The old man sat at the edge of the fire, his weathered fingers twitching as the flames flickered. He had been here before. In another life. Another time. The shadows on the wall danced like specters, each one a reminder of the choices he had made.
„You still come to me,“ the old man rasped, his voice low and cracked. „What do you want this time?“
The youth, eyes wide with fear, stood frozen. He had heard the stories—rumors of a wizard who could see through the veil, who could make the impossible happen. He had come for that power.
„Teach me,“ the youth pleaded. „I want to control it all.“
The old man smirked. „You think power is what you want? Power costs more than you can imagine.“
A cold wind blew, rattling the trees. The fire swirled and dimmed, the light shrinking back into darkness.
„You will have it,“ the old man said, his voice turning sharp, „but there’s no turning back. Power binds you—chains made of your own desire.“
The youth hesitated. Was he ready for this?
The old man’s eyes glowed faintly. „The question is, are you ready to face yourself once it’s done?“
The youth nodded, determination in his heart, but doubt in his mind. The sorcerer’s shadow stretched long and dark.
And as the wizard’s chant filled the air, the youth could only wonder what part of himself he was about to lose.
