fate is a fickle thing

We all sometimes feel the impulsive, persistent pull of the unknown.
It tugs, promising worlds of possibility.
The want to launch into an entirely new life and discarding the old one behind.
New beginnings. Clean slates.

Lots of people want, feel the need. But they are no fools, and are not going to risk divulging from what they know is and will be true.

Except Elsyer is a fool, so he throws everything he knows into the gutter and starts chasing something he can't even begin to form an image of.

---

Elsyer doesn't know what he wants.
That seems to be one of his defining traits and he kind of hates that.

Not to say he is indecisive.

But he doesn't have those life goals that everyone keeps preaching about through school, and even after.
Or he does, but none kept him grounded long enough to stop him from looking away.

Once he thought he was content, in a place that sang songs of the sea and a house that smelled like freshly baked bread.
He was happy and in love, but something else was calling and one day it became too loud to ignore.
(Noa reminded him of home.)
(The thing is, Elsyer is pretty good at running from those.)

He can't really tell if he's running towards something, or away.
Sometimes it feels like neither, and he gets a little lost and starts to stumble.
(Because then why is he still going?)

This, he thinks, is answered when silver flame scorches a symbol of chaos and chance into his arm.
Definitely away, because this thing hurts like a motherfucker.
It eats into his skin and he feels white hot fire in his veins and he's convinced he's about to die, but it doesn't let him.

Instead, it blows up the bank he worked at and threw him into a future he never saw coming.
(If this magic had a face he swears it would be smirking.)
(Smug asshole probably knows it ruined his life. He'll thank it later.)

So if he wasn't stumbling before, he definitely is now.
Tripping and falling flat on his face and maybe not getting up ever.
But magic is persistent and pulls him along even if it means dragging his limp body through gravel.

It takes him to a bar with a musician he can just barely tolerate.
It takes him to a barbarian who's grabbing anyone mildly capable to help her reclaim her tribe,
and in extension to a colourful array of people he never thought he'd had a reason to talk to.

It surges and bursts and cackles in battle, granting unpredictability and bringing a feral giddiness he feared but at the same time loved.

It keeps pulling him along and brings him to dragons and liches and guardians clad in black iron.
It pulls him to dark caverns that glow with blue runes, to a place stuck between the living and the dead.
And pulls him back to a town with salt in its winds and with streets he remembers walking in a not-too-distant memory.
(And it continues guiding him, holding his hand as he thinks about how he's going to say "I'm sorry".)

The magic pulls, and Elsyer finally tugs back.
It waits patiently for him to get on his feet, brush the dirt off his clothes.
(Replaced dozens of times by now.)
And laughs alongside him.

Elsyer doesn't know what he wants.
It's one of his defining traits, and he aims to correct it one day.
But for now, he's the happiest being confused as all fuck.

And he's absolutely elated to be, if this is how things turn out in the end.