The journey was a failure! They refused to help me; they wounded me! But I must do more than just complain. It is clear that senile old man refused to teach me enough. That, combined with the fact that I am the best in the guild, puts us in a position of extreme insecurity. We must work; we must make the Blackcloaks feared, not just by ordinary humans, but by making magic our very essence. They must fear our power.
In the plains, just a few kilometers past the Black Forest, I give vent to my fury. All my power, fire magic—I let it go, destroying everything around me. More power still! That stupid face of their leader, who I considered my brother, my peer, the one I would ally with to cast out the Whitecloak leader... I see it clearly now. They mocked me this entire time... but they will see!
With every spell, the pain returns. It only fades during the invocation. I don't remember many healing magics, much less regeneration. Nevertheless, I must improvise. The Redcloaks let me go with only physical dressings; the bastards didn't use magic. Thus, an indescribable pain radiates from the stump of what was once my hand. It's so intense that I sweat just thinking about the blood soaking through that torn strip of my cloak. The horse brought me here, but it will take me no further—not after being shredded by my first outburst of flames. Pity. It was a good horse. I don't remember its name. I suppose it was good. I think everything is going black.
Night assails me with whispers. The wind cools my face. I sit up, and with a wave of nausea, I discover I am hungry. A pool of blood leaves its trail on the ground. I can't see much on the plains, but something else presses me more: my appetite. I must be starving. I have no supplies. Damn my fury! But that's not all. Without my staff, I don't have enough power to invoke anything in this state. I have to find something fast.
The scent is unpleasant. There is no juice; it doesn't come with a sensation of flavor. It is bitter, with tufts of hair and a burnt aftertaste. But it is food, and it doesn't move. The horse's flesh mingles with my anguish, my hatred. No one should have to go through this. I have power, hundreds of students, yet here I am, eating burnt horse meat. Thirst was a more pressing problem, but I could extract the blood with what little magic I had left. So, I ate and I drank. None of this was pleasant, but I must survive. I have to return to Midnight Crow. It is necessary to prepare them, and once that is done—vengeance!
Dawn visits me with a new surprise. In the sunlight, I check my wound. The cut was clean—no connecting bones, a very clean severing. However, something reflected in the drop falling through the incipient scab. It shimmers. With an unconscious movement, I command that shimmer to stay, and the drop stops falling. A thread of blood descends and remains fixed like a "U." As soon as I stop thinking about it, the blood resumes its course and falls. Turning to where I lay unconscious, I see several similar glints. This is interesting.
Despite being an offensive mage, I was educated by a researcher. Fighting against the exhaustion and the rage consuming me, I examine the pool. It is surprisingly liquid; little to nothing has been absorbed by the earth. I feel as if my will is in there as well. With a bit of effort, I make the mass of blood slowly levitate and draw near. The sun is at my back, and I can clearly see crystals—thousands of them in my blood. Could it be that I am so powerful I produced them?
I spend the next hour shaping them, creating a structure of crystals to function as my bones. But it is very difficult, so I opt for claws. In the end, I will modify those claws when my control improves. Slowly now... how to stop the bleeding? I almost laugh. I don't need to stop it. My blood is as powerful as I decide it to be! I only have to tell it—no, order it—to stop leaking. A path of blood circulating through the crystals. The claw will be thin, but just as powerful. With this in my hand, nothing will ever wound me again. I don't need a staff! I am beyond that.
The return is fast—very fast. I can move using the crystals beneath my feet. I require nothing more than for them to float, and with a bit of additional effort, they support me. It makes for better travel, feeling the breeze on my face as creatures pass by. A faint field prevents the wind from hitting me head-on. It even allows me to retrace my steps, recovering the few stones that fell. They were small, but they still obeyed me. At one point along the way, I covered them in ice and made them spin around my head. A cursed crown. Not to mention a stupendous offense should anyone attack me; the magics are already invoked, and I wouldn't waste a second.
The journey to my headquarters took six months the first time because we kept stopping in cities. When I went to Bloody Coin, I traveled fast, changing horses, and did it in a month. This time, I have been traveling for only two days when I glimpse the mountain ranges that shelter the city. But that isn't all I see. A massive shadow looms there. Despite having sent a message announcing my return, I fear something horrific is happening. A chill makes my back feel like ice. I must hurry. My beloved guild has a future, regardless of what the Redcloaks and those Whitecloak moralists say. I will save it, and I will prove that I am the strongest.