What’s in a Name?

Unforeseen tragedy inevitably sparks a domino effect. This domino effect spirals and descends into a plethora of messy webs. Those who accept this fate are ensnared. A few lucky ones escape or weave their own web of fate.

However, others try to escape this chain. They flee and wander about in hopes of finding their way out of the labyrinth of webs. Are any fortunate enough to escape.

The vagrant sure hoped so.

It had only been a week after the collapse of the aero mage's nation. Yet, it and felt as if he had been trudging through the foreign landscape for years. He had just graduated but his face and stature had already begun to take on a wizened appearance from stress and starvation.

The perpetual patter of racing raindrops wouldn't cease. They wormed their way through the flimsy silken cloak and crawled into burning skin. Despite the onslaught of cold water, flesh continued to burn in retaliation. Everything was seething cold to the touch and black was overtaking every peripheral.

The vagrant was perched on the cusp of delirium but his anger impelled him to push on aimlessly. Beneath his feet lay the crudely torn remains of his diploma and magus identification card. A few tattered fragments stuck to his foot and refused to budge.

The mage gave his foot a halfhearted shake but the paper stayed. His bare sole slid unceremoniously over stone and the rest of his body followed suit and lurched backwards.

He exhaled and accepted his futile fate.

When he blinked, he was back at the edge of the unnamed cliff. His satchel rested on his shoulder and the tattered paper was nowhere to be seen. With a sharp exhale, the wayfarer tore off the clasp of his satchel and found the diploma and magus card still intact. As he slung it off his shoulder and held it over his head, an epiphany befell him.

He threw it into the gaping abyss and was greeted by a dull thud. Then he took a step over the edge.

It was a phantom pitfall. Nothing but soft clay soil lay beneath the blanket of shadows.

The wanderer knew he had to do it himself. He procured a quill from his pocket. Although it was soaked in rain, the decrepit wand would have to make do. In anguished, raspy breaths he cried a string of incantations that nobody should utter.

When he was done, a bright iridescent light emerged but it wasn't the light he was looking for. It wasn't accompanied by searing pain that indicated the end was near. Instead, a willowy web of wisps in the vague form of a rather grotesque head stared at him with an unsettling, childlike mirth.

The spiral into chaos had already begun and no matter which path he took, he couldn't bring it to an end.

The florescent apparition tilted to the side and began to speak in a timid voice.

"You're the card bearer now."

It morphed from a head into a pair of hands and then gestured forward. A blank deck of cards sat expectantly by the sleeping mage's feet.

Unbeknownst to him, an imminent danger was near.