This is self-inflicted torture.
I'm stuck writhing in bed, no, on a mattress, something like 20 minutes after midnight last I checked. I'm so terribly bored that I can't even fall asleep. How does that make any sense? My brain probably doesn't want to be alone all night without me, and that's why it's keeping "me" switched on.
I roll over from my left side to my right, getting a view out the window. It's so black, the dark sheet of cloud warning me of incoming rain. When that sets in, there's just no way I'll be able to drift off, which means that at the very least, I'll be awake when I'm supposed to be in a few hours. Sitting up, I take my phone from the platter I use as a bedside table to check the time, only to be met with a black screen. There's always the old-fashioned way.
I crawl out of bed and across the room over to my drawers, rummaging through my socks to draw out a beautiful silver watch. I reminisce on being gifted it, on thinking it too precious to wear and hiding it in a box in my old room, on losing the box, and on leaving that room behind for this place.
My breaths become short and strained. I walk to the other end of the room, and fling the windows open, cold air stabbing my eyes and skin, but finally allowing me to take a deep breath. I lean out of the window, trying to catch the moonlight with my watch's face to no avail. Lumbering back into my confines, a bright idea comes to me, and I can't help but laugh at myself.
A few steps back away from the window, then raise up my other hand. With a little flash of blue, fire bursts from the palm of my hand, illuminating the entire room, light spilling out of the open window. The watch reads 30 minutes after midnight. Time really is moving at a standstill.
I missed that pretty light so much. As I watch the flames flicker, it becomes even harder to breathe. It's getting so damn hot in this building.
I can't believe I was able to live without something so amazing.
...
I knock six times on the heavy black door quickly and heavily. It's really rude, but it's what you need to do to get that old man to answer the door. It's not that he's deaf, just terribly stubborn and a master of loafing around. I'm dressed in the suit I went to bed in, my hair isn't combed, and I've got something that's been called a "weird expression", so I attract a few looks from passerbies. I'd normally probably shrink away in shame, but I'm feeling elated right now. Right as I look down at my watch, the door is torn open, behind it standing an old frail man. He's dressed in a fuzzy brown robe with a matching bonnet on his head, pulled over his ears, and he's got a puzzled expression on his face, that instantly clears up into surprise once he sees me standing there, smiling at him with beaming eyes.
"Oh, my boy, do you still not know how that phone of yours works?"
I'm a bit dumbfounded at his immediate reaction. While I'm still thinking of what to say back, he laughs raspily and dryly, putting his hand on my shoulder.
"Looks like you haven't learned a thing in those couple past months... just come on in."
"I get really worried whenever you say something daft, is all..."
I pass by him, heading into the place I called home for all but the past 3 months or so. It's an old two-story home with a surprisingly small kitchen for a house that size, a pristine bathroom, a comfortable sitting room with a nostalgic fireplace, and a dining room with a table that's unnecessarily long on the first floor. On the second are the three bedrooms, two of which have bathrooms. The one without a bathroom was turned into a guest room. Now, I quickly make my way over to the sitting room I know so well, hurriedly drop my suitcase on the floor besides me, and plop down on a reclining chair, kicking my shoes off and resting my legs on the coffee table. The old man follows me in, and sits opposite to me on his personal throne, a wooden rocking chair. For some reason, he continues the conversation from the door, remarking sharply,
"Hmm, why would you be worried?"
"I don't want you to go totally senile yet, okay? Is that a sin?"
"Aha! You still think my brains are good for something, don't you!? You here to ask for business tips, boy? In that c-"
I cough loudly and violently, banging my left foot on the coffee table to cut him off from a tirade I would surely never escape from.
He furrows his brow with some concern and says, "You need a water, boy."
I agree, and excuse myself to the kitchen to get a glass, grabbing one for him on my way. I return, setting his on the table, and taking a sip.
"Doc, you're pretty much only good for sentiment at this point... not that you were ever good at business. You should thank God every day for your talent."
This is my grandfather and the man who raised me, Doctor Docile Tertias. My parents managed to exist in close proximity for about 13 months before parting ways and never speaking again, and my mother unfortunately had no interest in raising me, leaving me to the doctor here. Docile Tertias is pretty notable in his field, and you'll find him all over anything from the 1960s or 1970s. That field is, of course, magic.
That magical talent is applied here, for instance, to make his water dispenser cool or heat without the use of electricity, saving a whole ten dollars a month. I drink my cup, almost in awe at his ability to save his money only when it doesn't matter. Additionally, the house is warm, even in this stormy and chilly winter... I look around the room, trying to spot the source of the spell, but honestly can't. In short, he's pretty good at this stuff, and he happens to also have been my tutor. In a way, I was pretty lucky.
"Hmph. It was nice to see you, but that jab just deducted points," he grumbles as he swallows his glass in a single gulp and sets it down gently. "Now, boy, I don't doubt that you missed me... but is that really reason to come all the way down here? Don't ya got work?"
I clench my jaw, feeling a bit apprehensive. At this point, there's no reason to beat around the bush.
"Not anymore. Well, it's not like I quit officially, but last evening I just up and left. You were right, I folded... but I'll be damned if you expected it to happen this quick. I'm not cut out for a normal life."
Silence ensues, and after about 30 seconds of awkwardness, Docile shrugs. "I won't say 'I told you so', but I did. You're a natural mage, like me! If you want to do a few years over at Mound's, or maybe even at Whiteshade, it'd be pretty easy for you to get in. This is great, my boy! You'll bec-"
I just have to cut him off again, because I really need to be getting to the point. This time, I raise my hand as if to excuse myself, and speak firmly, and his smile fades into that same trademarked Puzzled Expression of his.
"No, no, I still don't care about academia, sorry... I was never prepared for that sorta thing. I think I'll just... ah, well, I had this really nice idea that I could, hunt monsters and stuff."
I'm almost appalled at my meekness. The idea had been perfectly stewing in my head, but faced with what seemed like disappointment, I had the wind knocked out of me. It had been a while since I'd felt that way, and Docile really was the only one who was capable of it, though unwittingly. Still, I manage to keep my smile on my face. He tilts his head, not taking my proposition seriously.
"You know as well as I do that that's an awful idea, especially nowadays. Beasts are popping up more often than ever, closer and closer to Association areas. They're getting bolder. More vicious. It's a dangerous time to use magic. At the colleges, there's good guardians, you know?"
"I understand all that. It's just that I think it's something that, I could get into right away and be good at, know what I mean? Remember those imps?"
My grandfather's brow is seriously furrowed in worry, now. "Really, the imps? Hey, quit smiling. This isn't a game. There's a lot worse than imps around here. You wanna do it because you'd be good at it? That's a horseshit reason. People do this because they haven't got another choice, or because they've lost too much. You're a good kid. You've got a good head on your shoulders. Don't be arrogant."
I've completely lost track of the script I had prepared now. The jubilation I felt earlier is usurped by dullness. I feel numb and pained simultaneously, and I find myself reclining into the chair. There's some delay before I speak. What do I do - what do I say to this man?
"Arrogant? Really? You're the arrogant one, thinking you can condescend ... no, I'm not arguing with you. You're silly. I'm going ahead."
He seems to want to continue convincing me, so I stand up, grabbing at my suitcase. "I don't want to talk about this anymore. I'll come again soon," I say to him without turning my head, and continue out, him following behind me, all of his words failing to reach me. I'm faster, making it out, and shutting the door behind me. I quickly go down the steps, and duck into a nearby alley.
Why am I running? What is wrong with me?
I sit down on the ground in the alleyway, my suitcase resting on my lap. That was stupid, weird, dreadful, and a million other negative adjectives. I feel sick with myself, but even more sick with the idea of going back right away. I stare up into the sky, a droplet of rain falling right into my eye. I recoil slightly, then wipe it away. It's probably time to get going. The rain is getting going.
...
Magic is one of the fundamental phenomenon of the universe, just like gravity, electromagnetism, and the strong and weak nuclear forces. Some scholars call it the counter phenomenon to those reasonable forces. The standard four govern the world rationally and reasonably, and the fifth is what overturns that.
A force of unrealization built into everything which exists, but only few happened to be sensitive to it. Humans who were sensitive to magic were called mages, and we are born with an intuition towards one another. We can feel our way around our personal world, forever tied together by the invisible.
For a long time, its existence has been kept from the general public. Magical beasts typically roamed far from human settlements, and If I'm remembering right, mages historically were against the spreading of their works and secrets, and it was a tradition to quietly handle anybody who had the bright idea of wielding his power without discretion, but as of 1699 with the official forming of the Association, the suppression of magical secrets became official doctrine.
So, a mage's ability to sense other mages and places of magical activity were important for his independent life. Now, that skill was serving me well, as I sat right across from a tentative looking woman, my hair combed by my hands, my suitcase laid against the foot of my chair, a smile on my face.
"We're glad to see you sought us at the Eagle's Hand..."
She pauses, and the two of us realize at the same time,
"Oh, right, I still haven't introduced myself. My name is Filia Tertias. It's nice to meet you."