Member-only story
FICTION | FANTASY | FUTURE
Mages are mortal, too
We can’t have it all
“So, let me get this right- because what you’re telling me, well, is impossible. You’re saying it’s terminal?”
The doctor didn’t reply with words. Instead, he looked at Elliot, thin, dry lips pressed together, and brow furrowed. He clicked his pen back into its case, then gave a single, silent nod. “I’m afraid the evidence suggests your mana has begun crystallizing. Without further scans confirming it, I’d say you’re a late-stage 3 — at best.”
“And at worst?”
The doctor sighed, slumping into his armchair. “You should have been put to carousel months ago.” He let the words fall, then pressed on. But Elliot had already turned away from the doctor in shock, to the window, to escape the cold sterility surrounding him.
It rained upon the street below, with a fog pressing against the spires of skyscrapers. Somewhere in between the clouds and the ground, the mage-citizens of Neo-York flew effortlessly, clutching briefcases, holding onto their hats in the face of the oncoming weather. Neon signs blinked at the passing crowds, casting advertisements and campaign slogans like hypnotizing curses. “Want to fly higher? Want to grasp forever? Vote for President Mitchel’s third term.”
