, lighting the fire again. I pulled out a pan and carelessly cracked the eggs, letting them cook over the newly revived flames. The smell of scrambled eggs filled the air, bringing a fleeting sense of peace in the simple task.

As I waited for them to cook, I searched through the bandits’ clothes for something decent for both me and the girl. I found a tunic and a pair of pants that seemed to fit her, though they were worn, still better than what she had on.

I returned to the tent, opening the entrance with one hand while holding the clothes with the other. “I found some clothes for you,” I said flatly, my voice devoid of emotion. She stared at me again with those wide eyes as I knelt to untie her wrists and ankles. The ropes were stiff and hard to loosen, but I managed.

I left the clothes beside her without looking at her. “Get dressed. The food’s ready.” Then I closed the tent again and walked away.

I had no intention of playing the hero. I didn’t need that in my life anymore. I sat by the fire, stirring the eggs absentmindedly. The light smoke rose into the air, and silence returned to the camp. I waited for her to come out, wondering if she’d have the strength to face the moment.

A little later, I heard her steps on the grass as she left the tent. I glanced slightly in her direction and pointed to the plate of eggs. “Eat something,” I said without meeting her eyes. “It won’t harm you.”

She sat on the other side of the fire, wrapped in the clothes I’d brought. She still trembled a bit, but at least the desperation in her eyes had faded. She looked tired, exhausted, but alive. That was already a small victory.

As she started eating, I remained silent. There was nothing to say. Words weren’t necessary in moments like this.

The fire crackled softly, its warmth spreading through the crisp morning air. I found myself watching her through the flames. She couldn’t have been much older than twenty, slender, with tangled but long brown hair.

But what truly caught my attention were her eyes. Brown, deep, almost golden when they reflected the firelight. I waited for her to break the silence, to ask the question I was sure was tormenting her.

After a few moments, her voice finally broke through the quiet. “You… you’re not a bandit, are you?” Her voice was low, uncertain, as if she wasn’t sure she wanted to hear the answer.

A faint smile almost escaped me. Instinct told me to joke, to tell her I was something much worse. But I held back. I didn’t want to scare her more than she already was.

“No,” I said calmly, keeping my tone even. “The bandits won’t be a problem anymore. They never will be.” I glanced toward the pile of bodies I had gathered and covered. There was no need for further explanation.

She stared at me, her face still a mix of doubt and disbelief. I understood. There wasn’t much about me that inspired immediate trust. I lifted my chin slightly, gesturing toward the remains of the bandits. “You know,” I added, my voice still low, “even though it looks like we’re the same age, it’s just an appearance. I’m much… older.”

I didn’t give her time to ask more. Silence settled between us again as we continued eating. The flames were slowly dying down, consuming what little wood remained, and around us, everything was still. Only the light rustling of the wind in the leaves, and our shared silence.

After finishing the meal, I took a moment. I reflected on what to do next. It would probably be best to leave her behind, but I knew I wouldn’t. I decided to do something that would likely bring endless complications. Something that, in another life, I would have avoided without a second thought.

“What’s your name?” I finally asked, looking at her with a neutral gaze. “And where are you from?”

I didn’t ask about the bandits. I knew that if she wanted to tell me, she would. There was no need to dig up her pain. Not yet, at least.

The girl lowered her gaze for a moment, as if still unsure whether to trust me. Then, after a few deep breaths, she answered in a slightly firmer voice. “My name is Amelia,” she said. “I’m from a small border village. It’s called Red Bird.”

Red Bird. I knew that place. The name brought back a distant image, from a very different time. I remembered the little red bird from which the village took its name. Such a rare and beautiful creature, its feathers coveted by merchants and nobles.

I smirked. “Ah, Red Bird. The only place where the bird it’s named after no longer exists. They hunted it to extinction for its feathers, I suppose. Now only its memory remains.” A light laugh escaped me. That was all that remained of that beautiful little bird.

For the first time, Amelia gave a small smile, though it was tinged with sadness. It was a start, perhaps.

The silence between us returned, but it was no longer heavy. The air seemed to have eased, as if the initial tension had begun to dissipate. Amelia was starting to relax, if only a little. I remained still, watching her as she finished eating. I needed to give her an answer. I was too used to my silence, to my reserve, but maybe, for once, I could allow myself a moment of theatrics.

“I suppose you’re wondering who you’re dealing with,” I said, breaking the silence with a tone I knew would sound a bit too pompous. “You can call me Mal, legendary mage and immortal warrior. Even demons fear to meet me. They say I’ve witnessed the rise and fall of empires… and that I’ve killed more men than you can imagine.”

I saw her suppress a small laugh, her eyes lowered to her plate as she tried to hide her smile behind a strand of messy hair. She thought I was joking. Part of me was relieved by that; it was better if she did. The other part, however, couldn’t help but notice how charming she looked as she tried to hide that brief spark of humor. Her light expression was a stark contrast to how she’d been just moments ago.

“Surprised, are you? I understand, it’s not easy to believe a legend when it’s standing right in front of you. But trust me, Amelia: I’m much older than I look.”

Honestly, I expected a stronger reaction, but she didn’t seem to dwell too much on my revelation.

“Finish eating,” I said finally, my tone returning to seriousness, “then we’ll decide what to do next.” Our paths were now intertwined, at least for a while.