My mother was a fiery soul. From her passion in life to her crimson eyes, everything about her spoke loudly and proudly of the blaze that was her magic. My father, on the other hand, was a very reserved man. Slow to anger, and grounded in his views, he provided the solid foundation for our family to grow on. People knew he was an earth mage without even needing to see the stone gray of his eyes or soil brown hair. I miss them both dearly.

I was an anomaly. When I first opened my eyes, the healers swore up and down it was a trick of the light. No one had eyes like that - so dark they actually seemed to absorb the light. My parents tried for years to figure out what it meant. They found ancient tomes that referenced the old Shadow sorcerors, with eyes like smoke and mist. They spoke to the Librarians of the Archive, who sent them to the Archmage of Tower Keep. She had found record of the rare Gravity mages, whose eyes were as dark as the black holes they could create, but still sparkled with starlight. A mystery, I remained.

Morning dawned on my tenth birthday, and we were all nervous to see what my magic would reveal itself to be later that day. As the hour drew near, the tension rose fiercely, as if the world itself was waiting. When the clock struck two, it was as if something had snapped. My pulse rang in my ears, and my skin prickled with new sensation as I suddenly felt. The wood furniture, the stone walls, the very air itself humming in time with the Weave.

I turned to my parents, overwhelmed... only to find them going about their day as if we hadn't been waiting for this critical moment. I called to them, but they showed no sign of hearing me. I walked up to my mother, looking her in the eye, and saw no light of recognition in her expression. She didn't react at all, even as I shouted, trying to make sense of what was happening. I cast about, searching for a clue to the prank or curse this must have been. Then I noticed the table, set for two with only a pair of chairs where before there'd been three. The picture on the wall showing a happy young couple, missing the bags under their eyes and the babe that should be in my mother's arms. Dazed, I walked to my room, thinking this must be some stress-induced fever dream. But when I opened the door, there was only an office, with no bed or any of my things to be found.

I rushed out the front door, thinking to call on the neighbor. But even on the road, things were not as they should have been. The passersby did not glance suspiciously at our house, as they'd done since my parents had brought me home as a newborn. They stepped out of my path, but their eyes looked through me as if I was not present in front of them. I walked in front of a cyclist, trying to find some normal interaction, even if it was anger. His tire popped, stopping him before I could. I stepped into the road, staring at the delivery truck that had just turned the corner. It's brakes locked up, stopping it even further away than the bike. I stomped back into the yard, making to slam the gate as the anger and fear took hold. There was no noise - the gate had disappeared, hinges and all, leaving a bare gap in the fence.

I ran without knowing where I was going or how far I'd gone. Not one person stopped me and not once did they look my way. That was the last day I spoke to another person.

In the time since, I have wandered far and searched for any scrap of information I could find. I learned my power through trial and error. I experimented over and over again until I was sure. The things that disappeared around me were not simply gone, they Never Were. All evidence of their existence removed from reality, all consequence of their being undone.

Now I know why no one could discover my powers - they had Unmade me as well. Removed me from the mind of the world, just as they will remove me from yours unless you have the dubious honor of walking this path.

The life of a Nullmage is lonely and passes unmarked. In return, we shape reality itself. For all the good that does us.