The Philosopher's Stone

There once was a magician, a Magister of the Light (magi) who was forced to flee a city in ruin as it collapsed all around him.  

Taking the Philosopher’s Stone with him, he planned to take it far away, somewhere out of the reach of society, to preserve it for those to come.  

In the chaos of that dark night, a fragment of it broke off and fell to the ground burying itself in the dirt of the ruins.  

Did the Magi notice?  

Regarding that we will never know.  

Sometime later a boy found the stone in the dirt, but did not know what to make of it. It was heavy like gold, yet ethereal at the same time. 

Bright red-orange in color, an immediate feeling of something special that could not be described in words.  

The boy put this curiosity on his bookshelf where it sat for many years. 

He knew the stone was special, but there was always other pressing matters that prevented its inquiry as life got in the way.  

When the boy was a young man he met an old man who was once full of life. He told the young man he was a magician, but was now bitter and disillusioned, this magic thing had not worked out as they expected.

The old man always thought there would be more time.

For the first time in a long time the boy, now a young man, noticed the stone on his bookshelf.  

Time passed and the young man was now a man of a few years.  

“What am I to do with you?” he asked the stone.  

There was only one thing left to do.  

He swallowed the stone.