Còir Buaidh

The Early Years 1

…

"And this is Dòmhnall." Those words came from the nurse – Christine according to her nametag – as she spoke to the Matron of the Children's House I was being dumped at.

It'd been about two weeks since I'd woken up and given the nurses at the hospice my name. They'd searched local records for any relative I might have, but as I'd expected, they'd not found any. Thus, with searches for my birth records sent to Edinburgh still unreturned, I'd been taken to a nearby children's house. They were, provided they were like this one, the UK's old equivalent to orphanages. Now, I knew that the UK didn't have orphanages, at least when I'd died, but I'd always wondered where they placed children before they were adopted. Of course, I had the misfortune to draw a religious one.

The one I was at was Nazareth House Inverness, which was at least helpful in telling me where I was. Though from the bleak expressions on the children I'd seen as the nurse had escorted me to the house, it was clear it wasn't a happy place. Something made even clearer by the odd looks I'd gotten from several priests as I'd been let to the Matron's office.

The Matron stepped toward me, her eyes narrowing as she took in my appearance and one hand moved to grip a large cross adorned around her neck. Behind her, a Father stood. He was the religious head of this Children's Home and I was raging internally at being placed in one run by a religious order. Ignoring the simple fact that I'd never been particularly religious in my former life, or that I could remember old reports I'd studied at school about the abuses suffered at many such homes across the UK in the 20th century, there was one major problem that was already rearing its ugly head.

For the most part, Christianity – along with other monotheistic religions – considered magic demonic and satanic, which since I was a wizard, was a fucking nightmare. As was the fact that, once I'd revealed to a nurse that I was awake, there'd been some fuss over the colour of my eyes. Which, from an outside perspective, was understandable.

It seemed that Dòmhnall had the unusual feature of dark yellow eyes; ones that reminded me of Sith eyes from Star Wars which my father had loved when I was younger. Now, from what I understood, eye colours considered unusual or odd to non-magicals were semi-common in the magical world, but even among his family, he was the only one with yellow-tinted eyes. Sine and my mother had possessed pale green eyes but none since his great-great-great-grandfather had possessed yellow-tinted ones. Well, I suppose it was my grandfather now since I was Dòmhnall.

"His eyes…" the Matron said sternly.

"There appears to be nothing wrong with them. Well, bar the colour," replied the nurse. That earned a sharp nod from the Matron. She turned and looked back at Father Bartholomew and they conversed without speaking.

"The Lord takes all under his roof," Father Bartholomew said gently as the Matron returned her glare to me. "Even those with… unusual conditions."

"I will be keeping a close eye on you, boy," she all but snarled at me. I'm sure to most children she seemed intimidating, but having grown up with a strict military father, and survived the disasters that had seemingly destroyed my former world, it was hard not to simply laugh in her face.

"We will take him from here, nurse. May the Lord bless you for bringing him into our care." The nurse nodded at the Father's words, and after giving me one last look – which seemed an odd mix of confusion and concern – she turned and left the room.

No sooner had the door closed than the Matron grabbed my arm and squeezed. "You have the mark of Satan upon you, boy! Step out of line and I'll make sure we find a way to drive him from you."

"Now, now, Sister Eileen, no need to scare the poor boy," the Father said as he took a step toward me. He knelt, smiling softly as he did though the effect failed as the Matron, Sister Eileen, continued to grip my arm tightly. "We here at the Sisters of Nazareth Home for Wayward Children try to guide all the lost souls that cross our doors into the light of the Lord. I understand you've suffered some recent losses in your family." I nodded slowly, trying to appear scared and suspicious about this stranger in front of me even as I was already trying to plot out a way to escape this place. "Good. Now, Sister Eileen will take you to meet the other children who should be enjoying their lunch as we speak. I will see you again for afternoon prayers. Until then, may the Lord light your way."

He stood and after giving me what I assumed was a reassuring nod, walked out of the room. As soon as the door closed, the Matron's grip tightened, and she yanked me into her personal space.

"The Father has hope for you boy. I, however, smell Satan upon you. If you try to corrupt the other children, I'll find ways to excise the evil from you. The Lord will not suffer a heretic in his midst."

She stood and dragged me toward a side door. The grip she had on my arm was painful, but I didn't call out. I knew she wanted me to do so to help prove she was right about me, and there was no way I was going to give her that satisfaction.

No, what I needed to do was keep my head down, learn to cast as many first-year spells as I could wandlessly, and plot an escape from this place. While there was a chance I'd be adopted by a non-magical family, according to the nurse when she'd brought me here, they'd be holding off on that until records had come back from Edinburgh. I knew they'd never find anything though, not unless, by some miracle, my family had registered my birth in the non-magical world. No, if I wanted out of here, if I wanted to find out what happened to the rest of my family, then I was going to have to do it alone.

Though first I had to get this deranged Matron to leave me alone long enough to begin learning the layout of this place.

… …

… …

"Freak!"

The word was whispered by an older boy as he walked past. Those with him laughed, which grew louder when one stuck out their foot. While I didn't fall over, I did stumble, making me drop my lunch tray.

"Who… Dòmhnall Fionnlagh MacLeod!" I cringed as the voice of one of the sisters who ran the Children's Home approached, her shoes clicking as she stormed across the hard floor. A hand grabbed my arm and yanked me around. "What sort of mischief are you causing now?"

"It wasn't me, Sister!" I protested even as the woman, an older lady with a glare that would intimidate a child, snarled. "One of those boys tripped me."

"Lies! Tommy Davidson and his lot are good, thoughtful, God-loving children. No, this was simply you once more trying to corrupt the others. Come with me!" She yanked my arm, pulling me away from the remains of my lunch, and the light snickering from Tommy and his friends.

This had been a regular feature of my first few weeks in the Children's Home. The other children, particularly the older boys, had singled me out for abuse. Name-calling – mainly centred around my eyes – whispered comments and small pranks occurred with increasing regularity. And every time I reacted, or couldn't stop the attack from succeeding, like now, I was quickly grabbed by a Sister and taken away.

They never believed what I said, never seemed to care. Like the Matron, they'd all decided that because of my unusual eyes, I was nothing more than a troublemaker looking to corrupt others. So far, the punishments hadn't been too severe, but if I had to peel one more fucking potato with a blunt knife, or - God help me - write another stupid bible verse, I was going to lose it.

My free hand, the one whose arm wasn't held in a death grip by the Sister, reached up and grasped my necklace. At first, I was surprised that no one ever brought it up and had asked a nurse about it. She'd waved my words away saying I wasn't wearing any such thing; a line repeated by everyone I'd asked about the necklace. That had me suspecting the necklace had some form of magic upon it. Something that made non-magicals fail to see it. Probably some form of the Muggle-repelling charm. Sadly, that charm only applied to the necklace and didn't extend to me, otherwise, I suspected my time at this home wouldn't be so infuriating.

"There," the Sister began after she'd dragged me through the kitchen, toward a room I was sadly familiar with. "You'll stay here until they're all peeled, or until you can convince me or another Sister that you're truly sorry."

Before I could say anything, not that anything I wanted to say would help the situation, the door slammed shut and I was once more left in a room full of potatoes waiting to be peeled.

As I sat down on the crooked wooden stool, the only small silver lining was that I'd yet to be caned. The Matron had not been shy about showing that to me on my first day and had stated that if I showed any sign of the devil, she'd beat it out of me. Then again, if things didn't improve soon, I knew I'd eventually get caned. Which gave my drive to cast wandlessly, renewed focus.

Sadly for me though, I'd yet to make any spell work. Now, while I only knew the wand movements for a handful of spells, even those, or ones like Lumos that didn't have any action, weren't granting me any success. And if it wasn't for the necklace, and how no one else could see it, I'd doubt if I really had magic. Though that didn't stop me from wondering if those who'd chosen me for this dimension weren't somehow fucking with me for their amusement.

… …

… …

"Wingardium Leviosa," I growled out as I moved my hand in the motion of the spell: flick and swish. Yet, for the umpteenth time, nothing happens. Well, that's not entirely true. I can feel something shifting around me, in me. Yet the small metal cup in my room doesn't lift into the air. Hell, it doesn't even shake even a touch.

"Wingardium Leviosa", I all but shouted, my hands continuing to mimic the movement the spell needed, even as the cup did nothing. I just sat there, taunting me, judging me.

Over and over, I said the words, move my fingers, and demanded the spell do as I wanted. And nothing happened. Nothing ever happened.

"Argh!" I grunted in anger, lowering my hand. I managed to get Lumos to work, though it was only a weak blob of light that hovered above my palm, nothing else was working. Hell, I'd even tried using the Unforgivable curses, but nothing. Yes, it had only been a few weeks, but I was fast reaching the end of my rope.

Yet, as I swung my arm around, something unexpected happened.

At the tips of my fingers, I felt something shift, something change. The air seemed to ripple and before I knew what had happened, the cup was sent flying into the wall. And it wasn't just the cup that was affected. The books on my table, the ones containing my homework were ripped apart, filling the air with sheets of paper. My pillow slammed into the door, which was blown open meaning the pillow, the only one I had, landed on the hard granite floor outside.

Before I could process what had happened, footsteps stormed toward my door. "Dòmhnall Fionnlagh MacLeod!" A Sister bellowed, her hands on her hips as she glared into my room. "What did you do?!" She all but snarled.

I felt my mouth open though no sound came out. While I knew I was in trouble with the Sisters and Matron for this mess - fuck, when wasn't I in trouble as they blamed me for every little thing that went wrong, claiming because of my eyes that the Devil control of me – I didn't care. I'd made the cup move. And everything else that wasn't nailed down.

Not by touching them, but with magic.

"Why are you smiling?!" I heard the Sister screech even as behind her, I could hear more heels clicking on the floor. Yet, I didn't care, I'd managed to use magic. It had been uncontrolled, and violent, but I'd done what I wanted. "Get up!"

The Sister yanked my arm hard, digging her nails into my arm. I growled as pain from her grip mixed with the residual anger of not getting my spell to work and joy at sensing my magic. She pulled me to my feet, and then spun me around, which was when I saw her face.

Her cheeks were red, flushed with anger, and her lips were twisted, snarling at me. "Stop this demonic madness!" She snapped out.

SLAP

My head cracked round to one side. My cheek stung as her hand flew past my face.

It took me a few seconds of blinking to process what she'd done, to realise what this dumb stupid bitch had dared to do, and when I did my head snapped back as my eyes narrowed. How fucking dare she lay a hand on me? How dare she try and ruin the moment I unlocked my magic?

I could feel it inside me, swirling around. I could feel it around us, wanting to help, wanting to be commanded.

Her eyes widened. Her hand released my arm. She stumbled back, fear dominating her face. "N, n…"

"Don't you fucking touch me!" I yelled. The air around me grew thick, and dark as I glared at this… thing that had struck me. I wanted revenge, I wanted to hurt her, and magic was mine to command.

Before I fully understood what I was doing, my arm, the one this bitch had grabbed came up. the air reacted and the Sister was sent flying. One arm caught the doorframe, making a sickening crack as it bent awkwardly. A scream roared from her lips as she left my room, though it ended soon as she slammed into the wall on the other side of the corridor outside my room.

As her frame slumped to the floor, I stumbled. Suddenly I felt tired, more so than I'd ever felt before. I fell to a knee as my eyes fought to stay open. Every muscle in my body was sore as if I'd just run a marathon. I tried to lift an arm, tried to stand. Yet I couldn't.

My eyes grew heavy and as they closed, bringing forth wonderful darkness, I felt my body fall.

… …

… …

CRACK

"Nine!" The Matron called out with what sounded like ecstatic glee. I gritted my teeth, and bit the inside of my lips but made sure to keep looking forward, at the assembled masses of the Children's House.

The wood came down again in a blur.

CRACK

"Ten!" The bitch shouted again, seemingly enjoying the pain she was causing me as she lifted the wooden cane from across my forearms. My exposed, red, and swollen forearms. I wanted to pull them away, to strike the Matron, but I couldn't.

Apart from my arms being securely fastened to the table by leather straps at my wrists and elbows, I was still tired. Still worn out by using magic.

I'd woken up about an hour ago in the nurse's wing, tied down to a bed. The Matron had come in, Father Bartholomew and another older Sister behind her. They told me the Sister I'd hurt had been taken to hospital. Her arm was broken, and possibly other bones, but the paramedics couldn't be sure. According to the Matron that had been two days ago, yet to me, it felt as if it had happened just minutes ago.

Father Bartholomew had said that the only reason I wasn't being sent to court was that the Sister wasn't killed and that there were no witnesses to say what had happened. He asked me softly what had happened, wanting to understand how the Sister had seemingly been launched from my room. The Matron had claimed it was because I was possessed by a demon but he shut her down; reminded her that the Lord teaches us forgiveness, and tolerance. To not jump to conclusions.

I was glad I was weak as I'd have likely offered a comment on how people claiming to be doing the work of their God were to blame for many of the world's problems. Both in this time, and my former world, my former life. Men sought war and brought death and devastation while claiming it was because it was what their 'God' demanded. As if that, somehow, granted them protection from the terror, panic and death that brought.

When I couldn't supply a reason – since there was no way in hell I was telling these crazies that I'd used magic – the Matron had considered my silence as an omission of guilt. Father Bartholomew had, after some frantic discussion that took place out of earshot of my bed, but was close enough to see he was struggling to not agree with the Matron, reluctantly agreed. Which was why I was now being caned here and now. In the main hall of the Home, with all the other children in attendance.

There'd been no trial, no chance for me to offer my side as to what'd happened. I'd just been dragged from my bed, once I was healthy, to the hall. The Matron had screeched about my crimes, about my demonic inclinations, and about how they needed to be forced out of me.

CRACK

"Eleven!"

I winced in pain as the cane came down again, sending another bolt of pain shooting up my arms. My knees buckled and I slumped, though because my arms were tied down, I couldn't fall to the floor. Couldn't escape the pain that threatened to overload my brain.

"Stand still boy!" the Matron snarled as someone roughly yanked me up. "If you fall down, if you cry out, the punishment will begin again. I will force the touch of Satan from you!"

I steadied myself and then glared up at her. I wanted to lash out, wanted to summon my magic once more. I could feel it now, coursing through my veins, flowing faintly around me, yet it refused to come forth. Denied my commands. Perhaps it was because I was still weak from what had happened, perhaps because I hadn't learned to focus it, but regardless it wasn't helping me now. Thus, I was forc…

CRACK

"Twelve!"

I ground my teeth together so hard I could hear them slowly being filed down. My arms were on fire. I could feel nothing from them but pain. Yet, as water started to fill my vision I knew I still had eighteen more to go.

My eyes drifted to the other Sisters and children, hoping to find some compassion, some faint spark of humanity that didn't want this to continue. Yet there was none to find. The Sisters were all watching steadfastly, a few even smiling in religious fervour. They probably all felt I deserved this for what happened to the other Sister. As for the children…

Those that I could make out through my wet eyes looked stunned into silence. As if they feared joining me if they spoke up. Yet, near the back I could see one or two grinning, enjoying my torment. I tried to focus on them, tried to burn their faces into my mind. When this was over, I'd…

CRACK

"Thirteen."

I slumped again, trying, struggling to push through the latest flare of pain exploding in my arms. My jaw caught the table edge, rattling my skull, and making it hard to think for a moment. Again, I felt someone drag me up, wanting this insanity to continue.

I blinked, trying and failing to clear the blurriness, the flashes of odd lights and shapes from my vision.

When this was over, once I'd healed, I was getting the fuck out of the crazed shithole. I knew where my family had come from, and no matter how far the isle of Skye was from Inverness, I was going to get back to Dunscaith Castle. These fucking crazed bible-thumping loonies would get what they had coming to them. I'd make sure of it.

… …

… …

"Did you see what happened to that freak?"

"Yeah, that was fun!"

"I just wish the Matron had kept caning him. Did you see the way he was crying at the end?" The voices drifted away, seemingly not caring or realising that IU could hear them from around the corner.

I growled, my nails digging so deeply into my palms I was sure they'd draw blood. That was Tommy Davidson and his lot, the group that had been picking on me. And of fucking course they were laughing and joking about the fucking caning I'd gotten last week.

I'd spent three days in the nurse's office, recovering from the caning, though only because Father Bartholomew wasn't as sick and twisted as the Matron. Oh, he was still fucked in the head if he felt beating a fucking child with a cane until their arms were red raw and bleeding would help straighten them out, but he was a step above the Matron on the twisted scale. Perhaps two, but that would be pushing it as he somehow felt that, while I was in the bed in the nurse's office it would help my 'salvation' if he came and read passages from the Bible to me, focusing on the dangers posed by consorting with Satan and his demons.

Argh, I needed the fuck out of this shithouse. Yet, without being able to summon and control my magic, there was no chance of that happening. And since the caning, it was rare for me to be left alone, almost as if the loonies in charge of this place worried I'd start talking in tongues or drawing demonic symbols on walls. Though to be fair, they were right about me talking in tongues as I could, in theory, speak Parseltongue. Not that I'd actively tried to use it as, without a snake or similar beast present, I'd likely not realise I was using it.

Still, that was something I planned to practice with as soon as…

I turned the corner and slammed into something, falling back to the ground, and landing with a grunt on my arse.

"Hey! Look where you'r…Oh, it's you!" I looked up and grunted in annoyance. Above me stood Tommy Robinson and three of his group. "We found the freak," he said, a twisted smile creeping onto his face.

I saw his hands slowly tighten, forming into fists. A move repeated by those with him. The smile on his face was mirrored by the rest of his group. The others started shifting, moving to my sides even as Tommy took a step forward, his foot moving between my legs. As the others reached my sides, I saw his leg tense and then pull back.

Knowing what he was about to do, I pushed forward, launching myself at his leg. I caught him clean near his knee and, remembering my lessons in MMA when I'd been in college, turned and twisted.

"AGH!" Tommy called out as he lost his balance, and I smirked as he fell face-first into one of his cohorts.

I pulled myself forward, rolling to increase distance. When I came to a stop, one knee on the ground, Tommy and the boy he'd stuck had fallen to the floor in a mass of limbs. The other two were confused for a moment before their heads snapped my way. They then rushed at me, fists cocked to strike.

I knew I was going to get beaten, my new body wasn't up to winning a fight against four others, mostly because it wasn't trained and fighting multiple attackers was a losing proposition even in the best of circumstances unless you were really damn good, no matter how superior to a normal person's a magical body might be. However, if I was going down, I was going to make it fucking hurt.

A fist flew in as I pushed myself to my feet, aimed square at my face. I shifted my weight, letting it fly in front of me. my hands gripped the arm then twisted in opposite directions. The boy lost his footing and I rammed his head into the gut of the other boy. "Oof!" the air slipped from that one's lungs, meaning his attack failed mid-swing.

I stepped toward the pair, driving my elbow into the small of the first boy's neck. I didn't hear anything break but a cry of pain slipped from his lips as he fell face-first into the ground. The other boy had barely managed to avoid going down with the first boy before I'd closed on him.

My knee came up, catching him flush in the groin. He groaned in pain and as he sunk to his knees, I drove the base of my hand, just above the wrist, into his face. A smile came to my face as I heard his nose shatter and as he dropped to the ground, his hands caught between cradling his groin and nose, I drove my knee up into his jaw.

His head snapped back wickedly, and he fell onto the first boy, leaving both in a pile on the ground. Enjoying the pain I caused them, I turned, planning to take care of Tommy and the other boy only for a fist to fly in and catch me flush on the side of my face.

I didn't hear anything break, but the blow caught me off-guard and I stumbled back, falling into a wall. "You little shite!" I hear Tommy snarl before a fist was driven into my gut, forcing the air from my lungs. I grunted in pain even as another fist struck my gut before a third caught me on my back.

I fell to the ground, bringing my head low, behind an arm to protect it. Though that did nothing to stop a kick from connecting with my ribs. This time I did hear and feel something crack, and I groaned as pain erupted in my chest. That only increased as the foot came back in, doing further damage to the same spot.

As I slumped to the ground, more feet came cannoning in, striking me each time. Pain coursed through my body as the blows rained down. Though they began mixing with anger, with a fury that these boys would get away with this. That I'd be the one blamed for this fight simply because I tried to defend myself.

I could feel my rage boiling as the kicks continued, faster now, and then I felt it. My magic, which since the incident with the Sister, had been beyond reach was reacting to me. I reached inward, pulling on it, feeding it my fury. It was just there, right beyond my reach, and if I hadn't touched it before I'd not understand what it was. But I had touched it, and I knew wart it was, what it could do.

"AARGH!" I called out, pushing the boys off me as best I could. Around me, the air seemed to shimmer, and I heard many things slam into walls. Heard bones break and groans of pain fill my ears.

The world felt dark and heavy. I lifted my head slowly, fighting through the growing fog. A smile came to my face as I saw Tommy Robinson slumped against a wall, blood pouring from his nose and mouth. My smile slipped slightly at seeing his chest still rising. I wanted him dead, wanted him to suffer.

I lifted a hand toward him, pulled, demanded magic did as I wanted. I saw a shimmer of dull white gather around my fingers even as an odd sound grew closer, yet before I could lash out again; before I could finish these bastards off, my eyes grew heavy.

My head cracked off the ground as, for the second time in a month, darkness engulfed me.

… …

… …

"This is fucking bullshit!" I shouted as I struggled in vain against the bonds holding me down. "Let me fucking go you mother-fucking arseholes!"

"Your language is but another sign of the hold Satan has upon you," said the priest whose name I'd still yet to get. Behind him, wearing a victorious smile, was the Matron while with her, arrayed around the table I was tied down upon, were various Sisters of the House; including the one whose arm I'd shattered with my first magical outburst several weeks ago. "You are possessed by a demon."

The priest decided that was a good time to flick his wrist, sending the holy water he was holding into my face. Of course, some of it got into my eyes. I growled and shook my head. That shit stung suggesting it was more in that than just water.

"See how the demon fights against the power of our Lord," the Matron commented which made me snarl.

"No, it's because this arsehole got that shit in my eyes you dumb bitch!"

I was well aware that my continual cursing wasn't doing anything to help my cause, but what they were doing was fucking insane. Just because I'd sent Tommy Robinson and his gang to the hospital a week ago, with one of them still being unresponsive, in a way none of these fucking morons understood didn't mean I was possessed by a fucking demon!

"The power of the Lord commands you," the priest, who spoke with a soft, slightly tinted accent said. That suggested he'd come up from Edinburgh. That would explain why it was over a week since the incident – during which I'd been in isolation after another round of caning – before this insanity took place. "Release the boy from your grip foul demon."

"And the power that commands you fucking nutters needs to be taken outside and shot into space!" I snapped back. "I'm not possessed, and those pricks had it coming! Saying I deserv…" my words were cut off as the Matron came over and forced a rag into my mouth.

"That's enough foul lies from your lips demon," she said with almost sadistic glee as she pushed a cord into the rag. I struggled against her but given I was tied down and in the body of a child, there was little, in the end, I could do to stop her tying the cord around my head, trapping the rag in place.

I glared at the Matron, trying to call on my magic to burn her to a crisp. Sadly, all that happened was her deranged, almost euphoric smile grew wider. The deranged fucking cow was enjoying this, was getting off on this! And they said I was the possessed one?!

Utter fucking bullshit!

"The power of the Lord commands you," the priest repeated, still splashing my exposed chest with his damned holy water. And why the fuck did I need to be in only my freaking long johns?! My glare turned to him, wishing he'd shut the fuck up even as another drop of that damn water landed in my eye.

I spluttered and shook my head, trying to get out my bonds, but nothing was working. However, what I did start to feel, for the first time since taking out Tommy and his henchmen, was magic. I felt it react to my anger, sliding within my veins. I could feel the warm, delicious power of it slowly growing stronger inside as a plan came to mind.

There was only one way I was getting out of this bullshit. I needed to intentionally lash out with my magic, not just accidentally do so as I'd done before. As the 'holy water' splashed down on my chest, irritating my skin, I began to think about what I'd wanted when magic had bent to my will before.

I'd been angry, yes, but there's been more to it, I knew that, and I dove back into the memories, ignoring the chanting of the priest and everything else. I had to find the key, or at least the door, to access my magic. With that, I knew I could end this fucking farce.

Time had no meaning as I wandered my memories, feeling the rage, the fury, the power that had coalesced before lashing out; first at the Sister and then at Tommy and his dickwad friends. I watched the scenes play out over and over, trying to pin down the exact moment, the exact reason magic had come to my defence; when it had blasted everything around me away.

My eyes shot open as I found it. I knew how to command it, or at least bring it forth. I scanned the room, quickly finding the deranged gaze of the Matron. 'This is for you, you dumb muggle bitch!' I thought as I let my anger loose, and flicked the mental switch that seemed to control my magic.

I felt the power, the energy, radiate out from me. I watched in delight as the air around me rippled. Faint sparks of violet flickered and sparked, reminding me of white-water rapids, before a wave of pure, unrefined, barely controlled magic blasts from my body. The priest, the Matron and everyone else were sent flying. The wave slammed into the walls, cracking them. Smoke rose from most of the cracks and as my eyes struggled to stay open I see the cracks expand, covering the walls in crisscrossing chaos.

I realised I'd gone too far, given magic too much release. The room I was in, the building housing it, was broken it was going to come down. I was going to die I realised as my eyes closed, though not before there was an odd, unexpected spark of light.

… …

… …