The last Mage of ironmoon

The air smelled of smoke and wet stone. Rain drizzled over the town square, hissing as it struck the flames beneath the gallows. The crowd stood silent, eyes fixed on the charred remains of the man hanging above the fire. Another mage, burned. Leo wiped the rain from his face, his fingers trembling against his skin. He stayed at the back of the crowd, keeping his head down, watching as the king’s guards dragged the blackened corpse from the pyre. No one wept for the man. No one whispered prayers. The people of Ironmoon had long learned that mercy invited death. The town bell rang, echoing through the stone streets like a funeral dirge. The crowd dispersed, feet splashing through puddles as they returned to their daily routines. Leo turned away too, heart heavy as he slipped through the twisting alleys leading back to the castle grounds. He hated the executions, but he couldn’t look away. Because every time a mage burned, Leo felt something stir inside him. A strange, aching pull. Leo ducked under the archway of the castle’s side gate, water dripping from his cloak. The stables reeked of manure and wet hay, but the familiar scent brought relief. It was safer here — away from the gallows, away from the king’s soldiers. He grabbed a broom and started sweeping, muscles aching from the day before. The stable master, Old Bram, snored in the corner, clutching a half-empty bottle of ale. "You're late," a voice whispered. Leo jumped, nearly knocking over a bucket. Talia, the kitchen maid, peeked around the stable door, her dark curls plastered to her face from the rain. “I... I got caught up,” Leo muttered, brushing hair from his eyes. Talia frowned, stepping inside. “You went to the square again, didn’t you?” Leo kept sweeping, avoiding her gaze. “I was just passing by.” “Passing by a burning body?” She crossed her arms. “You keep watching those executions like you're looking for something.” Leo bit the inside of his cheek. He couldn’t tell her the truth — that he felt something each time a mage died, like a thread snapping inside him. “I don’t know,” he whispered. “It just... it feels wrong.” Talia softened, stepping closer. “Everything in this kingdom is wrong, Leo. But watching them die won’t change anything.” He nodded, but his chest tightened. Watching wouldn’t change anything. But the voice might. The one that wouldn’t stop calling his name. By the time the guards locked the castle gates, Leo couldn’t ignore the voice anymore. The forest loomed beyond the castle walls, its twisted branches clawing at the sky. Leo slipped through a gap in the outer gate, mud squelching beneath his boots as he followed the voice’s call. It led him to the Bloodstone Chapel — a crumbling ruin swallowed by thorns and ivy. The king had forbidden anyone from entering the chapel. People said spirits haunted the place, the souls of dead mages lingering long after death. But the voice didn’t stop. It whispered through the trees, curling through the wind like smoke. Leo... come. Leo’s heart hammered as he stepped inside the chapel, boots scraping against the stone floor. Moonlight spilled through the broken ceiling, illuminating an altar of black stone. The name Bloodstone came from that altar — a slab said to have turned red during an ancient m******e. His fingers traced the faded runes on the floor, the symbols rough against his skin. “This is insane,” he muttered to himself. “I should leave.” But his foot crossed the threshold. And the magic woke up. The runes flared with light, burning a deep blue. Leo staggered back, his chest tightening as the air thickened around him. The stone beneath his feet vibrated, and a low hum echoed through the chapel walls. The voice — louder now — resonated through the space. Awaken. Leo collapsed to his knees as searing pain bloomed across his skin. The light coiled around his body, the runes branding themselves into his arms like living fire. Sweat dripped down his face as he clutched his chest, his body trembling beneath the magic’s weight. When the light faded, Leo gasped for breath, vision swimming. The runes dimmed, sinking into faint silver scars along his forearms. The circle went dark. The magic settled. But it was inside him now. He could feel it — thrumming like an ember beneath his flesh, a spark of something ancient and terrible. Leo staggered out of the chapel, legs shaking. The forest stretched out in front of him, and beyond it, the towering silhouette of the castle. They would kill him for this. No one survived being a mage.