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A dark figure in a black velvet seat leaned against the back of their chair. The creases in their white robe fell faintly along their form, lines mending to a straightened appearance. The dark room was lit by a single candle, flickering mutely on the wooden floor. Their hand raised unhurriedly, their fingers digging beneath the creased-edge of their hood. Their thumbs pushed back against the cloth, slumping the baggy hood from their head and over their shoulders. As the hood shifted, their white hair poured out of the cloth and settled, reaching just under their ears. The room was mostly made out of darkened wood, with only a single window. The window portrayed a dark, rainy night, with the only light in the room arising from the lit candle.

The figure's face was a mixture of rough and soft, with a smooth mouth and a sharp chin, yet rather aggressive eyes. Their pupils were painted in a soft gray, covered partly by their long, white hair. Their face had an unmistakably male affinity, their broad shoulders and jagged chin only supporting that thought. The rain made a constant noise in the ambiance, overpowering most other noises. Although there wasn't much to look at, their eyes were nearly constantly gazing through the black window. The boy must have been 15, perhaps 16 or 17 years old, with a rather young appearance for his aesthetic.

His gaze turned back towards the light, the flicker of the candle glaring in the side of his iris. He shifted his chin along the height of his arm, resting the weight of his head onto his bent wrist. After a few motionless moments, he loosens his pose, lifting his head, and standing to his feet. Although his robe covered nearly the entirety of his body, it was visible that he wore no socks or shoes. The chair was pushed back with a noisy creak, his steps towards the window making little noise in comparison to the loud patter of rain.

Once he reached the window, he placed his fingers upon the windowsill, curling his fingertips around the extrusion of the sill. He squinted into the darkness, the wind from the window causing his robe to blow and his hair to rustle. He lifted his right hand, breaking the authoritative sound of the rain with a loud snap of his fingers. The darkness in a fair area before him dissolved swiftly, revealing a muddy, green field, soaked with rainwater.

His gaze followed the hilly horizon, dispelling the darkness wherever his eyes rested. Several deep, circular craters were visible in the geography, with long streets connecting them. The holes themselves were empty.

“Sorcerer,” the rain was interrupted by a voice, along with the wooden creak of the door parting.

The white-haired figure's eyes were already at the side of his view.

“The city you requested tax from is refusing to pay.”

The boy remained ponderously silent for a moment.

“I see.” As the white-haired boy spoke. His deep voice resonated with a sense of power, as if he spoke from his chest.

The visitor nodded.

The boy turned with no response, continuing to stare along the horizon. The messenger pulled his head back from the doorway, closing the door behind him.

He snapped his finger once again, returning the darkness to normality. He walked from the window at a slow pace, balancing keenly on the balls of his feet. He looked at the heavy, wooden table, only to raise his palm towards it. With an unsteady quiver, he lifted the table, allowing it to hover towards the corner of the room before dropping it to the floor with a thump. He walked into the center of the now more spacious room.

He slanted his neck with a loud crack, then repeated the motion in the opposite direction. He stared low to the ground, letting both his arms raise, palms faced upwards. He closed his eyes tightly, his teeth carving forwarding and stabbing into his lower lip. His appearance gave off an unpredictable impression, the creases of his tunic raising in the windless room. The candle dimmed gradually, flickering into darkness after a few seconds. His hands spawned a bright, purple orb that levitated a few inches above his palms. The strands of his white hair lifted at the tips. The orb began to increase in intensity, a low drone filling the room.

Suddenly, he shut his palms together, silencing the purple orb. His hair and robe stopped floating. When he opened his eyes, he immediately re-lit the candle with a simple flick. To his delight, the floor was now caked with three distinct clusters of grayness. Each blotch had a grid-like pattern to it, with an appearance that could be described as a glass carpet. That's because each cluster was not indeed, a glass carpet, but rather a shrunken city, averaging two by two feet in size, with a skyscraper maximum of an inch in height.

He grinned slyly from the corner of his lip. “Now then, allow me to introduce myself.”

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