A grand tent, striped in crimson and gold, loomed like a slumbering beast at the edge of Blackwood City's bustling square. Within, shadows danced on thick canvas walls, and the murmurs of anticipation hung in the air like faint incense.
Angela, her arm entwined with her daughter's, stepped through the arched entrance, her boots sinking slightly into the sawdust-covered floor. Lilly clutched her hand tightly, eyes alight with the flicker of lanterns and the half-formed promise of wonder. They made their way to their seats near the edge of the second row, close enough to feel the breath of the performers, but just far enough to avoid the reach of wild beasts and illusions gone awry.
At that moment, the ringmaster, clad in a coat of midnight blue and gold trim, cracked a whip above the head of a striped tiger, its muscles rippling under the flickering lights. The beast snarled once, then bowed its head, subdued under the command of the man's silver-tipped cane.
Lilly blinked, her brief intrigue already beginning to wane. She leaned closer to her mother and whispered, "Mother… when will the magic show begin?"
Angela gave her daughter a patient glance, brushing her fingers across the girl's temple. "Soon, Lilly. You must wait a little longer. True magic is never rushed."
Lilly nodded, though her body betrayed her anticipation, legs bouncing, fingers tapping on her lap, a glimmer in her eyes that refused to dim.
Time crept slowly, each minute stretching into what felt like an eternity. Half an hour passed, but to Lilly, it was as if an entire season had come and gone. Just as her fidgeting neared rebellion, the lanterns dimmed. A hush fell across the audience.
From behind the velvet curtains emerged a young man dressed in the elegant attire of a magician's long tailcoat, white gloves, and a wide-brimmed hat casting a shadow over his sharp, enigmatic features. In his gloved hand, he carried an obsidian cane topped with a silver wolf's head.
The crowd stirred, a wave of whispers swelling to cheers. He raised one hand in greeting, and the air itself seemed to shimmer around him. Lilly straightened at once, her eyes wide with awe. This was it,the moment she had longed for.
The magician bowed low, and as he rose, a flock of crows burst from the folds of his coat, scattering into the tent's rafters before vanishing into motes of light. Gasps filled the hall.
Next, he stepped into an ornate box, his assistant closing it with ceremonial flair. A tense moment passed. Then, with an impossible whisper of movement, he reappeared on the far end of the hall, bowing once more. Murmurs turned to roaring applause. Children leaned forward in their seats, and even the older patrons whispered amongst themselves, wondering if perhaps, just perhaps, this was no mere sleight of hand.
For an hour, he held the crowd in the palm of his gloved hand, conjuring ribbons from thin air, making coins dance like fireflies, and reading thoughts whispered only in silence.
Lilly sat transfixed, her heart fluttering like a bird in a gilded cage.
At last, the magician swept off his hat and offered the audience a deep, final bow. Thunderous applause erupted. As he made his way toward the exit, walking the same aisle as the crowd, hands reached out, seeking a connection to the man who had, for an hour, suspended the mundane.
Among them was Lilly. Her small hand pushed through one of the many circular holes in the transparent fence, a clever barrier of glass and brass, perforated every few centimeters. Her cheeks were flushed with hope.
The magician slowed. Amid the chaos, he heard a clear, melodic voice rise above the din. Turning slightly, he met the girl's gaze and smiled, the corners of his lips curving with gentle amusement.
He took her hand.
"What should I call you, little miss?" he asked, his voice low and smooth, like velvet brushed over glass.
"I'm Lilly," she answered proudly. "And what should I call you, sir?"
The magician chuckled softly. His eyes held a strange depth, as if shadows curled behind their brightness. He reached out, ruffling her hair with a light, practiced touch.
"You may call me… The Magician."
With that, he turned, his coat billowing behind him, and disappeared beyond the curtain.
Behind the veil of performance, in a small, dimly lit resting room lined with travel-worn trunks and arcane paraphernalia, the magician exhaled slowly and sat upon the edge of a creaking bed. He removed his gloves and stared up at the tented ceiling, the flicker of a candle painting restless shadows across his features.
His name, known to the world now as Leo, was once Grey. After the tragic events in Rose County, he had crossed borders and vanished into anonymity,finding refuge in Lanner County, within the enigmatic city of Blackwood.
Three years had passed since that horrifying night. He had performed in town after town, honed his skills in both illusion and the esoteric arts gathering psychic energy, inching ever closer to the elusive Transition State.
He inhaled deeply and crossed his legs. The air in the room grew still as he closed his eyes and began to meditate.
His instincts whispered that the threshold was near.
Perhaps tonight… or tomorrow…
He would ascend