I heard the pitter-patter first. Small, rhythmic and muffled, like a faraway dance.

Then came the screams. Distant and child-like.

Every muscle in my body tightened at the sound. I let the bucket drop with a thunderous clap, soaking most of my black robes. More screams ensued around me as water from the bucket flooded the makeshift medical ward.

"Viginti Vacuus!" Someone huffed, while others grabbed the hems of their grimy, white dresses and leapt onto the dingy little beds.

But I didn't respond to their calls. There was no time to. I was already running out of the shoddy room, shoving aside wooden doors and gasping, glaring humans alike.

With a final 'bang' and a spray of splinters, I forced open wooden door and stepped out into the sun.

I squinted through the sudden brightness before sprinting on. I was also vaguely aware of pain, like a jolt of needles running up my leg with every bare-footed step I took on the gravel road. Every dry breath of air I heaved ripped its way into my lungs, but I didn't stop.

If this was any other world, running children was nothing to be terrified of. Children ran after all. They ran, they screamed and they played.

But not in the Void.

Here, you worked or you fought. There was no third option. Age was of little consequence. I was barely into my second decade after all, and I had already been chosen the High Mage of Umbra.

War did that.

Aeons of senseless skirmishes between the Light and the Void did that. And we were left with scores of orphans and the infrequent, real adult. It was why I had refused to set foot on the battlefield. One of the many reasons, at least.

I was glad there was no wind today. The clear sunny sky meant my long, dark hair did not obstruct my vision as I ran. I pushed past more people, young lads and lasses, but by now, most of the crowd had begun to make way for me. Two long rows of young faces now stood at either side. All of them in dark emerald robes.

Mages.

Their interlocked arms appeared as a pair of walls. They were the barrier between me and the peasants-preventing them from hounding me. They were also my walls, highlighting a straight path to a group of huddled people in emerald robes ahead.

The oldest mage in the huddled group lifted her head first. I knew her, Zarethia, a spiffy apprentice barely six name-days younger than me. Only just an adult, and yet like all the other orphans, she was old enough to help. To fight. To work.

Zarethia scanned the vicinity before settling her sights in my direction. Her face crumpled in relief, "Viginti Vacuus!" she called, her voice unnaturally high. And even from here I could see her dark, beady eyes widen, I could hear her voice tremble.

I made my way to the group in two large strides, "I'm here," I breathed, flopping onto my knees. Up close I could see it wasn't really a huddle. The mages had made a small, sniffling circle around a tiny boy clad in a dirty, white tunic. The boy lay shivering under the sun. His wee, round face an ashen canvas of black as red liquid trickled out of his nose, pooling onto his shirt.

The sight of a tiny, bloodied child was nothing out of the ordinary in the Void. Children were drafted, they fought and they died. But this wee soul wasn't a soldier, he was dying for an entirely different reason. One out of my control.

As if cast by a spell, the boy turned his head ever so slowly, his hollow, green eyes growing very round at the sight of me, "Viginti ... Vacuus." Every word he uttered seemed to require a tremendous amount of effort. He winced with every tiny rise of his chest, his breath crackling like fire.

I took a deep breath, I couldn't turn into a blubbering mess like the rest of the mages, so I smiled instead. "The bravest warriors are allowed to call me Valeria," I offered. Even if this child had never really seen war.

The boy's eyes widened as he took in what I had said, and then he shook his head—violently.

Another joy of war, I was no longer Valeria. I was now Viginti Vacuus, the High Mage of Umbra, Twentieth Witch of the Void. Taking my birth name had become an unforgivable sin, even to someone as tiny and close to the end as this boy.

"What's your name?" I asked instead, attempting a smile to dismiss the pull in my chest every time the tiny chest rose erratically.

"Tom...lin...son."

I nodded, still smiling, "A name befitting a young warrior," I proclaimed, "Ser Tomlinson the Brave, a pleasure to make your acquaintance."

Tomlinson returned my smile with a feeble one of his own, his frail body shivering even under the heat of the sun. "I'm ... cold," the boy then said, drawing another crackling breath as his eyes drifted to the sky.

My hand moved before my mind did, unclasping the dark cloak off my shoulders.

Zarethia dug her nails into my arms before I did anything more. She shook her head ever so slightly, her narrowed eyes hinting at a silent warning.

I swallowed, but a lump had emerged in my throat, one that wouldn't go down. Of course they wouldn't let me comfort him. The poor boy was carrying a deadly affliction and no one would dare risk the Viginti Vacuus dying. I was the last magical descendant of the First Witch, after all. The last true mage.

So I inclined my head towards one of my apprentices, Rayetha, instead. The lesser mages may not have carried magic in their blood as I did, but they could use fire crystals to keep the boy warm.

I watched as they laid the amber crystals around the boy, humming a gentle melody. I watched the small child shut his eyes with a soft smile and suck in a deep breath. I watched the chest rise. And for a long time I continued watching.

But the boy's chest never went down again.

The hysterical sobbing that followed did not eat at me as much as it should have. Tomlinson was the third child to succumb to this mysterious affliction in the past hour alone.

I stood up despite the tightness in my chest, despite the nausea. This was a time for family now. A time to say goodbye. My duties as the High Mage ended here. I turned back to the pathway my mages had made, pulling my hood low over my head in respect for the small child.

"Viginti Vacuus!" Zarethia rushed to my side, her eyes still quite wide, "I tried everything! Hemlock! Periwinkle! Sage! Catnip—"

I raised a hand to silence my apprentice before she began listing every herb known to mankind. Announcing what had failed so loudly was not going to do our morale any favours either. So I kept my head bowed low and my hands folded under the black cloak, "Do not be discourteous to the deceased, Zarethia." My voice was a respectful whisper but I had given it just enough edge to depict my aversion.

"Viginti Vacuus, everyone is succumbing to this affliction!"

I sighed, I was well aware of this information. Whatever this was, it was spreading much faster than any disease I had seen before. Her fears were not unfounded, "I am aware—" I began but was cut off again.

"Nothing works! No herb or salve, no charm or crystal." Her voice had become unnaturally high again. And out of the corner of my eye, I saw a twitch.

I had almost thought I'd imagined it at first. I wasn't really looking at her for one and she had been crying so bitterly for another. But I stopped in my tracks to watch Zarethia closesly. If only to err on the side of caution. And it happened again, one, two and her head began a series of bizarre jerks.

I froze, and the tightening in my chest grew stronger, more painful as I watched my apprentice. "Zarethia ... are you well?"

She turned to face me, her brows creased in confusion, "What did you hear?"

Not yes, not no, but 'what did you hear?' Answering a question with a question was a nobleman's way of avoiding an answer, of avoiding admission. I despised it. Before I could tell her so, however, a trickle of black liquid began oozing down her left nostril.

"No!" I cried, but I had not so much as reached out to my apprentice when I was pulled back."No! Please!" I insisted, as a horde of boys and girls alike dragged me further away. Zarethia's face being the last thing I saw in the sea of emerald robes.

The young lady was standing absolutely still, as if frozen, as if her the face may have been sculpted into stone. When she finally looked at me, the pathetic High Mage being hauled away, Zarethia gave me a final smile, her eyes brimming.

"Viginti ... Vacuus."

(1544 words)