He could still feel the vines that grasped at his throat, the stones that clenched his leg, and the voices that laughed at his feeble attempts to grasp at strength beyond his understanding.
Twice he had failed. Twice had had been cast down.
Twice he had nearly succeeded. Twice he had used all the strength his body could muster.
A failure thrice would be the end of him and his story.
But he had to try again. He had to stand once more and declare to all the powers that be that he would succeed or die trying.
But this time… It worked.
Something changed. The world seemed more clear. As if the schematics of reality were always around him in clear view. His eyes ran red with his blood, his throat hoarse and weak. But Clemens had never felt more in control of his fate.
He finally could truly do something. Could truly put himself between innocents and those who would harm and exploit them. He could do something worth remembering.
“But were any of your heroes… Mages?”
That last lingering question of those disembodied voices…
For Clemens it was a challenge.
He is now a mage.
He will be remembered as a hero.