A new Goal?

The erratic and irregular sound of hooves tore Vincent out of his sleep.

'A bandit? But he should not come for me, what happened to my plot armour?'

The figure on the horse however did not seem right, barely hanging on the reigns. Blood flowed down his body an an arrow stuck in the right shoulder. Messy black hair hung over his sunken face. It was his father.

'He survived, how?'

Vincent hurried over, he had little hope, jet he wished to see the man a last time. When he came near, his father unmounted, letting himself slide to the floor.

He looked up, his face contorted almost in madness. Blue veins ran through his eyes and surfaced on his whole body in strange glowing tatoos.

They pulsed weakly but stubborn, refusing to let go of life.

"Listen well, you were always a smart kid." A faint smile."If you somehow manage to survive, you need to head south. There you have to find…" He paused, anger and regret showed on his face. "You brother. He joined the legion." His weak, pale hand reached towards a small pouch. "In here is money and my emblem. He will recognise it. His name is Arminius." He coughed." He should, he should….." His dead body slumped to the ground as the last blue line faded.

Vincent trembled in gried and exitement, so he would be visiting Rome. Or at least the outer provinces. He found out, that this world was similar to his own, when he was relatively small. His career had him pick up pieces of Latin, so it was not hard to connect the dot when his father often talked about his fights against the foreign invaders.

Right now he should be somewhere near the northern front of Rome, but instead of scattered barbarians they were fighting against different noble fiefdoms like his fathers liege. They were still pretty barbaric thou.

Vincent wondered what position his brother had, was he a foot solider or maybe even a ceturio? Regardless, he would probatly be stunned to see him use magic at his age.

A small snicker escaped his dry lips.

'I have to use the chance, Rome should have troves of books and magic.'

Vincent searched the dead body, the horse quietly watching him. It was not pleasant but he was used to seeing corpses. In his last live, he often came into contract with patients.

In the end he only took an iron dagger and the pouch. The sword was too heavy and cumbersome to carry. It would also hinder him unnecessary.

~

His hands were dirty and bruised, jet he still dug around the black root. After going half a foot deep into the earth, he managed to yank the stubborn vegetable out the soil.

A beaming smile surfaced on his lips.

With hurried steps, he ran over the red and yellow floor towards the nearby river. He dodged a single drifting leaf, falling from one of the bare bone trees.

Carefully, not to fall down, he reached for the crystal clear water. It washed over his hands, cold like ice. Vincent shivered.

Underneath the thick layer of dirt, his hands looked strong and callused. On his first week, they had been covered with blisters.

Vincent took out the knife his father had given him, using the sharp edge to cut away the black hide of the root.

The white it revealed, was greedily devoured by him. The last two days, he had lived of off beechnut. They were not enough to fill his stomach.

After finishing the meal, he scooped up some of the water to drink.

It was cold. If it continued like this he would not survive the winter. Luckily his protection would last until the end of January.

After finishing the meal it, he carefully opened one of his only valuable possesions, the book he brought with him. Vincent had finishet analysing the last runes in the book.

When that time came, his teacher told him, he should use the glowing sircle at the forefront of the book.

It still pulsed like it did the first time he saw it. Only now could he understand the complex symbols. Their every meaning.

And he could feel it, like it was a cage the parchment held unto the magic, ready to release it in the world.

It felt, powerful.

Like he learned, he used the knife to carefully cut his finger. Than he placed it on the top of the circle.

The humming got stronger.

His hand traced the ancient runes, smearing his blood on the blue lines.

With every bit he covered drums sounded in his minds, louder and louder. Railing his body and mind.

He was fully awakened and focused as he completed the ritual.

Then, everything around him seemed so… meaningless.

Only the chanting circle of blue light seemed to matter. The paper disappeared too, and only he floated in the void, the magic in front of him.

It started rotation, revolving around a none existing core.

Faster and faster it spun.

And then, in the middle of it, he could feel it. First it was only a grain, than the size of a nut. It grew. HIS power.

The screech of an owl resounded in his ear, as he snapped his eyes open. When had he closed them?

A black sky filled to the brim with stars greeted him.

It was cold, jet he did not shiver.

As something inside him seemed to keep him warm. Was it only an illusion?

He looked down, the glowing book had now lost its lustre. The rune now forever his.

Vincent was tired, really tired, but he could not wait any longer.

He pulled out the dagger, and touched the surface. The moonlight reflected its blue light on it.

Then he concentrated inwards and willed the mana to flow into the floating ring of runes.

It was transformed, changed.

He willed it to flow along his arm down in his fingers, He felt them prickle with power. There was little resistance. Jet as he was about to send it into the sword, his connection broke.

The mana, now no longer bound to him, unleashed its wild nature and send out a small shock.He dropped the knife in pain, his head hurt.

Careful he curled himself together, wishing he had taken with him the mantle of his father.