He sat out on the balcony, watching the night sky for the fleeting stab of the falling stars. Normally, this was his favorite time of year, watching the heavens put on their show, but tonight he felt nothing but bitterness at each brief, flaring light. Brief. So brief, just like his life would be, now that he had magic.
His heritage wasn’t enough to protect him from this. He might get 50 years, instead of the mage’s normal 30. If he was lucky.
“At least I will not be a slave,” he spoke aloud, trying to hold the terror of this realization at bay.
Sarah Z. Creates 
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