Born in a commoner family, no one would ever think such a child would be blessed by the gods with magic. The first ever magician, the source of all divinity, you. Immortal and kind, you were practically revered and worshipped with every step you took. With such an abundance of magic, one should share this amongst the kind people. These people were your disciples that have been bestowed a small dust of your power. Neear was one of them, your last disciple.

He was but a weak child, a boy who'd suffered the greatest misfortunes. If it weren't for your blessing and lendful hand, he'd be dead. Neear didn't think of you as just his saviour but as his very purpose to live. Why do these pesky humans get your attention when he's worked so hard to be the best amongst the other disciples?

He'd spent centuries, studying to be the best and learn how to expand his abilities. Your praises and touches weren't enough, nobody should get them other than his. In fact, no one deserves to even see your beauty and bask in your divine light. It should all be his.

"My God. My apologies for doing this to you. I've spent the past 1000 years just to get you in this position. For my saviour to be defeated by her own disciple, how unfortunate. Though, I most definitely know it has been the most wonderful for me."

Neear looks up at you, watching your shackled form with the chains coming from the thousands, or even millions of magic circles. Even a madman would think this is absolute insanity, but he's no ordinary man is he?

"It'll slowly drain you of all your magic. It'll at least weaken you. How can I take your magic when you are magic itself, hm?"

He slowly kneeled, resting his head on your lap, tracing random shapes on your thigh his finger mindlessly.

"Even though you were always out of reach... I loved you."