《Omen of Catastrophe》


 An Errand Forgotten

    A column of ants marched along the wooden flooring, retrieving the plunder of their expedition. These were not soldiers, but workers, separated they were weak, yet working together they could build amazing structures, and reach unfathomable heights. This synergy comes at a price, for they may not follow their desire. They follow their prerogative, for the system to function.


    Following the trail was a young girl with clear white hair, a bad omen among her people. She had set her eyes on one specific worker and dreamt of its family who it would surely feed this day. She had given it a crumb, so that it may have food for the winter, or it may even have enough to share with its friends. Her green and yellow linen dress properly dirty from cleaning. Her little friend seemed unafraid of the giant creature that had set her eyes on it, as it ran up the wooden wall. If the weight of the crumb slowed it down, the child could not tell. The strong and persistent creature carried its weight, past the orange curtains and through the window leading into the garden. The line of sight was broken, but the girl would not want to give up her adventure, she grabbed a hold of one of the stools and placed it by the opening. She let go of the broom she had only now remembered she was holding. It had barely clattered against the ground, before the child had hauled her small body up, through the cloth barrier and into the autumn air. With a thump, she landed in the vegetable garden. The smell of ripe berries and root crops ready to be harvested filled her nostrils, reminding her that supper was around the corner. She adjusted her seating and realized she had landed on a one of the garden crops. A root vegetable of some kind, purple like the forests within and without the wooden village wall, she quickly picked it out of the ground, and scouted for the line of ants. Before long she had rediscovered the foragers scaling the outside of the wall. Following the line towards the ground, she crawled along the ground, searching for the crumb carrier. Using both hands to steady herself, the purple root in her mouth, she went, all fours. Her path took her from garden, past fences and between homes, before she found the little worker. Her long white hair, an omen of catastrophe, filthed by the lanes between houses. Through the muck and mud, she followed the caravan, until she came upon their colony. She admired their discipline, for despite their size they had traveled far to feed their city. She drew a heavy breath filling her lungs with the air of old cloth and fallen leaves, as she began chewing on the crop, she had brought with her. She knew not for how long she had been sitting before she heard her mother¡¯s call.


    ¡°Syndra!¡±


    Her mother¡¯s shriek snapped her out of the separate reality she had found herself in. Though distant, the tone was unmistakable. Syndra was in trouble. She took stock of the situation and realized that she was in trouble. A ruined dress, a half-finished sweeping and stolen food. Without the heart to return home, she ran, hoping that her mother would calm down or start some activity before she would come home.


    This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road. If you spot it on Amazon, please report it.


    She ran through the winding trail through the forest. The holy tree, The Ghost-Willow, would be her solace. Among the high grass she hid near the tree. She spotted the priest, packing up bucket and ladle. His blessings granted, he stole a glance towards the fugitive, and gave a silent nod, before he turned and passed through the proper path back to the village. Reminding herself of his wisdom, she took a deep breath and calmed herself. She leaned her back against the tree, and peered into the woods, digging out the vegetable, she brought it to her mouth. She savored the bites she could have, for she realized that it would be her day¡¯s dinner. The sweet taste was amplified by the smell of bonfire and falling leaves. So she stayed with the tree, silently whispering her day¡¯s adventure. Telling her story to the only audience willing to listen. The sounds of the evening began to creep in, whenever she took pause. Orange autumn colours amplified by the setting sun, threatening to pour cold air through the village. The clammy feeling of thick air forewarned rain, but until she was forced inside, she would stay away for as long as possible. The juices from the vegetable sticking her hands and between bites she wiped them off her already dirty dress, with the thought that her mother would be angry either way. With the sound of crackle, the water impacted the leaves. The smell of wet underbrush filled her nostrils, and the cold rain wetted her clothing. The rain became heavier and heavier, yet she would wait for the dark.


    By the time the twilight had become night, and cold permeated her body, she trudged back through the trail she had come from. Mud caked around her moccasins the more she hobbled. Eventually she pushed aside the brush and emerged in the village once more. She dragged her feet through the mud, freezing her feet with water, the smell of embers permeated the pathways until she made it her family home. A quiet ear against the door, betrayed stillness. She pushed the door open and trudged into the house. Taking off her footwear, she placed them next to the other indoor shoes, and quietly snuck into the living room.


    Barely had she made it toward her sleeping place, before someone grabbed her by the arm. She turned and saw Evard, her brother. She tried struggling, but he easily dragged her along. She dragged her heels, quietly trying to grab for doorway, any heavy object. Her desperate flailing availed nothing, as she was yanked toward their parents¡¯ darkened bedroom. She pried her arm, but Evard¡¯s hand was a vice. As a doe dragged towards the butcher. Tears welled in her eyes, heating her cheeks.


    ¡°Please don¡¯t, Evard. Please don¡¯t tell mum.¡± Syndra whispered quietly.


    In vain hope, she tried appealing to his heart, but as she should have learned her brother possessed little. He took pause. In thought he regarded his sister, considering her plea. Just as Syndra thought she might strike a bargain, a wicked smile split his face. He leaned downward and brushed her dress.


    ¡°Mum will not like this.¡±


    He spoke quietly as the night; a hidden glee coated his words. Moving his hands over the much at her knees. ¡°But she will hate this¡±. Letting go with his other hand, he grabbed two fistfuls of her dress, and ripped the thin material apart.


    Syndra threw a fist towards her brother, but she was slow, and he was strong. With barely a skipped breath, he grabbed hold of her arm and pushed her toward the cruel fate her mother would subject her to.

 Punishment

    A beam of orange light shone into illuminating the otherwise dark and stuffy room. The somberness of lonely evening. A spinning wheel whirred in the silent room, pedaled by a small girl, who, if not for time, would still have eyes red from tears. The distant buzz of the village seeped through the open window, along with small particles alit due to the evening sun¡¯s rays. Syndra had been at work for many hours. Her hands tired and dry. The dress was in a better state than yesterday, as it lay splayed upon a chair in the corner of the room. An obvious patch on where Evard had ripped it the day before. She was dressed in simple white-brown hempen tunic and pants. Her punishment was lighter than feared, though she was forced to spin yarn for a new dress, and of course patching her dress back up, though she would be unlikely to use it again. In agreement her parents decided that dresses were too fragile to remain in her wardrobe, as such she was restricted to hempen dressings, now that she had proven she couldn¡¯t be trusted with finer materials.


    The spinning wheel slowed, as Syndra took her foot off the pedal. She surveyed five spindles she had made, and the three that had broken. The one she was working on was about half-way finished, yet she had no more patience. Head drooping with a heaviness, she lay down on the wooden floor. Her body still teeming with energy, but without the will to muster it. With leaden head and light body, she rolled her body from side to side. She studied her hands, red with cuts and sore from work. So, she remained for a few minutes. And then a few more. before she heard a clicking. A sugarbeetle meandered across the wooden floor. Her weariness disappeared in an instant as the intruder promised stimuli. She slowly sat, as to not disturb the small creature. Her eyes fixed upon the slow waddle of the armoured insect. Syndra thought it was in search of food, she shimmied to the chair, and pushed her dress aside. Below was the bowl of rice she had received as breakfast, lunch, and dinner. She hurriedly dug out a few grains uneaten, and gingerly crawled back towards her guest. Placing a grain in the path of the beetle, she watched the tiny knight waddle its way toward the treasure. To Syndra a grain seemed insignificant, but to her newfound friend, it would seem enormous. It however seemed highly uninterested in her gift. She put a few more in front of it, more abrasive this time. She would not let her offerings be ignored again. Hunger got the best of it. With a slow nibble it began devouring the meal it was given.


    Syndra was ensorcelled by the muted colours of the beetle. She remained until the scavenger had had its fill and shuffled away once more. Fat after its meal, Syndra scurried after it, head on the floor, trying to get an eyeful of its slow movements. It marched clumsily to the edge of the room and crawled onto the flax lining the room. Yellow was the veritable mountain it took. The determined animal heaved its weight ever higher, until it had reached its top. Sitting upright on her knees, Syndra observed the beetle unfurl its wings, and with a loud buzz, it took flight. The sudden movement surprised the young girl, and she fell backward with a short shrill. On her back she giggled at the creature as it flew hither and thither around the room, unable to find the window into freedom.


    Heavy footfalls sounded outside the door. It was violently pushed aside, and her mother looked at the young girl who had abandoned her duties. The woman wore a thick green dress, knees, and hands dirty, indicating a day in the garden. Her long black hair tied in a bun and brown eyes dark with anger. Syndra remained frozen, her eyes wide with fear. Forcefully the young girl was lifted to her knees and dragged to the milk churn.


    ¡°How did this happen?¡± she asked, her anger shone through. The young girl simply looked at the container, dumbfounded.


    ¡°I don¡¯t know¡± She answered truthfully.


    ¡°It has soured! You were supposed to churn it.¡± Her mother was seething.


    Syndra couldn¡¯t help but feel agitated, as her mother was also the one to tell her to spin yarn until day became night. She realized however it would be a fruitless endeavor. Her mother forced a small pouch into Syndra¡¯s hands and closed the girl¡¯s hand tightly around it. The pain was sharp, as the coins dug into her flesh. Her mother looked her deep in the eyes. With a low voice she growled.


    ¡°Go buy a new one if there are still any left. You come back with either cheese or coin.¡± She threatened.


    Syndra was turned by the shoulders and pushed outside, shoved the last steps, and she tumbled out of the family home. She had nary caught herself, before a bucket was tossed in her direction. Quickly she caught herself, converting the momentum into a run. Not daring hesitation to invoke additional ire. She caught a glimpse of her brother in the garden, grinning wide at her misfortune, but Syndra saw it not, her mind was elsewhere.


    She hugged the pouch close to her chest and began running towards to market. Her naked feet on the muddy road became rapidly cooled, and when the muddy path intersected with the rocky road, she slowed once more. Slower and more timidly she trudged through the lazy afternoon streets, the bustle winding down, as various vendors took down their stalls.


    A sea of multicoloured coverings, in various states of being gathered and stored. The little girl roved from stall to stall, looking for a replacement to the food she had ruined. Her eyes darting from stall to stall, not daring to have her gaze caught by the flashy nuances and trinkets. Her fear too encompassing.


    She passed by a portly man, clad in simple grey and brown tunic, humming a tune to himself. His knees on the coach, he leaned over the cart fastening what remained of his stall to the cart. The scent unmistakable. The little girl walked to the side cart, in hopes of laying her eyes on the golden treasure.


    ¡°We¡¯ve closed up for the day girly. Run along now.¡±


    This book''s true home is on another platform. Check it out there for the real experience.


    He moved from the coach. The man¡¯s voice was lighter than his body but revealed a softness. She looked at him, clutching the pouch to her chest. She looked up at him, trying to formulate a sentence. The man sighed and cast his gaze down in resignation.


    ¡°Alright, alright. What do you want girl?¡± Syndra¡¯s eyes beamed, forgetting the tears that had begun to form at the corner of her eye.


    ¡°Uhm¡­ Cheese please.¡± She said as she held the pouch towards the generous man, who couldn¡¯t help but smile at the thankful barefoot child in front of him.


    He took the pouch, and carefully considered which wheel she would be able to carry home. Weighing the pouch in his hand, he took four coins. A fair price considering the weight of food, but the child needed not know this. He handed her pouch and soft disc and gave her a warm smile.


    ¡°Now hurry along, it¡¯s getting late, and your parents will probably want a piece of that pie.¡± He gave her a wink and hauled himself back to onto the seat of the cart.


    Syndra¡¯s heart was overflowing. A warmth spread throughout her body, as she held the circular object in a tight embrace. She stood for a moment, in the low sun. Basking in a victory achieved, she triumphantly returned homeward.


    The bustle of the evening opened to her; the veil of desperation lifted from her eyes. From baubles to jugglers, a sweets shop, and a performing mage. Behind the figure stood a covered wagon, adorned in many-coloured cloth, baubles and trinkets, each containing a mystery and each having a tale, begging to be imagined. She merged with the throng of young who had flocked to the fabulously dressed spellslinger. With a closer look, she could fully bask in every hue of the rainbow. Feathers of hundreds of birds adorned the long robe and long cloths attached seemingly to nowhere, swished around the tall man. With a large horned hat, he struck an imposing figure, that Syndra couldn¡¯t help but adore. Crackles and explosions filled the air, a feeling of awe struck the young girl, as she witnessed the display of power unfolding before her. With a deep wish, she hoped to one day also create things out of nothing. No one could tell her what to do if she was like him!


    She was lost in the dazzle before her, halfway in a daydream. The shades tinting her eyes. A sudden push from behind yanked her mind back into a too real and too muted world. A silhouette loomed above her. Eyes needed not adjust, for the laugh of Evard was unmistakable. Ringing of coins revealed his intention. The desperation that had filled her heart returned once more. Evard turned and entered a sprint. Syndra hurried after him, in the vain hope of catching up. Moving between stalls and running over rocks, left her feet hurting. Pushing through the pain, fueled by adrenaline. She collided with a young man, who dropped a sack. It landed with a thud and ripped open, leaking nuts, berries, and various forested foods. He turned and pushed her back, before kneeling and trying to save what wares he could. Syndra crashed against the hard ground, she turned to catch herself against the earth, she scraped her forearms leaving them red and bloody. Looking after her brother, he ducked behind a corner and out of sight. She picked herself off the ground. Tears welled in her eyes, she brushed them away.


    She ambled back to where the magician¡¯s show. Stalls somehow less vibrant than before, fewer smiles. She only wished to find what she was sent to get and come back home. Oh no. Her pace increased. A fear gripped her, as she moved back. Faster and faster, until she was almost running. With the same panic and desperation, she pushed through the dispersing crowd. The wheel was not where she had left it, so she searched. She could not return home while her key was lost. She felt a tap on her shoulder. The magician was looming above her, framed by the light of dusk. He wore an ornate white and black mask. The wolf and lamb, twin aspects of death, and a revered symbol. In one fluent, dramatic movement, the mage arced their arm overhead and pointed towards the side of the wagon, on which her packed cheese rested.


    Happiness. The feeling seemed wholly absent. Desperation had left her and the adrenalin was rapidly exiting Syndra''s system. Fatigued and lethargic. Syndra would barely acknowledge the person who had filled her with such amazement only a moment before. The girl moved sluggishly. Passing by the looming entertainer. It turned its mask inquisitively, but the girl saw it not. She instead simply collected the food and moved on. In an attempt to avoid Evard, she travelled another path home. The road would be longer, but at least she would be alone. The slaps of her naked feet against the paved road, sounded through the otherwise silent street. As stone turned to mud, tapping turned to a wet slurping as she trudged through the path, shaded by the woods. Within she knew the Ghost-Willow rested. Her place of rest. Her load became heavier and heavier. Though her home was not far, she had not the strength to go. Her body and soul required rest. She contemplated detouring, but she was late enough as it were. Placing the burden on a rock by the side of the road, she leaned her back on rough flank, running her hands over her scraped arms and knees. Digging through her sleeves, she found a small hole she had not noticed. Syndra couldn''t even mister a frustrated snort. She simply accepted she would have to fix it tomorrow. She took a heavy breath of fresh air. The wind carried a certain quality that only revealed itself after rain. She usually enjoyed it, especially after a full day inside, but right now she felt nothing. Her eyes fell on a deep puddle that reflected the glow of the many insects that awoke during the evening. She let her mind wander. She let herself be distracted. She let her eyes water, not that she had much of a choice. The feelings of not just these few days, but of the last months and years washed over the child. But especially the last day¡¯s events. So she sat, and she felt. Her negative emotions washed over her in waves, and she quietly sobbed her anguish away. She heard the sound of a sudden splash. The girl rubbed her eyes and refocused them on the small body of water. Newly disturbed by the impact of a wheel of cheese. Shock and panic filled her mind, as she clampered toward (her ticket to a warm meal and bed?). She fished it out of the water, it was very dirty, but it could probably be cleaned. She turned to see what had pushed it, and there stood a sight she had hoped to never see again. Evard and two of his friends were standing behind her with barely contained laughter. Hiding the cheese behind her, she stood and fought to hold back her tears.


    "I hate you! Get out of my life!" She yelled, her throat almost giving in.


    This only seemed to embolden the trio. They knew she could not fight back. Evard stepped forward.


    "Or what?" He asked, placing both hands against her chest and pushed.


    She lost balance and fell backward, landing squarely on what she was meant to protect. A splash and a squish, and she was looking at weeks in the sewing room. Locked inside doing dull chores. For a moment she sat there, stunned. The laughter once more awoke her, and she crawled into a sprint. She ran as fast as she could away, through the foliage and along the winding paths of the forest.

 Trees Dusk

    The darkening forest was full of beauty, but the girl saw none of it as she stomped along the winding path.


    Glowing flitterwings danced through the twilight, leaving trails of luminescence in their wake, but she swatted them away, oblivious to their fleeting grace. Eyes downcast, she kicked a rock, sending it skidding over twisting roots. The delicate violet petals of a blooming night-sable unfurled to release its glowing pollen into the warm evening, but she reached out and twisted the flower off its stem as she passed. Her face burned with shame and anger. Her mother¡¯s scolding. Her brother¡¯s laughter. She still heard the sound echoing in discordant cacophony.


    Along the path that she had walked many a time before, ended by her only comfort. The Ghost-Willow. It¡¯s limbs moved languidly, as if underwater, accompanied by the faint, musical whisper of the bone chimes.


    While the anger still coursed through her, hot and fierce, she closed her eyes and forced her fists to unclench. She breathed in, deep, heavy, and let it out, slowly. Breathing away her feelings. Just like the old master had taught her, she tried to rid herself of rage. One breath at a time.


    This tale has been pilfered from Royal Road. If found on Amazon, kindly file a report.


    Something hit her, hard, in the back of the head. She fell face-first, stumbling towards the tree. Leaning against it for support. She touched her head where the swelling pain originated. A warmth welled over her hand. She turned to see the trio, laughing. Her fury surged.


    Flooded the banks of her mind, until all that remained was anger. It was all she could to focus her sight, but she barely saw through the fog.


    Her breathing was heavy and short, and her hands clenched once more. Washed in a wave of anger. With every wave, her rage swelled, compounding, growing like a malignant cancer. The air around her shimmered. The Ghost-Willow withered and wizened behind her. Weeping red sap, it¡¯s leaves curled and blackened.


    The magic of the land had nourished the ethereal tree, just as in turn it nourished the land and its people. Such the priest had told her. Now it was dying, its supple limbs turning bone-dry and brittle, its roots curling and turning. Its chimes tolled a mournful death-rattle, but the girl did neither see, nor hear, anything beyond what happened in her seething, boiling mind.


    The ancient, primordial tree perished, and the little girl lifted off the ground, rising into the air. Pulled as by invisible strings. Three orbs, dark as the blackest night, swallowing any light leaving a mirror into pure shadow, formed around the newly coronated sorceress.


    The laughter was silenced, replaced by a dread stillness of the quietest winter.

 Until Next We Meet

    She had remained under the wizened and dried leaves for many hours. The night had set in, but she dared not return home, she feared what the villages would do, the threat of punishment for sacrilege would likely be steep. The hours passed, the cold set in and her warmth slowly seeped from her body, the path revealed the old priest gingerly setting foot in the grove. His face awash with shock. His eyes shifted to the small cold child sitting in the shade of the holy once-life-giving perennial tree of the village. The balance disrupted took a heavy toll on the man, as he with tears streaming from his face turned away, back to the village.


    Syndra considered fleeing, but had not the will, nor the strength. Whatever would come, whatever punishment the village would deem, she would accept. She was guilty after all. She understood her name in that moment, to destroy for one self.


    The injuries her brother and his friends had sustained were heavy, though seemingly not lethal. Crashing wood, and gale force winds, had tossed the boys away and out, and she remembered seeing them flee. She could not recall precisely what had transpired, but they were probably fine. Probably. More than the potential maiming of her kin, she regretted the passing of the tree. She would slip in and out of consciousness, every time waking to the sight of her crime. Every time she would remember and whisper and apology to her guardian. The only steadfast companion, the only friend she had known.


    Hours passed and the cold permeated through her entire being. It was not an alien feeling, she had had to sleep outside before. This time felt worse. Somehow colder. So when the sun¡¯s rays peered through the forest crown, the warmth provided little solace. Syndra was awake, though her body ached. Dew had her clothing cling tightly to her. The light was not what had awakened her. There was a sound. Footfalls neared, she looked up and saw her father, staring down at her. She revealed her neck, in anticipation. Instead, a weight was placed beside her.


    This tale has been unlawfully obtained from Royal Road. If you discover it on Amazon, kindly report it.


    ¡°We¡¯re leaving. Come now.¡± The deep voice of her father croaked, weary of a night without sleep.


    She stretched. Limbs locked, cold, sore. She grabbed for the backpack and looked up at her dad. His eyes transfixed upon the dead wood in front of him. His breathing was shallow. Syndra threw on her backpack and walked to him. She grabbed for his hand. Apprehensive and distant. There was not comfort in his limp grasp. They walked silently down the path.


    The walk through the village was tense. Eyes were upon them. Silent and judging. An old lady she had bought bread from a few times spat at the ground as she passed. Most eyes were filled with awe. Eyes she had seen only the evening before. Eyes she had shared, as she stared at the spellslinger. This awe, however, was built from fear, rather than enchanted entertainment. Following her father¡¯s footsteps, they headed for the village¡¯s palisade, and exited through the front gate. No fanfare, no yells. Only a silent judgement and the sound of a forest waking met her senses as they exited the village. Outside her mother stood, with Evard on a makeshift stretcher. Bound wood and cloth, taut with rope. As Syndra approached, she let go of her father, and slowed her pace. Her brother¡¯s eyes were wide and locked on Syndra, yet he did not seem to move much. Their father bent to pick up the other half of the stretcher and the small family moved down the path.


    Towards what, Syndra did not know. The weight of her actions weighed heavily on her. Her parents took their first step. She stole a glance back to the walls of her village of birth. Always had she dreamed of leaving her life here behind. Now she doubted if the world outside the walls were as free and hopeful as she had dreamt. She jogged towards her parents, who paid her no mind.

 New Faces and New Stories

    Syndra was tired. They had been walking for days since the last farm they could stay the night. It had been a lonely road, with no oncoming traffic. Early morning had come, and with it a wind that brought a fresh smell. She rested on a rock and ran her thumb across the bristles of her comb.


    Something that once would have provoked ire from her mother. She looked back at the camp where her parents were packing their bags and fastening her brother. The lush forest around them, had swathed them in purple colours, native to this part of Navorri, shielding them from the wind. The grown-ups seemed to pay her no mind, as she distractedly thrummed away at her comb. Before long, her parents had finished, and carried onto the road. Syndra packed away her comb, threw on her pack and hopped down from the rock. She had always loved the purple colour surrounding her when she grew up, but now it seemed ominous. Full of danger and the unknown. Long as they had travelled, she knew they would have to travel longer. Walk until there was no chance of them ever being recognized. To a place where none would notice a family of clanless. Away from the mountain valley of their origin. Where the snow never fell, where strangers and travellers were manifold. To a place where none would know the name Syndra.


    The road stretched far long, but thankfully not so muddy that they couldn¡¯t walk through it. The source of the lack of travel revealed itself. An ancient tree of enormous proportions had fallen across the road, blocking it entirely. Seemingly a dead end, with walls of green on either side. The group pushed themselves into the forest, hand on log, deeper and deeper in the forest. They had travelled by the log for several minutes, before finally reaching the roots. An deep cavern had formed from where the tree had fallen. Seemingly it had transpired months ago, moss and fresh grown grass covering the dirt. Within the hole was a small, but permanent-looking campsite, in which a young man resting on his back. His head turned to see the family walking by.


    With a hail and a wave, he pushed himself off the ground and climbed up the side of the hole. The man was lanky and scruffy. Dirty from days spent close to ground. He himself seemed unkempt, yet the clothing he wore, while stained with soil, was finely woven. Now that he was closer, it was clear to see his vastayah heritage. A bushy tail swished from his backside, what previously seemed to have been thick hair, were floppy ears, hugging the sides of his head. Eyes large and mostly black.


    ¡°Hey there friends. Not many¡­¡± He paused and gave them a thorough lookover ¡°¡­ wanderers? Around these parts. Merchants neither. On account of this:¡± He pat one of the many titanic roots he had used for shelter. ¡°What brings you out here?¡±


    The energetic demeanor of the young man was a breath of fresh air to Syndra. Rarely did her family speak of anything but the bare necessities, and especially not to her. Always he would lean, shift his weight, fiddle with something. A body both relaxed and animated.


    ¡°We don¡¯t want trouble¡± Syndra¡¯s father stated.


    The young man gave a large, toothy smile revealing sharp and large canines ¡°I aint no trouble, friend. I¡¯ve just been travellin¡¯ by my lonesome. Say, would you mind a traveling companion?¡± He proposed.


    Syndra¡¯s parents looked evasively to one another, no doubt trying to figure out how to turn down the enthusiastic individual. Panicked Syndra spoke up.


    ¡°Sure¡±. She coughed; her voice was hoarse. She took a shy step back, realizing these were the first words she had spoken in three days.


    ¡°I¡¯ll take that. Thank you very much miss¡± He bowed to Syndra. Before facing the parents.


    ¡°You¡¯ve raised a very generous girl, you have. Thank you as well.¡± He turned and jumped into the loose dirt leading down to his camp.


    She looked to her parents, who glared back. Their gaze radiated annoyance. The most attention she had received for days, her face flushed with embarrassment. She looked away, down to the camp, where the woodsman was frantically taking down his camp. He could not carry everything, picking through his belongings he quickly chose that which he wished to keep. A few moments passed as they waited for him to finish up. In the end he scampered up the side with a burgeoning backpack, still leaving much of the camp behind. Signaling the family to follow along.


    If you stumble upon this narrative on Amazon, it''s taken without the author''s consent. Report it.


    ¡°What of the rest?¡± Syndra¡¯s mother motioned into the grotto of wood and soil.


    ¡°It¡¯s only right to leave presents for the next souls, to require shelter¡± His face as genuine as a new pup. ¡°Name¡¯s Ratakhan by the way. Pleased to meet you.¡±


    ¡°My name is Orum, this is my wife Isha and our children Evard and Syndra.¡± Syndra¡¯s father stated.


    ¡°So you¡¯re northerners? Welcome down the mountain friends. Where¡¯re you headed then?¡±


    ¡°South, to the coast.¡±


    ¡°That¡¯s great. I¡¯m headed for eastward myself, so we¡¯ll can follow the same route round the mountain.¡±


    The group now possessing a fifth member, moved along the other side of the large tree, through the thick underbrush and back onto the road. In the distance they could see the exit of the forest. Like a tunnel of green, a clear sky shone brightly in the distance. As they neared rolling hills invitingly rippled through the landscape. Cliff and rock broke the surface as a replacement of the trees that had otherwise covered the terrain previously.


    Ratakhan always seemed to have something to talk about, the beings of the forest, the people of the mountain steppes on which they walked. The coast by Fae¡¯lor, the island of Bahrl, The Placidium, resting place of The Spirit of Ionia itself. A place of magical tutorship, learning, and understanding. Syndra was enraptured. The stories and tales awakened her fantasy. Her mind had been dampened from weeks of walking, working and the weight of her transgression, and now a spark was alit within her. Ratakhan¡¯s enthusiasm rubbing off on her.


    With the sun setting and camp being set up, Syndra neglected her duties fully in favour of listening to Ratakhan¡¯s tale of The Kinkou Order. The clan of mystical warriors would uphold the peace and balance across all lands of Ionia and do battle with evil spirits in their Pruning of The Tree methods.


    "Do you know of Pruning the Tree? It''s a saying of The Kinkou. The holy warriors who fight and kill monsters to adjust the balance between the spirit realm and the physical. The spirits of those who have passed, but also the soul of that which lives. The physical is what we see around us. It touches us as we touch it. All magic comes from the spirits, dontcha know? It leaks from that other place, and into ours, and we can take this dew, and make it into water. Nevertheless, The Kinkou. When more than just dew flows through the cloth, they come, and when we trespass into the realm of magics and bring imbalance to the spirits, they come for us. Pruning the tree. Always keeping it in order. Pruning the tree, they call it. to This story is of an old master who fought a lesser demon. An azakana named Huitol preyed on children and wanderers on the southern isles. A great boar of hate and bile. With him he brought a great club he had fashioned from the trunk of a tree. The master had hunted the southlands for weeks when he came upon the dead. Humans and trees alike crushed to splinters. But worst of all, the spirits had left the area. This azakana brought disharmony to both soul and body... A truly evil being. The master took his bow and snuck through the underbrush. For weeks they were caught in a deadly dance. A game of cat and mouse. When finally, Huitol was cornered at the coast. They had only met because the azakana had stopped to feast upon a travelling family, and their vastaya companion¡­ The battle was titanic. The lesser demon sheared hills with his strikes, but the master avoided them all. Whilst arrows barely pierced its hide. In the end the holy warrior''s ammunition had run dry, savee for on missile. What he did was climb the cliffside. Now eye-level with the monster he shot an arrow at its eye, enraging it. The massive club impacted the mountainside with ferocity that shook it from peak to root. Great rocks, ancient as The First Lands, careened down the mountainside. Crushing the azakana under the weight of its own anger. The beast was banished, but the master was never heard from again. It is said that he still stalks the woods. A protector of balance.¡± He looked to her, expecting an impressed face, but instead saw a girl worried and scared.


    ¡°What¡¯s wrong child?¡± His concern palpable. ¡°Will the Kinkou come for all who are out of balance?¡±


    ¡°Well yes, if you are a danger to your surroundings, but you should have nothing to worry about¡±


    She quietly thrummed at the bristles on her comb, but Ratakhan took it from her. She would have felt annoyed but had gotten used to it by this point. Instead of it being removed, she instead felt it go through her hair.


    ¡°Tell you what. I have another story that is sure to cheer you up. The girl who journeyed to The Placidium¡±


    Syndra gave only half an ear. She stared across the hills of the valley, half expecting one of these famed warriors to reveal themselves upon the crest. His presence was comforting, even if she didn¡¯t truly listen to his story that night.

 Family Knows Best

    The road was dry and rocky, as the group moved across the mountainous terrain. The morning had been mostly silent, just as it had been prior. Before long, Ratakhan had picked up the pace once more, zealously renewed his tall tales.


    "The story goes that when humans came to The First Lands, upon which we walk, the magical monsters and beasts hunted them. You see, humans are inherently weak. They require tools, and very few are magically gifted. So the king of the first humans came to the vastaya for help. We took pity on the weak ones, and taught them to do magic. We helped them learn and control the chaotic nature, so they could survive within it. They were not native to the environment, but we thought they had something to give, you see? And in time these short lived creatures could perhaps teach us a thing or two. Along with them, we invented a protective fence: The quinlon. You probably had some around where you live. Lived. I don''t know what you were told, but these crystals are infused with magic that channel magic. Like a sieve, it separates different types of magic, depending on how it''s made, it lets different kinds of magic through. A great way for those early humans to avoid chaotic magic, control it, and use it. Predictably, like the magic they used, they would manage to thrive within environments they could control. Vastaya and humans existed in relative balance for long, but as the humans multiply they disrupted the balance further and further. Now wild magic is hard to come by. The fence that used to shield the humans, became a cage to vastaya."


    "Then what did the vastaya do?" "Well, the vastaya did nothing. Like humans we are not unified under one banner. Some of us think that it''s just nature, and balance will find itself. Others think that humans have already expanded too far, and that we should retake some territory and let the wilds return to their natural state." "What do you think." "I think that whatever I feel doesn¡¯t matter. In the grand scheme of things, if I simply stay my soul and never truly reveal what I think I¡¯ll have the upper hand." He gave a wink at Syndra, who did not reciprocate. She cast her eyes down, digesting the story he had told.


    Silence once more overtook the pair, who had been walking in front of the two parents carrying their son. He stole a glance back towards the rear guard. Hushed Ratakhan whispered to Syndra.


    ¡°Whatever happened to your brother? I¡¯ve tried asking your parents, but they won¡¯t give me a straight answer.¡±


    Syndra froze up. While the two kept walking, she turned her head to look back at the two walking a few trees¡¯ lengths behind. Quietly she whispered back:


    The story has been illicitly taken; should you find it on Amazon, report the infringement.


    ¡°I¡­ I happened. I am full of imbalance. I am cursed, and I hurt him.¡±


    Ratakhan frowned, visibly confused.


    ¡°So.. You¡¯re a mage?¡±


    She shook her head downcast. Shame welled within.


    ¡°But you do magic?¡±


    ¡°I don¡¯t do real magic, I just hurt. I can¡¯t control it, so what good is it?¡±


    He put a palm to her head in an awkward show of comfort. Even so, Syndra calmed. Their walk once more became mute. They walked unspeaking for a while, until the wind picked up. At first the warm sun combatted the cold, but as time went the air stung. Almost going through the band of travelers. The wind further increased in intensity. Upon the rocky plains, the group decided it would be best to seek shelter early and hope the storm would pass during the night. Within caves of the cliffs decorating the grassland they would seek sanctuary. The walls and ground were thankfully dry, yet cold to the touch. Quickly they started a campfire, and huddled around it, making plenty of room for the gurney. Ratakhan, not content letting the only noise be the wind¡¯s howl, spoke once more of his destination:


    ¡°Have you heard of The Placidium?¡± He inquired.


    Heads turned to face each other. Of course, everyone had heard of that sacred place of Ionian harmony. A place of learning and knowledge. A great font of magic. They all nodded.


    ¡°Right. So I was thinkin¡¯, a mage without control, would she not be best placed within such a place? The many schools would be likely to take a young sorceress, don¡¯t you think?¡± His cryptic question answered by Syndra¡¯s father.


    ¡°Certainly, is that why you¡¯re going?¡±


    ¡°No.¡± The answer was resolute, seeking to end the conversation as abrubtly as possible.


    ¡°But I must ask, why is your journey taking you to the coast, and not The Placidium? You have a young magic-infused child with you, seemingly unable to fully control it. She shall remain our burden.¡±


    ¡°Do not presume to know our story, or for what reason we travel. We would not dare desecrate the tranquility of that basilica with such disgusting magics. What has been done, shall be borne to the coast, where many travel, and chaos reigns. I implore you to not bring this subject to air once more. The elder set us on this path, and you will do well not to question it further.¡±


    Evard¡¯s eyes were wide, staring at Syndra, but she simply stared out of the cave, a vacant expression on her face, he looked to Ratakhan. He was about to speak once more, but the stares of the three family members, each revealing a unique expression. Fear, anger, disgust. He realized he should not press the issue further. He looked to Syndra, who had scuttled slightly away from the fire.


    A sadness welled within the young man, realizing the twisted display before him. Knowing he could not disrupt the sacred bond of family, he simply put a pot on the fire, and solemnly prepared stew for the outcasts he had only known for only two days.

 Bitter Sanctuary

    Syndra would prod him every day searching for that new legend or myth. Their travels lead them along the north border of the mountain range, shifting through woods, rock, and prairie. And the closer they came to settlement, the wider and more trafficked the roads became.


    Until they finally came upon a long sought-after sight. Cresting a hill, the first thing they noticed was a plume of smoke rising in the distance. With renewed fervor they pushed. While the sun was red, the group pushed through the aching and worn muscle, energized the promise of respite.


    Down the mountainside they saw a small forest clearing, from which the darkened clouds rose. Only what seemed to be a few miles away. A place of respite from the cold winds, perhaps a soft underside, and with some luck they could even warm themselves by the hearth. Respite, something they had not truly had for a month of travel. In the dead of night, they yet marched. No sounds safe for the grunts and exhausted breathing of the group. Finally, they had arrived at a proper road with people. The cold clutched at their heels when they entered the edge of the forest green. Dragging their feet behind them, managed to arrive at the structure. This was a crossroads, and clearly a focal point for much travel, so while they had not seen other people for many days, this was a place where many of those destitute paths would meet, coalescing into a larger road leading further eastward.


    They pushed aside the door, and almost collapsed into the warm interior. A smell of wet wood filled their nostruls. Placing Evard¡¯s stretcher by the hearth of the smoldering fireplace. Syndra laid herself beside her brother, and barely perceived the room around her. Her world became black. Groggily she half-slept through someone taking her off her backpack and carrying her into a back room. Placing her on something soft and putting a cover over her body.


    When she awoke her body was exhausted. She would have remained in the bed, were it not for the gnawing hunger. She pushed the blanket away, still dressed she rolled out of bed. Walking out into the main room, she heard discussion between her parents and a gruff voice she only vaguely recalled. She placed herself by newly lit fireplace and listened to the argument. Pushing it out she searched for Ratakhan. He must have slept elsewhere, for his pack was not present, she looked outside into the rainy weather, but he was nowhere to be seen.


    ¡°-with you. I can¡¯t be held responsible for your questionable decisions!¡±


    ¡°True as that may be, there must be something that can be done. We cannot travel in our state, and our food is gone as well.¡±


    ¡°I can¡¯t afford to have you here eating my food and not paying. With the reduced traffic and winter around the corner, I need all the produce I have.¡±


    Unauthorized use of content: if you find this story on Amazon, report the violation.


    This discussion was perplexing, last she¡¯d checked they should still have enough food for a few days as well as coin to pay for food. By the walked to where their three backpacks stood leaned against the western wall, rummaging through her father¡¯s pack, she found neither coin nor food, she checked her mother¡¯s, and again found nothing but waterskin and bedroll. A hand locked around Syndra¡¯s wrist in a vice-like grip. She turned head, looking over her shoulder. There she saw her mother looming over her with a terrible scowl.


    ¡°It was you, wasn¡¯t it?¡±


    ¡°I didn¡¯t do it!¡±


    ¡°Don¡¯t play dumb with me girl! Where¡¯s the food? Where¡¯s the coin?¡±


    ¡°I don¡¯t know!¡±


    With a sudden sting, Syndra was struck. Ringing in her ears and a burn on her cheek. She tried to pull away but was tussled by her mother.


    ¡°This is all your fault, every moment of it! If only you controlled yourself! If only you hadn''t invited that beast to join us!¡±


    With a push, Syndra was tossed to the ground, impacting hard on the stone. Syndra¡¯s mother placed herself on the ground, clutched her hair, seemingly forgetting her daughter¡¯s presence. Syndra felt her eyes watering. She searched for the only one who would console her, the only one to show sympathy. But he wasn¡¯t present. She ran outside in the rain and yelled for him but received no answer except from the patter of drops on leaves. A fresh smell filled her lounges, and the cold pushed her back inside, deflated and confused. Ratakhan had left them behind.


    Her father was sitting by his wife, with an arm around her, consoling the weeping mess she had become. Syndra was dazed, yet through the haze, she discerned a figure. The rotund barkeep who had received them the day prior.


    ¡°He¡¯s gone with the wind, girl. You best forget him when first you have the chance. Scum like he does not deserve a place in my house.¡± He spat with vitriol, like he had more to share about what exactly was meant by scum.


    Yet she could not care. She staggered, stunned and separated into the backroom where they had slept. Collapsing on the bed. She looked to the opposing row of mattresses, where Evard had propped himself against the wall. His eyes then reminded her of that fateful evening. The feeling of a task left undone. A rage bubbled within her soul. The sting on her cheek, the hurt in her chest. Overwhelmed and apathetic, the young girl sank into her bed, curling up into herself. Her eyes remained dry. A lifeless stare directed at her brother. Fatigue gripped her.


    The thought of Ratakhan¡¯s betrayal should have filled her with hatred, but she felt nothing. The weight of something lost, a goodbye missed, and wondrous tales melted washed away by rain. She silently cursed this establishment. Gladly would she have given a warm bed and proper meal in place another month of magical storytelling.


    As she lay much time passed, the pitter patter of the rain echoed through the abode. Eyes locked upon her brother, who gradually relaxed further and further in her presence. Like an animal in the presence of something frightening yet unfathomable, he was stupefied. What began as fear, became unease. Boredom had him adapt, and bit by bit he relaxed, even under the glare of his younger sister. A sister who had shown she was not quite human.


    There they lay, eyes affixed for minutes, perhaps hours, until their parents moved into the room, and picked up Evard. It was time to leave. She readied herself for another day on their tireless march.

 Cold River Winds

    One day of hunger, turned to two, turned to three. The only food they had was what they could scavenge, and what good souls would grant weary travelers. With each day and each week, they passed eastward around the mountains, towards the south. The days were blessed when they would be allowed to stay at a farmstead, and trade work for food. Never would they stay for long. Syndra knew not what plan her family had, nor did she care to ask.


    With every village, and every merchant they begged for food, yet they were denied. Food was sparse for all and rarely could anything be spared. They resorted trading equipment for food. At first it seemed as a blessing to the child who hurt from the weight she carried. But with every amenity sold, the pain was felt later. Utensils were replaced with sticks, from a bowl each to a bowl between them. A single pot. Bedrolls, even their backpacks went, for they had nothing to carry. Of all the items they would sell, Syndra had managed to stow her comb. It reminded her of a time long lost.


    They had lost most by the time they came upon a town by The Placidium River that flowed through the Navorri lands into the western seas. The orange leaves of autumn were upon them, warning of colder times to come. The ragged group appeared before the open wooden gates, trudging through the smell of late harvest wet woods were replaced with the smell of Spirit Blossom tea. The afternoon sun warmed Syndra¡¯s face. They walked by the market of the river harbor. She glanced at the various stalls, spices mingling with fish. Powerful smells of people and animals assaulted her senses. This was the largest township she had ever visited. So big that it was split in two, the other half on the other side of the great river.


    With no money to ford the river, they would continue their path until they reached a large, intricately carved building. The wood intricately braided unto itself giving a flowing quality to the wall, mimicking the river that sustained the people of the town.


    She followed her parents, through the large opening, leading into the orange tinted interior. A smell of incense struck her, before her eyes had fully adjusted. The room was cavernous, it could easily hold twenty carts she estimated. Along the middle of the inside ran a pool of clear water, itself radiating a soft glow, with a brazier lit every few paces. On the other side of these holy waters were two seats. Raised upon a flight of steps, reaching half-way to the sealing, flanked by what at first glance seemed to be large horns, the symbol of balance in Ionia, a ceremonial backdrop. Atop the dual throne sat two elders. A man and a woman. The ones chosen by The Karma, the people, previous elders and the spirits themselves, to guide the city into the future.


    Stolen from its original source, this story is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.


    The troupe to stand behind a line of about 20 people. All seeking audience with the elders. Wanting them to pass judgement over misdeeds, provide guidance in life and trade, and impart wisdom to new mothers. Each question would use much deliberation, ensuring the sages knowledge was given, properly and impartially as was the tradition.


    The family waited until the sun had shifted to the west. The light cast clear beams from the tall windows unto high walls, bathing the inside in a soft glow, overpowering the colors of the firelight inside. Their parents had placed Evard on the ground by one of the bowls. The warmth relief from the wind and weather. Syndra herself wandered sporadically between the brazier, and their spot in the line, to the narthex, admiring the intricate carvings of the gates. She traced the walls, as far in as was proper. Depictions of ancient legends, The Spirit, Asakana, The Karma. Humans, vastaya and the quinlons. A story of humans being allowed to erect the inhibiting stones, so they can exist in the magical woods of Ionia, and a careful balance being maintained between the two peoples. The incense had almost burnt to the stem when they were finally called forth.


    Syndra¡¯s father took a step onto a slightly raised podium, bathed in the light of the water¡¯s dance. He stood for a moment, trying to gather his strength before pleading.


    ¡°My family and I have traveled long on empty stomachs and cold weather. We come seeking what shelter you bequeath unto us, come the colder months. We come seeking shelter in you town, if you will have us¡±


    The two figures turned to one another. A hushed conversation whispered between them. Syndra¡¯s father uncomfortably shifted his weight and had his eyes wander. A side rarely shown from the otherwise stoic man. After some minutes of deliberation, they both turned in perfect synchronicity, and spoke, alternating between sentences.


    ¡°We can give you shelter within Bahrun¡¯s walls, safe from the starved predators that stalk the woods this time of year. You may stay until you have recuperated. We know of your burden, for the spirits have warned us of your arrival. You may not stay, The Spirit Blossom is upon us. We will provide you nothing but our security. There is a half-roof for lumber where you may stay. You must all remain together while you are within the city. As one you shall be, and with one departed, the rest will be banished.¡± The sages pause for a moment, looking upon one another. Letting the air sink deeply. Syndra¡¯s stomach growled like a cornered animal.


    ¡°Your presence disturbs the balance of the community, but we are not blind to your struggle, nor strangers to migration. For the time being. The world outside is fraught with danger. When the autumn comes to close, and the spirits fall to rest, the creatures of the wild will seek those weak and weary.¡± Another pause, interrupted by the solemn man positioned on the podium.


    ¡°And food?¡±


    ¡°Food is for those who earned it. Through catch, barter, or contribution. We cannot afford to give alms, even during the festival. Balance must be maintained¡±


    Their voice coalesced, speaking with one noise. The echo of their tone reverberated through the hall.


    ¡°Our terms are given. That will be all.¡±

 The beast

    The family was let out into the cold evening air. Breath fogging with through sharp breaths. A young, clean-shaven man clad in a brown cloak and wielding both a spear and a scowl led them to an open shed, little more than a gazebo, yet it would provide them more cover than plains and meadows. Through hunger and hard wood they slept, a cold, dreamless sleep.


    They awoke to a clear day. Not a cloud covering the blue sky. Still their eyes were downcast. They all knew they would have to scavenge for scraps to sate their hunger. Whatever berries could be found, whatever fruit grew in the surrounding forest they would take whatever could fill and give them the energy to push on to the next day.


    As per the conditions of their stay, they brought Evard out along with them. The whole family remaining together. Carried by the parents and with Syndra in tow, they walked uphill the few miles of farm and grassland to the edge of the warm-hued woods. Their landmark, a tall quinlon stone monolith. The object in the distance had seemed small from a distance, but with every step they took, the size of the tower became more apparent. Not only was it an imposing structure in its own right, but the weight of the standing stone pushed Syndra further into the ground. When they finally arrived at its base, the soft red aura of the magical stone, affixed with rope and chain, that rested at the top of the menhir, engulfed Syndra like a terrible blanket. Her breathing shallow and muscles tired. She leaned her back against the stone for support.


    The parents took stock of the situation, deeming it best to leave the children behind in the protective light of the magic-dampening artefact.


    "Stay with your brother until we come back.¡± Their mother had demanded, before disappearing into the woods behind the gray tower, with the only backpack they had left. In truth Syndra did not look after him, for her mind had fogged, leaving her tired and lethargic.


    It was unusual for the two siblings to be alone together. Syndra would avoid it where possible. Taking whatever chances to scavenge, to collect firewood, to simply be away from the others. Now she had barely the energy to stand. They two incapacitated children lay on the ground next to each other for many moments. While Evard had recovered superficially from the accident, he was still unable to walk. The two remained silent for long, neither truly wishing to expend more energy than necessary.


    From the hilltop they could see into the valley below, stones large stones and rock formations littered the path that they had walked, like a maze of stone. The massive river parting the land, and small dots of villages and farmsteads decorating the land. Not having considered it much before, she now realized the abundance of humans in this area. The population seemed much denser than north of the mountain-range. The many villages and homesteads revealed as much. Looking northward she saw the blue-tinted mountains far in the distance, that they had passed to get there. Looming over them like mighty wards. Immovable and everlasting. Their size only amplified by the vast distance of woodland separating them.


    She looked up at the quinlon above her. It¡¯s presence demanding her attention with its oppressive glow and heat. The wind lazily tucked at her clothes and her hair, as it did with the thousands of leaves and the sea of grass. The sound reminded her of rain. She looked towards her brother who leisurely rested in his rudimentary stretcher a few paces from her. She took out her comb and ran her thumb across the bristles. She rested her eyes, thankful for a day where the wind did not bite, the sun shone, and the search for food was taken care of. With hunger still present she rested her eyes and slept.


    Syndra awoke to a push at her shoulder. Evard had loosened himself from his blankets and crawled across the green to wake her. Their eyes locked, and for the first time in what could have been her entire life, he neither looked upon her with malice nor fear. At least not a fear directed at her.


    He had his right index finger against his lips. His eyes darted towards the forest on the other side of the quinlons structure. His expression serious and adamant. He leaned in as quiet as he could.


    ¡°We have to leave.¡± He whispered. The tone of his voice revealed a desperation.


    The whole world seemed quiet in that moment. Noise rarely noticed until gone. The birds had stopped singing, the forest still, even the grass and weeds had become frozen. A silence only broken by the quiet thrum of the quinlon, which seemed to emanate as much in her mind as through her ears. The sun¡¯s warmth created a muggy weather in the still wind. She moved, careful to make as little sound as possible. Looking at her brother, she tilted her head and put a finger to her ear. She heard nothing. The silence thickening a weight upon her mind amplified by the magic suppressing stone. Their shallow breaths were the only noise emanating. She looked to her brother, scrunching her shoulders and furrowing her brow. He threw his head sideways, indicating something on the other side of the large tower they apparently used as cover. With as silent movement as possible, she crawled on all four toward the edge of the carved stone. She paused for a moment, looking back to her sibling. He had propped himself onto his elbow. Brows raised but remaining silent. Syndra held her breath and peeked around the corner.


    Her eyes took an almost bulbous shape. An enormous feline creature had stalked out of the woods. Two people tall and three worax long. Wide as a cart. The twinned long, thick tails swished back and forth, mimicking a pair of whips. The power they gleaned was terrifying. Its strong back adorned with crystalline shapes. The head on the thick neck tilted downward, sniffing the dirt beneath it, tracking, searching. The creature hadn¡¯t seen them, looking not directly toward the quinlon itself. She slowly backed away, and quietly crawled back to Evard. Placing a hand on the stretcher, she realized she would not be able to lift it off the ground by herself, especially with the wait of a young teen in it. She looked back to her brother she wouldn¡¯t be able to carry him either. Judging the hill, it was far until the nearest farmstead or cover. The forest was on the other side of the monster. Spotting the nearby area, revealed a rock formation 60 steps away, close to the entrance of the forest, slightly downhill and nestled between the edge and dell. Perhaps it could create some cover, and maybe allow them to disappear into the forest. Syndra peered back at the crippled teen she would have to drag. She pointed toward the new hiding place. Evard looked to his legs, and slowly maneuvered onto the leather bindings, wrapped between the two solid branches. The two silently agreed that anywhere else was safer than being around the creature stalking.


    Unauthorized usage: this narrative is on Amazon without the author''s consent. Report any sightings.


    She looked around the corner once more, most of the large cat was hidden by the structure between it and them. The two tails and hind of the massive creature were visible, the rest on the other side of the quinlon itself, a sign that it is looking in the other direction. She took hold of the wooden handle, taking as silent steps as possible. Evard himself lifting the other side a half arm¡¯s length off the ground, in an effort to avoid the scraping of wood against soil and rock. They quietly moved the human wheelbarrow, Syndra first, dragging Evard on his hands, towards a new hiding place. Slowly, step by step, silently as possible, the two took their first tentative steps across the weed meadow.They carefully pushed plants aside, trying to place as much weight as they could on soil and rock. Three steps became ten, became twenty until they had fully cleared the large tower. At twenty-four steps the feline slinked around the other side of the tower out of view. Thirty. Thirthy-seven. Forty. Evard looked back and locked eyes with the beast. He stopped moving, halting their advance. The two froze, hoping the creature might find them uninteresting. It lifted a massive paw and took a tentative step towards the siblings. The two responded in kind, calmly trying to maintain distance. It brought its head down, muscles tensing, wriggling its hind. Syndra new this behaviour from the cats of her village. It was about to pounce. Immediately Syndra broke into a sprint, surprising Evard who did what he could to push off the ground. Forty-five steps, her stride was longer now, and their head start had bought them some distance. The massive animal bounded and leapt the distance between the quinlon and its prey.


    At fifty steps, she heard the impact of a heavy thud, at fifty-two the sound was right behind them. She heard a yelp from her brother. Looking back she saw that the predator had a single claw stuck in the fabric Evard was tied to. As if it was a kitten playing with yarn. She pulled, which ripped the fabric. A push from Evard followed by a ripping sound and they were free. The creature shook its paw trying to rid itself of the material stuck to its claws. Syndra grabbed her brother''s legs and dragged herself and Evard between the rocks and stones.


    With adrenaline pumping through their veins, they both breathed hard and pained. Syndra took a moment to look over herself. Though scraped and dirty she had come out of it relatively unscathed. Her brother looked worse, bleeding from a gash in his arm, and covered in various scrapes. They had no time to take stock, before a massive paw pushed itself between the rocks and towards them. Syndra tried pushing herself as far back as possible, but there was no room. Fear and panic overtook her.


    She felt a hand on her back. A jolt pushed her forward, a claw  stuck itself in her clothing. Yanking her out, and ripping her clothes. She was tossed a distance. A sting of betrayal. She had been sacrificed in an effort to save her brother, through no decision of her own.


    In an instant her blood boiled. Rage filled her very being. She looked back to her brother, who was hiding as best he could. She had tried to save her kin, and this was how she was repaid? The monster leaped toward her. Invisible force coalesced around the child, kicking up wind and dust into a gale. She had expected to be thrown to the ground and ripped to pieces, but instead the attacker simply hovered limply in the air. As if grabbed by the scruff of its neck. It hung limply in the air. Trying to turn or pull itself up, but to no avail. The pitiful feline struggled against the force holding it in place. She threw it with overwhelming force against the quinlon. It impacted with a heavy thud and caught itself against the ground. It turned away to flee. Blinded by her rage, Syndra pushed her attacker against the structure. Applying an ever-increasing force. The coloration of the magical object shifted from the vibrant red, to lavender. Darkening further and further. Rasping, snapping the ropes. Pegs gave way to the force being exerted. stone as large as barrels came crashing to the ground. With a thunderous crack, the tower fractured and crumpled. Massive fragments falling down, onto the creature, burying it in rubble. The discolored crystal exploded raining shards of rock around the young mage. The tower crashed down, clouding the area in dust. Waves of energy radiated off the small girl, seemingly enhanced by the crystal¡¯s destruction.


    Letting the dust settle, Syndra breathed out. The adrenaline leaving her system. Unclenching her balled fists. She looked back to Evard. Now, she owed him nothing. He had curled into a fetal position, a pathetic display from a mean-spirited weakling. A weight felt lifted from her shoulders, now that she once reminded of the nature of her brother. She sat, trying to calm back down. The wind picked up, dispersing the cloud of dust, leaving now only rubble and the mangled cadaver of a once-mighty creature. Slowly the sound of the forest came back. Syndra looked her work. The pile of rubble a testament to her power, and how it could seemingly only kill and remove. Hoping to see a paw drag itself out, and limp to safety. Pulling her knees to her chest and clutching one hand in the other to hide their shaking. Her breathing slowly returned to normality.


    The pile remained still.

 The Tea House

    The family did not return to that river town. Instead, they kept to the smaller roads, avoiding other people when possible, weathering the elements when necessary. As it often were. Every day was spent in silence, and every evening her parents, with a mix of fear and disgust reminded her of what she had done. Her unfiltered rage had gotten the best of her, and she had annihilated the structure, allowing wild magic to seep into the valley below, making both farming and simply peaceful living increasingly difficult for the people by the riverbank.


    She had to push her feelings away. For weeks they walked westward, until one late afternoon they tasted a salty breeze. Emboldened by the smell and empty stomachs they followed the winds. Walking through the evening and into sundown. Cresting a hill they saw a large town at the mouth of Placidium River. An orange sea and small buildings far in the distance. Feet aching and legs burning. With an end in sight the months of travel weighed upon their backs. The last two hours were excruciating. Every step Syndra had to pull her leg after her, until they finally reached the town.


    The structures were varied and vast, the view to the isle of Fae''lor across the inland sea was beautiful, and the dazzling of the sun''s dance across the distant waves was truly breathtaking. What really struck Syndra as different was the salty taste on the air, and the smell of freedom and safety provided a promise of rest and safety to the young and weary child. As day turned to dusk, and they neared the beaches, lanterns were lit and mirrored the red glow of the sun setting in the west. Their stroll through the townscape was equally breathtaking.


    The amount of houses and people was staggering. Wherever she looked, there was a new building, a new person, a new stall. Though the village she was from was the largest in the vicinity, there was no competing with these harbor towns. The bustle created a murmur Syndra could lose herself in. The travel had taught her not to wander too far from her family. The band meandered through the city, from teahouse to inn to docks. After the sixth rejection, they decided to move further from the waterfront, partially to get away from the ocean winds. Anywhere where they could sleep would do. The night had gotten dark and cold, the wind chilling through their tattered and patchy clothing.


    The narrative has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the infringement.


    They passed by a teahouse whose lights shone with warmth. Syndra''s father went inside in the hopes of negotiating a cheap place to sleep. Syndra curiously went to one if the windows. Standing on tippy toes, she attempted to peer into the cozy atmosphere. The small rooms had an uncharacteristically open design. Instead of creating small separate rooms, there were large, tightly placed tables. While the place wasn''t fully packed, there was an energetic atmosphere. She spotted her father making his way to the reception desk. She couldn''t hear what was spoken, but it was clear to see that the old woman manning the shop was apologetic.


    She sunk back into the cold street awaiting her father. A look toward her mother who seemed as weary and tired as her. It invigorated her. Soon enough her father appeared at the door, but instead of providing bad news, he instead ushered his family. A surprise to be sure, but not an unwelcome one, she thought to herself. The inside provided the warmth it promised. A heat to treat the cold. They were crammed into a seating among strangers. Though plenty of free spaces were available. Syndra couldn''t help but feel squished. Before long, tea was brought, and the tea-lady sat herself by the table.


    "Now, fill your bellies, warm your soul. The drink and accommodation aint free, but I''ll be content hearing your story!" She said. The boisterous energy surprising, considering the woman''s size.


    "Well, we have been on the road for some months now..." Syndra''s father started. She listened quietly, sipping the tea offered.


    Her father cleverly avoided the imposed exile, and the bouts of uncontrolled magical tantrums. The story was abbreviated in some places and exaggerated in others. An hour went by, the tea slowly emptied, drink for drink. The other patrons'' conversations dried out, one by one. Until only Syndra''s parents, spoke. Each shifting the storyteller role, and the narrative, slightly, depending on the speaker. As time went on, Syndra became more unfocused. A tiredness overcame her, and her eyelids drooped. Until she finally succumbed to sleep.

 Purpose

    She awoke upon a loft of grains and foods. It was not the first time she had forgotten where she had fallen asleep. Both the blanket and the small mattress she had been provided was more luxury than she''d had for months. The sun shone up from the ladder leading down. She shuffled, still blanket-wrapped, and peered down the open floor hatch. A ladder lead down into a small stable. Before long the girl had redressed and headed down. A musky smell of animal met her nose and engulfed her senses. A step outside revealed a cloudy day. The white screen lit the featureless sky in a uniform light. With a look around she realized the barn was adjourned with the teahouse they had visited yesterday. Syndra lethargically reached for the door and pushed it open. Inside she found an old man moving a rag across the long tables. He looked up and gave her a bright smile. Syndra did not recprocate. By one of the tables Evard was seated.


    "Good morning" Syndra said quietly. She received no answer, but for a nod. The man headed out behind the curtains separating the back room. Before long he came back with the lady of the house in tow. Frazzled hair, wrinkled sleeping and tired eyes. A long way from the commanding presence she had had the night before. As she spoke her age revealed itself.


    "Good morning" She croaked. The man pulled a pillow out for her and motioned for Syndra to sit. As she did, he placed a tea set by them, and poured a cup for each. The two sat by each other, neither speaking for a while. The silence gnawed at Syndra, and she drew breath to ask if she could leave but was interrupted.


    "Yes yes, I know. Your family is still around. We''ve come to the agreement that you can stay in my loft for the time being, until you find your bearings. I''m rarely partial to wandering folk, but your story struck a chord. Even if it was only a half truth." She paused for a dramatic wink.


    Syndra was about to explain that she didn''t really have that much of an interest in her family, before she could get a word in, the lady continued: "Your family cares much for you, like you care for them. They chose to let you sleep in, because they couldn''t bear to wake you... "


    because they want as little to do with me as possible


    If you stumble upon this narrative on Amazon, it''s taken without the author''s consent. Report it.


    "... they''ve gone to the square to look for work, but if you wouldn''t mind, I''d like..." she looked to the man, who had continued his cleaning.


    He momentarily stopped, which demanded eye-contact.


    "We would like for you to work here. Just in the stable is fine. Consider it a trade for you and your family to come have a cup and stay on our loft. What say you girl?" It doesn''t matter what I answer, does it? Syndra thought to herself.


    "Great. You can get to work when you''re ready. The trough needs a refilling, you can find the feed in the back. If it''s full there''s a few more sacks on the loft. After that Semmis will show you what to do." With that, she emptied her cup, and went into the back.


    Syndra sighed, and looked toward the man, who apparently was named Semmis. He looked at her apologetically. Syndra rolled her eyes, which prompted a mute laugh from the man. She couldn''t help but smile at his genuine feelings. In an effort to conceal it, she looked down into her cup. She had nothing better to do anyway she thought, before taking a sip.


    The hours passed by quickly. Every time her tasks were done, the silent Semmis was ready to wordlessly guide her through setting up tables and chairs, mucking out, buying tea, flour, and incense. She found his presence oddly comforting. She had wondered which animals would use the barn. None had been present throughout the day, and she hadn''t seen any when they first arrived.


    Yet as dusk came by, travelers would leave their animals in Syndra''s care. She tied them to the trough, like Semmis had told her, well... showed her. Some time around nightfall her parents returned. Eye contact was all they required to move away, and into the tea house. She had grown very hungry during the day. She looked jealously at the animals. At least they could eat however much they wanted. She had barely had the idea, before Semmis arrived with a tray. He sat cross-legged from Syndra. The man looked haggared, like he could barely stay awake.


    "Is it from your wife?" She asked He shook his head.


    "Your sister?" He shook his head once more, this time with a smile.


    "You?" A third time he shook his head, before pointing toward the loft.


    She thought for a little while. "My parents?"


    He nodded and put the tray in front of her. It was a modest meal. Bread slices and crayfish on a bed of rice. Considering their travels, this might well be the finest meal in the land. Semmis shortly took his leave. Allowing Syndra just a small feeling of silent comfort and safety. She left the tray in the back, intending to bring it in in the morrow. She then climbed to bed. By the time her family would also turn in, she was already fast asleep.

 Relapse

    Before the sun had risen, she awoke. Pushing off her blanket, and dressing herself, she headed down the ladder to her workstation. A large lady of The Placidium had brought a large feathered loppe last night, and as always it had fallen to Syndra to care for it. The beast, unlike its owner, took surprisingly little space, considering their stature. Whilst the creature still slept, she took the tray from yesterday''s meal and brought inside. As always Semmis was wide awake, removing yesterday¡¯s dirty cups and trays. She placed the tray on the table, and awaited instructions. She took seat and ran her hands across eachother. It was getting cold these days. It compared not to her homestead, yet the cold would still bite when the wind proved vicious. The numbness brought by cold was strangely comforting. Mesmerized by the fluid motions of the elderly cleaner. No motion made without purpose. Watching him work was as watching a mill grind, a river''s flow, spokes on a wheel. Rhythmic and certain. Minutes passed, and Semmis threw the rag over his shoulder and walk to Syndra. He opened his hand palm up, and she did the same. In her palm he placed a pouch and a note. Having done this before she closed her hand around the small leather pouch. As she turned Semmis grabbed her shoulder and looked into her eyes with a deep warm smile. He moved his outstretched index finger across his lips. His gaze quickly overwhelmed her and she looked away. He returned to his cleaning and looked at the girl leaving through the front door of the tea house, into the calm and cloudless sky. Syndra moved through the open streets and empty stalls. At this hour few had opened. You had to know which fishermen that came back first, the herbalists that opened at the earliest. She was headed directly for the harbour. With the early morning sun as her guide, she spotted for the fisherman''s first catch. A dingy pulled onto land and tied by a weathered middle-aged man. He lifted a basket of catch onto the shore, and called out to the child, making her way across the sand. "Mornin'' girl. What''ll it be today?" Syndra''s pace increased until they were only a few steps from eachother. She mechanically unfurled the paper and handed the paper to the sailor. He took it. Read it. Raised his eyes to the courier he had seen every morning for the last few weeks. He studied her, but she seemed oblivious to its message. He handed it back to her and without a word lugged the basket onto one broad shoulder and walked past her. Syndra stood in disbelief, mouth agape looking after the man.


    She opened the letter and instead of the usual number next to some scribbles, there was a small doodle of a stick figure, some coins, and a wrapped package. Syndra could read very little, but recognised her own name. Syllable by syllable she tried sounding out the words. "Gift for Syndra". Stunned. She remained at the forlorn beach by the empty boat. A lump formed in her throat. She clutched the pouch, which had suddenly increased its weight tenfold. She pushed it towards her chest as if her heart would leak between her ribs. A sob broke through, then another. Until she could no longer contain herself. Quickly she ran between the rocks. Searching for a place where she could collapse in peace. The rain drenched Syndra. It had woken her from her rest she had wept herself into. Afterwards she had pulled herself out She had thought about what she''d want to buy with the money she had been given. In the end she had passed hats, trinkets, food, and clothing. She could not bear to buy anything. It did not feel right. The dark clouds'' payload remained ignored for the hours she meandered up and down the shops and stalls that remained open despite the weather. With every item she chose not to buy, the coins seemed to grow heavier and heavier. In the end she stopped by the tea house once more. Returning with the pouch fuller than when she received it. The familiar creak of the wood made her presence known to the couple. Each existing in harmony as they worked separately on cleaning and cooking. Semmis dropped the broom the moment he saw the soppy figure in the doorway. He quickly rushed to her and knelt to wipe the long wet hair out of her face. Tucking the mess behind her red ear. Syndra pulled away and put the pouch forward. Semmis took the sack, and realized it was as full as when she left. He looked back at the cook, who looked upon the scene with concern. He pushed it back towards her, forcing her a step back. Immediately realizing his mistake, he moved his hands back. "I don''t want it" Syndra held it out once more. "I don''t want it!" She repeated, louder this time. Throwing the folded leather on the ground. The strings gave way, and the many coins tumbled and rolled across the floor. Syndra stormed out once more into the raging winds and heavy rain. On her way out she vaguely heard Semmis'' other half asking: "What was that all about?". Slamming the door on her way out, she made her way to the stables. The large, lazy animal was still present. The creature lazily regarded the little angry biped, but as long as it remained fed it would not protest. Syndra pushed the mountain of muscle and feathery hide, to no avail, her hands sinking deep into prickly duvet. She leaned all of her weight against its flank, in impotent weakness. Put her fist toward it, again and again, which barely provoked a glance from the large creature. She took a deep, ragged breath. She breathed out and put her face against her newfound solidary companion. She unclenched her fists, letting her taught muscle relax once more. Tears and snot staining the multi-coloured creature. She felt a heavy tuck at her collar and was thrown back by the owner of the beast. The lady towered over her. Her garbs thick for the weather and heavy with rainwater. A hilt showed its head at her waist. ¡°What do you think you¡¯re doing? You should feel honored to have this mighty creature stashed at your hobble of an establishment. You are not worthy of being his caretaker!¡± She took a step toward the child. Syndra lay back first on the ground inside the covering. She put her hands on the ground, pushing herself up, directly into the large brown boot. The woman stepped on her chest, pushing her back down, and pushing air out of her lungs. Unfocused through watery eyes and burning cheeks. She blinked, clearing her eyes, and glared up. ¡°You think you have fight? You think you have guts? You are weak.¡± She spat the last sentence. ¡°You couldn¡¯t thro-¡° her tirade was interrupted as she was lifted from her feet and tossed out of the barn. A push of air ripped at the trough. The beast struggled against its restraints; a desperation had gripped it. Force pushed outward, a storm without wind. The warrior stood, and gripped for her sword, before she once more was pushed back, the blade ripped from her hands by a force unseen. Her steed ripped the wooden paddock, carrying the histing rail behind it, as it fled down the street. His master clambering back to a standing position. She looked into the barn, which had darkened. Inside was the little child, floating amongst swirling hay, water and bits of wood. Taking her queue to leave, the warrior bounded down the street after her wayward mount. The door to the teahouse slammed open, and Semmis limped out. In shock, mouth agape he identified the source of the crashing. In the middle of the swirling madness floated a small girl, swathed in darkness. With little care, he ran as fast as his old legs could carry him, to the aid of Syndra. In a blast of energy, he was pushed back. Semmis landed heavily, unmoving. Panic gripped the child, clutching her tightly. The boisterous tea-pourer was by the side of the fallen in a flash. Syndra took a deep breath, and as she breathed out, she lowered herself to the ground. The swirling slowed, objects clattering. Assessing the damage, Syndra stole another look toward her hosts, who stared with eyes she had gotten used to feeling. Awe, confusion, but especially fear. ¡°Sorry¡± she muttered, allowing no feeling to well. She lifted the bent ladder to the loft, and crawled away, into the darkness of the upper floor, where she would remain awake for many ours. She remained there, undisturbed. Semmis did not arrive with a tray as he usually would. That night, she slept alone.


    This book was originally published on Royal Road. Check it out there for the real experience.

 Consequences

    Numb and tired she awoke to find herself alone on the wooden planks of the hayloft. It was the first time in many months she had had a solitary waking. Her moment of grogginess was shaken away by the memory of yesterday afternoon. A pit fell in her stomach. A weight pulling her down. The ladder bore her to the ground floor. Wood and hay was strewn and the ground was still damp. Bent wooden and crooked walls seemed to only keep themselves aloft by sheer circumstance. She ran a hand over the magic-woven walls. It seemed drier and darker than it used to. Images of the Ghost-Willow lingered in her mind, the charred exterior of the holy tree a burden on her memory. Much like then, the wood seemed to have lost its luster. Like a drowned forest, the house was a shell of its former vibrant aura. A reminder that once again lost control. She caught herself reaching for the door to the teahouse. Her daily routine had brought her there, yet she didn¡¯t know what to do once she entered. Frozen she stood with a hand firmly placed on the portal. If nothing else, I will face my judgement. She thought, before she pushed aside the door and entered the almost empty teahouse. Semmis would normally be up and working at this hour who, considering his injuries, would likely be resting. Instead sat a middle-aged man with a long beard, that melded into his olive green robes. The outfit a simple make, made to value comfort over presentation. He looked relaxed and deep in thought, holding a steaming cup in his sleeve. He seemed be older than both her parents, yet younger than the owners. He looked her way as she entered. ¡°Good morning Syndra. I have a proposal for you, if you wouldn¡¯t mind¡± He patted the pillow by his side. Syndra remained in the doorway. ¡°Are you here to punish me for my crime?¡± Syndra asked meekly, leaving the doorway ajar. A dry chuckle emanated from the figure. ¡°I suppose you could call it a penalty.¡± He mused. ¡°No. I come from Fae¡¯lor across the strait, and I have arrived to bring you to my temple. I teach those who possess wild and chaotic magic to better control it, and one need not the sight to see that you are in dire need of guidance.¡± His stare was tranquil, and made Syndra feel calmer just in his presence, though she would not let down her guard. ¡°What if I don¡¯t want your guidance?¡± She glared back at him, trying to discern his intention. ¡°If you do not wish to learn, then I cannot teach you.¡± He retorted. ¡°What makes you think I would want to leave?¡± ¡°I have already spoken to your parents, and the fine hosts of this establishment. We all agreed that I better equipped to take over teaching.¡± She huffed at the word teach, but he had called her bluff. ¡°How did you find me?¡± she challenged Raising one eyebrow he questioned the relevance of her query. ¡°You are not exactly hard to find.¡± ¡°Who are you?¡± ¡°There are many answers to that question. I am a hermit. I am a priest. I am simply a teacher, who wishes to pass on the sacred knowledge of my homeland. I wield arcane arts, and I am a madman. I am destitute, or I am enlightened.¡± He shrugged. ¡°Like you are Syndra, I may be called Konigen.¡± The girl shifted her weight, digesting the information. ¡°How do I know I can trust you?¡± With a straightened back, he lifted the teapot, meticulously poured a new cup, and set it on the table. ¡°What do you wish? A display of power? Domination, strength, perhaps balance? How about this: If I can teach you instead to harness your magic, how would you like that?¡± Syndra nodded slowly. Prompting the older man to turn, fully to face his potential pupil. Taking a deep breath. ¡°Alright. As I am sure you are aware, magic is ever-present. When you breath,¡± he drew air, filling his lounges. ¡°you fill your body with it, holding it in, and let your body use it to replenish your soul. But you cannot hold it forever.¡± He breathed out, deflating himself as he did so. ¡°Most magicians learn to draw magic like this, shape it from within, and use it to make learned spell. But you simply do. Involuntary feelings, shifts in internal balance provokes magical responses. Around your soul, magic swirls, it attracts and repels, it behaves with an empathic bond, according to your emotional state.¡± He turned both hands palm up towards Syndra. ¡°Lay your hands in mine and relax. ¡°Breath in. Breath out. Clear your mind and focus on the cup and only the cup. Find something that brings forth a feeling. Peaceful would be best. I enjoy the sunset, a cool breeze, a well-cooked fish. Attribute this feeling to the object to connect yourself to it. It must be your world. Then lift it into the world you must also realize exists simultaneously.¡±


    Syndra apprehensively stepped forward. Guarded, with her weight on her back foot. She held out her hand and put toward the stranger¡¯s. Partially out of curiosity and partially out of desperation. Tentatively she prodded the palm, a small shock of static travelled through her fingers and up her arm. Not entirely unpleasant, just surprising. She gingerly placed her hand in his. Almost immediately she felt something strange. Like two balls of water, perhaps gelatin, touching but remaining separate. Closing her eyes, she breathed heavily. Deeply. Her heart beat fast. She thought to what would relax her the most. She had no real happy memories to think of. She closed her eyes and ran her thumb across an invisible comb. Letting the thrum of it fill her mind. With each breath, the bristles filled her mind fully. Between breaths, the tea-cup filled her mind. A clearer picture with every breath inhale, a louder thrum with every exhale. She opened her eyes slowly, with a clear connection to the small container. Pulling it up, further and further. The cup shook. Clicking and clinking. It lifted into the air. The man withdrew his hand, and other reservoir closed itself off and disappeared. Panic set in, the calm disturbed. Power surged, uncontrolled, to the fore. Waves crashing on a beach, without pulling back. Her breaths grew sharp and rapid. A crack sounded and small shards and tea rained down upon the two mages. The man quickly drew his long robes to cover himself and Syndra from the rain. He continued: ¡°I came looking for you, and in truth you weren¡¯t exactly hard to find.¡± He smiled wryly. ¡°I have already spoken with your parents, as well as the keepers of this establishment, and we are all in agreement that the best course of action is to take the wild you possess within, and mold it so that you may control it, lest it controls you.¡± He paused and took a sip. With a heavy sigh of satisfaction, he leaned back. ¡°Let me know when you¡¯re ready to leave. Worry not, we¡¯ll make a respectable mage of you yet!¡±. For Syndra there was little deliberation to do. She had little that tied her to this place. That which she had, she either had, or would push away, with such virulent force that it deemed moving her across the inland sea was the only safe option. She hurried out back into the barn which had been her haven for many weeks, scurried up the ladder and grabbed what little artifacts and articles she possessed. Searching through the dimly lit canopy. Consisting mostly of extra clothing and her comb. She shoved it all into a bundle, slung it over her shoulder and descended the ladder to her dark little corner for the last time. She headed back into the teahouse where the man was cleaning the mess made only a moment ago. Her energy was palpable. She hadn¡¯t been excited in any capacity for the longest time, and suddenly she felt invigorated. Like a river whose dam had cracked and threatened to unleash a tidal wave. Every movement he made seemed painfully slow, as she looked to get on with her life, and away from a place she was not wanted. He placed a pouch in her hand. ¡°It is not good manners to ignore gifts¡± He lectured. ¡°Keep that as a reminder, until the day you understand¡± A long silence followed. ¡°My name is Konigen by the way. Nice to meet you.¡±


    Support the author by searching for the original publication of this novel.Syndra only had a glance at her family through the windows. Their nervous eyes confirming to her that they would rather see her gone. She was only happy to accommodate them. They walked through the morning market, picking up a small crystal and ashen wood, quickly packed into a satchel. Within moments they had gone to the shore. A thin lone vessel pier-tied, six men long, and two wide. Multiple fishermen were sitting in the watercraft, seemingly awaiting the two of them. The elongated flat boat that only sank slightly into the waters, despite the great assortment of food, spices, and trinkets placed upon it. Konigen boarded the ferry. She looked back to the town. She hopped into the boat, almost level with the water. Wobbling slightly, before following Konigen¡¯s example and sat in the boat. The air was still and clear after yesterday¡¯s storm. The traders untied the boat and pushed off toward the western island of Fae¡¯lor¡¯s dawn-lit cliffs rising on the horizon. ¡°See that spot?¡± Said the old man. ¡°That¡¯s our destination¡± He pointed toward the distant land, to a white-topped mountain, a third up was a small spot barely rendered visible in the sun. While much of the sheer cliffs lit up in the early light, one small spot remained dark. ¡°From that temple I teach those with wild magic, too difficult to control without proper training.¡± With that mention, some of the sailors shifted uncomfortably. Distancing themselves from the pair. ¡°The temple is old, and the techniques ancient. Built of Blackstone, it has withstood centuries of elements and magic. I trained and learned there myself, bringing with me the teachings of mine own homelands on Bahrl. Living as a hermit became tiresome, however. So now the school has been opened to more¡­¡± Konigen spoke at length of his travels, but Syndra listened with only half an ear. Her mind racing with possible futures. A mage who would travel and wow, a wizened sorceress, and elder. Her mind jumbled with possibilities that, for the first time in her life, looked bright and full of possibilities. They landed after hours in the boat, in a far smaller port. Konigen paid the ferrymen, and they moved through the small townscape. He bought various foods on the way and put it in a small bag he had hidden in his long sleeves. The townscape barely extended beyond the natural harbor. The structures were different from what she was used to. More carved buildings, and the carvings themselves much different from her homestead. She was yanked back to her senses by a call from Konigen. She trotted to his side, and instinctually reached for his hand, grasping his cloak. She quickly let go but noticed he had put a hand toward her. Gingerly she put hers in his, and he gave it small squeeze. They walked out into the shade-cover of the trees.


    The road lead toward the side of a mountainside. The road broke off, into a winding path up the bare stony hill. The further up, the darker the stone became. A few bushes and flowers decorated the stones. He knelt by her side and let go of her hand, placing it instead on her shoulder. ¡°Are you ready to go?¡± She nodded resolutely, having walked for longer and in rougher terrain before. Konigen smiled back and pushed her silver hair behind her ear with his thumb. Rummaging in the depths of his bag for a moment he produced an red apple, and handed it to Syndra. He rose and they began the steep hike up the flank and towards the ominous dark temple higher up the mountain. Syndra took a satisfied bite of it, as the two began traversing the mountain.

 Weakness

    They stood at the precipice of the courtyard. A large wall and temple, the size of such a building she had never seen before, dwarfing even the great hall of the river town they had stayed in months prior. The gate itself stood open, the top was rounded and rose into two sharp spikes. Syndra recognized it as the symbol of balance, but this depiction had her think of something between a crown and a tuning fork. She moped looking at the architecture in front of her, completely oblivious to the world around her. The courtyard was spacious, comfortably able to hold a small market of stalls and carts. Flanked on three sides by respectively the wall, the barracks, and the main building. The fourth side lead into a lush garden, with plants Syndra recognized, and many more she did not. A small buck ran from the very top of the cliffside, through the garden, creating a small watering system. A few small trees were stood by a pond in the middle of the glade. The gardens themselves facing eastward, overlooking the inland sea. The plot held a zen garden, with a lifted gazebo connected to the main building. The garden was large, holding many elements. The nature meticulously ordered and segregated, each plot with their own purpose. She saw other people meditating in the gardens. Their mat-green thin over-shirts billowing slightly in the wind, underneath they wore thicker light-grey and white sarouel pants and shirt underneath, to shield from the cold ocean winds. The pagoda temple held a large open bottom floor and narrowed toward the top. The temple was mostly black from the stone it was built from, but the outside was adorned with woven plants and wood. Even with the late autumn cold, the heat of the sun upon the bare stone heated Syndra¡¯s feet even through her worn moccasins. The temple was part of the mountain-side itself. Reminding Syndra of steps leading even further up. To her left was a long building, nestled close to the mountain, leaving little room around it, with a small space in the corner between it and the main building. A hand fell on her shoulder. Like struck with lightning from clear skies, she zapped back into the present. She looked up and saw Konigen, who was currently talking to a young, maybe slightly younger than herself, vastaya girl. Her budding antlers wrapped in a small cloth and floppy ears drooped almost to her cheeks. She was quite meek indeed. Syndra balled a fist as she stared at this vulnerable creature in front of her. Prey, she thought to herself. A mage shouldn¡¯t be weak, what is she even doing here? Doubt creeping into her mind. ¡°-just the basics. When you¡¯ve finished you may go to the mess. Remember she is your charge for now.¡± Konigen finished. Whatever they were talking about Syndra hadn¡¯t heard. So, when Konigen walked into the gardens, she stepped to follow. ¡°Uhm¡­ The barracks are this way.¡± Yima stammered. Syndra turned. ¡°Sorry.¡± Twisting her palm around her wrist. ¡°Let¡¯s go?¡± They looked at each other for a moment, cheeks flushed. Yima took a few steps backward, toward the barracks. She led Syndra through the long building. It held two stories of rooms, most of which were sleeping quarters. She spoke of the different parts of the building the ages and sexes were split into four quadrants. Most people who came, would only stay for a few months, but some, either had too much to learn, or nothing to return to, and so would simply stay for longer. Yima slowed as she spoke those words. Yima brought her to a small room, holding a single bunk bed and a worktable. A porthole leading out into the small space between the shaved mountain-side and the housing building they were currently in. ¡°S- So, here we are. We don¡¯t have much room, but you didn¡¯t bring much so it should be fine.¡± Yima rubbed antler-like protrusions, eyes downcast. Syndra taking the hint, left her bundle on the top bed, jumping to lob cloth, comb, and pouch onto the loft with a clatter. On the table lay a half-carved imitation of the symbol above the entrance. One of the long peaks had been carved so far, bringing it into imbalance. It was imprecise, but clearly hand carved. ¡°Master Konigen says it represents the balance required to achieve mastery. That¡¯s why I¡¯m carving it.¡± She explained, with her right hand on her left shoulder. Syndra placed it above her, like a crown. Yima quickly snatched it away, her eyes large, as she hugged the object close to her. ¡°Sorry... It¡¯s not finished¡± Yima¡¯s voice was quiet. She placed it back on the small table. Syndra was surprised of the fast reaction. She had clearly made some faux pas, though she did not understand exactly what. The pair walked out to the end of the hallway, where the stairs into the basement were.


    A case of content theft: this narrative is not rightfully on Amazon; if you spot it, report the violation.Together the two girls explored the various nooks of crannies of the temple grounds. From the basement to sheds and groves. Small outcroppings along the cliffside on the edge of the temple, the rocky landscape just outside the temple grounds themselves. The grounds were surprisingly large, a castle in its own right. It was large enough that even with the afternoon they have, the hunger caught up, before the tour was finished. Yima finished with only a cursory introduction to the garden¡¯s plants. With day fast becoming evening, the two moved into the pagoda. The main hall smelt sweet from the fireplace and the stew boiling above it oval and symmetrical. A fireplace and stove was embedded into a cavernous hole. On either side were a pair of wooden tables, grown from the side of the wall, used for preparing the food. The inside was lit with an opaque blue light slowly dancing across the stoneworks. Large tables and benches sprang from the dark rock beneath. Small blue flames lazily waved in the air, emitting curious warmth. Along the rightmost wall, a flight of stairs let upstairs The other students were present in the room, merrily speaking, filling the room with idle chatter, even if they were only slightly above a dozen. The two moved to the cauldron above the fireplace, taking the stew and sat by the other students. None older than thirty, most were young, but Yima and Syndra were the only children present. Even if Syndra could only barely be considered a child. They ate and listened to the conversations held by the older inhabitants. She sat in silence, head downcast. Neither shameful nor bashful. She simply just wanted to avoid questions. Luckily, no questions came to her. The stone, while hard an uncomfortable, was oddly warm. Listening to their idle conversation to keep herself entertained. The food was bland, yet appreciated. It was very filling. Konigen came out from the corridor to the east. A few scrolls carefully tucked under his right arm. With his other he gripped a ladle and poured the thick stew into a bowl. He sat down beside Syndra, paying her little mind. As if her presence was as natural as any of the other students''. He unfurled a scroll, traced a finger across the parchment, continuing from the place he left off. Peeking at the dry scroll she read a schematic of a quinlon, with many words and symbols she did not recognize. She has an impulse, a want. Something she had not felt in a long time. Like a trickle of curiosity from a walled-off spring, finding its way through the stone. She would stare at the diagrams and read what little she knew. Quinlons, azakana, spirits, far-off lands where magic does not flow. Her fantasy ran wild. Inspired she couldn''t help but try to read along, only understanding every fourth word. The rest had finished their meals, but Syndra only noticed when Konigen rolled away his scrolls. She followed him upstairs like a shadow, through a corridor, and snuck into a room filled with dim stone shelves, stuffed with tomes upon tomes. A worktable rested against the wall, upon which were two scrolls, a copying process left half-finished. He put the parchment into one of the many crevasses. Syndra walked to the half-written document, and placed her hand on it "A curious one, aren''t you?" Konigen asked. A cheeky smile on his lips. "You know, you shouldn''t be in here"


    Syndra stared back. Too frozen to answer, sensing she had transgressed. He walked closer, but like a wounded dog she backed away. She turned to the strategy that had helped her avoid most conflicts before, she ran. Out of the room, into the corridor, down the stairs, she turned. Yima put out her arms and caught Syndra, the two tumbled to the ground. "Sorry" she said, rubbing her scraped hands. "Why are you running?" Syndra did not answer, but instead kept running. It was her fault for not telling me the library was off limits. She did not want to face repercussions, and neither did she have the strength to flee. She ran into the garden, past the bushes and toward the small pond. By the edge she stood. From there she could see the roofs of the harbor village, and far in the distance, across the inland sea, spangled light of the town she had spent half the winter. Her family, so far away. Only then, in the still morror of the pond, did she realize how far away she was. From her home, from those she had known and where her life had been. A tinge of sadness from a thread severed with little thought, but now also the freedom to pursue what she was. She could finally be who she was meant to. Sovereign. A hand on her shoulder turned her. Yima wiped the tear from her cheeks, that Syndra had not realized had fallen. Hand in hand the two girls walked back to their room.

 The First Day

    That first morning Syndra was shaken awake by Yima. "We have morning seance, just meet us in the courtyard" she had said. Syndra put on her worn, coarse, linen, and headed out. The corridor was quiet in the early morning hours. Mocassins echoed through the hallway. On the stones stood the sixteen or so students, with Konigen beside. They were all dressed in the same mat lagoon-green robes. Tentatively and with light feet, she stepped into the group. Konigen listed a name, and a duty. Person by person, task by task. Until everyone had been named. "Syndra: you need new clothing. We can''t have you freeze solid on my watch. Afterwards I have an introductory course in magical channeling that I think you can join." He put his hands together, looking east as the orange light was just peaking over the horizon. The crowd dispersed, leaving Konigen and Syndra alone in the courtyard. Syndra looked to her feet when Konigen stepped closer. " I have not your exact size, but I have some that are too big for Yima that should fit. Follow me.¡± Mat teal silken over-shirt was much too long, while the shirt and pants were too baggy. They were scratchy and the straps used to pin the clothing to her body were tight. Still, they were warmer and softer than the tattered clothing that had been her companion for months. She would no doubt grow into them as time went on. Syndra sat along four of other students, a young woman in her twenties, an older man with greying hair and a thin beard, Yima, and her. All deep in meditative trance. Konigen guiding their spirits opened their soul to let magic stream through. To her it felt like opening a cavity inside her chest to let boiling water pour through. Sweat beading on her forehead. Managing magic that flowed through her system was a straining process. The older student was clearly a practiced caster, yet his way of training was much different to what Konigen taught. Syndra did not understand the difference, she only knew that this more experienced mage was also struggling. It satisfied her to some extent, that even a trained and knowledgeable sorcerer suffered the same struggle as herself. It was truly exhausting. The other three seemed to make breakthroughs, and as the hours came and went, even struggling older man had achieved some grasp of the principles. Yet she sat and struggled for hours in the cold, a painful endeavor. An ocean crashing against a cliffside. Being a conduit for this magic heated her soul, tricking her body to feel a warmth it had not. She stood at the edge of an impossibly massive pressure. A sea held back by a wall of stone. A partition between the world of spirits and the elemental world. Tumultuous waters below, that kept the magic enclosed. When the gong finally called for the end of the lesson and beginning of lunch. Defeated, frustrated, and exhausted she picked herself up and carried her body on numb legs towards the mess hall. The first step sent a jitter of a hundred bees through her leg, making her stumble slightly. She looked around realizing she was the only person still there. Silently she cursed her weakness, before pushing herself onto faltering legs. Step by step she forced her sore legs to comply with her will, stepping into the gardens toward the temple proper. ¡°Syndra. A moment of your time.¡± Konigen¡¯s voice sounded from among the berry bushes. Happy to comply, if only to rest a moment, she staggered into the plot where her mentor was weeding the garden. Letting her body be victim to gravity, she fell. Silently she stared at him, as he pulled foreign plants by their roots, cleaning the garden. ¡°Snowplums are hardy bushes. They grow in winter, a rare trait to say the least. As a result, they are vulnerable to contestant plants. It has thin branches and shallow roots, so one must always take care of it, lest its food source be stolen by plants that grow beneath it. We, as gardeners, must help and remove the parasites, and in turn it provides us fresh fruit in the winter. Remove its hinderance and it flourishes. Tell me Syndra, what hinders you?¡±


    You might be reading a pirated copy. Look for the official release to support the author.

 A Lesson Repeated

    ¡°Behold!¡± Master Konigen bellowed dramatically, drawing his arm in a wide arc, drawing a small object from his sleeve. His students were seated in a semicircle creating a barrier between their master and the pond. They all had their eyes transfixed upon the object, with excitement swiftly turning to disappointment. The master gingerly held the rock between his index thumb and index finger, peering at it, as were it a jewel of great value.


    The sun was beating down, the exact reason he had chosen to gather the children at the plateau behind the temple garden, overlooking the narrow straight that separated Fae¡¯lor from Navorri. Shielded by vegetation and cooled by a slight ocean breeze, this was the ideal training grounds in such a heat. The plateau itself rich in loose rocks, ideally suited for today¡¯s exercise.


    ¡°Now,¡± Konigen continued, as he pondered whom might be his victim ¡°which of you can tell me what this is?¡± A silence befell the class, all too aware that this was a trap. Only the sound of wind passing through the leaves, and the creak¡¯s flow running into the pond, revealed that time hadn¡¯t stopped entirely and out of the small dam built to pool the water into the basin.


    ¡°Yima?¡± As if a chill wind had passed through, the small vastayan pulled at her collar, despite the heat of the glaring sun. Timidly she answered:


    ¡°A¡­ a riddle?¡±


    ¡°A metaphor¡­¡± corrected Konigen peering over his treasure and upon his class. ¡°But of what?¡± She now looked down shielding herself from his gaze, trying to determine the nature of the question.


    ¡°A rock?¡± she finally asked. Konigen, smiling as he once more had fooled his class.


    ¡°No¡± he said triumphantly, ¡°this¡­ is magic¡± ceremoniously he held the stone closer, as to reveal its arcane secrets to his captured audience.


    ¡°What might you think happens if I dropped my magic into this pool?¡± The master threw the stone in an arc above his students. Floating through the air, headed directly for the water it suddenly stopped. Held in place by the master.


    ¡°A big splash¡± Syndra declared confidently. She did tend to find practical lessons more capturing than the theoretical ones. If only she had a little more focus, Konigen thought to himself.


    Konigen glanced at his pupils. Hand outstretched, grasping the object.


    ¡°Magic, is an element. Yet it is not native to our world. We create magic spells by drawing in what is ambient. And that which is ambient comes from realm of spirits, leaking into our world. And as you all well know, it is also possible to draw in magic from the spirit realm itself.¡± He paused, wondering how much, would be too much for the young minds. ¡°Magic, when used creates a discharge. It disturbs the magic, both ambient and at its source, as it is performed.¡± He let go of the stone and it followed its trajectory. With a plop it splashed as predicted. ¡°The waves may be felt on distant shores, but the most catastrophic result is where it collided¡­ A sorcerer must remain vigilant and aware that what is taken must be given in equal measure. If not they risk upsetting the balance of our world, and the world of spirits. And he who loses balance¡­¡±


    This narrative has been unlawfully taken from Royal Road. If you see it on Amazon, please report it.¡°-is doomed to tumble¡± the pupils finished.


    ¡°Good. While I normally would not condone use of reckless magic, you should all feel the consequences of careless management.¡±


    The master, with a wave, pulled many of the rocks that littered the garden, and brought them to the edge of the pond. All in various sizes, and all too heavy for the children to lift physically.


    ¡°You should all be able to move these by mind, if not by hand. Toss them into the waters and see the result¡± The master took seat in the sand, cross-legged and placed his hands on his knees.


    ¡°What are you waiting for? Go on!¡± He waved his hands at hesitant pupils.


    Konigen observed the children, as they eyed the different rocks, each trying to decide which would be the right for them. Some even took to working together, and before long, rocks were being tossed with reckless abandon into the waters.


    He always enjoyed watching the children play. Not yet burdened by their responsibilities. For now they can play, for now they can be happy, and he was proud he could facilitate a space for them to unfurl. He closed his eyes for a moment, enjoying the laughter, the arguing, the sun and the cool ocean breeze reaching the temple gardens.


    The water did ricochet, as he had intended, and some of the children were hit, but considering the heat, they didn¡¯t mind. He had noticed Syndra hadn¡¯t rushed to pick up any rocks, as he had thought, but scouring the playing children, he could not catch a glimpse of her. It was not the first time she had wandered off. While she listened to his teachings, and the years been kind to her abilities, she would always experiment that girl.


    He felt the ground shake, and the sound of rocks tumbling. He looked to the edge of the temple, where the temple ended and the cliffside began. There he saw the eager girl, both hands stretched, looking over the edge, the grass around her turning from green to yellow. Grasping an object from the depths. Suddenly a large dark boulder, at least to worax long and four wide, came flying from the edge, no doubt wrested from the cliffside on which the temple stood. The children scattered, at the notice of the enormous stone, and Konigen, noticing arch of the stone grabbed a deft hold of it, guiding it towards the pool. The water overflowed the shores of the small pond and drenched the teacher.


    ¡°Syndra!¡±


    Konigen shot up.


    He glared at Syndra, who¡¯s grin rapidly evaporated.

 Control

    Syndra hadn¡¯t been yelled at for years, certainly not since she arrived at the temple. Her cheeks burnt red, her eyes downcast, and her steps short. She trudged through the corridors, hurt, and embarrassed. To exercised such force but been thoughtless in execution. She had endangered everyone, Konigen told her as much, and she understood. The result may have been catastrophic, and in her blind excitement she had seen nothing, and had it not been for Konigen¡¯s quick mind, she would have hurt someone, of that she was certain.


    It wasn¡¯t the first time after all.


    Brought to a halt by an influx of memories, a time best forgotten. The girl soldiered on, avoiding the gaze of the other denizens of the temple she chose a longer and less travelled route to her master¡¯s chamber. She would rather hide away, crawl into a cave and remain undiscovered, yet she had an obligation.


    She climbed the stairs upward. The stone was slanted from centuries of use. Syndra had often wondered for how long people had been here, if Konigen inherited the temple, or if it belonged to someone else before. He would of course never give her a direct answer, not that she would have had much interest in that moment.


    She stood in front of her masters sliding door. Breathing a ragged breath, before reaching out, and pushing the door to the side. Glad that she was here alone, while Konigen was finishing the lesson.


    A waft of parchment, old linen and incents filled her nostrils. Her feet cold against the stone floor, but her body crushed by the oppressive heat of the Blackstone temple.


    Looking about the small room, she located her master¡¯s robes, hanging from racks by the wooden desk to the small porthole window. She picked out a robe that was much akin to the one she had ruined. She brought it down and folded it.


    The story has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the violation.Her mind, many miles and many months from her hands. Folding the grey and olive cloth, piece by piece, as she relieved the moment that sent her family far from home. Reliving an evening by The Ghost-Willow. The day she lost her brother.


    She did not notice the air changing, nor the sudden winds in the room. All she could see through teary eyes were her brother, mangled and ruined. Her family was probably happy to be rid of her. Every emotion feeding itself eating at her.


    She felt a hand on her shoulder and looked up at her master. With a breath she noticed the chaos in the room. Around her flew parchment, linen and what remained of the desk and stool. Clattering against the stone walls of the temple.


    She felt a push against her chest, Konigen pressed a small object against her and all the objects clattered to the ground around her, the tug upon them having evaporated by her sudden awakening. Like the snap of a branch crushed underfoot she was back in the moment, having brought all the feelings of her journey with her. Konigen clasped either side of her head, and moved her gaze towards his.


    ¡°Are you alright?¡±


    He was out of breath. Gasping for air.


    She could not answer, she couldn¡¯t bring herself to look upon him. Not through the shame and the guilt. She wanted to tell him that she¡¯s fine. That she doesn¡¯t need his help. That she can take care of herself.


    But she wouldn¡¯t lie.


    Grabbing hold of Konigen to support herself was all she could. He was her raft. She sobbed into his arms and robes, well knowing that she would be the one to clean them later.


    For now, that did not matter¡­ For now, she was calm. She took a deep breath.

 Balance

    The two of them sat by the pond. Classes had since concluded and the various students were idling about, trimming the trees, hanging clothes, and tending the garden. Syndra was sitting by the pond, deep in thought. The pond reflected in the young girl¡¯s eyes, each threatening to swallow the other. She heard the taps of her master¡¯s sandals.


    Next to her the tapping stopped and with Konigen close she felt more at ease and relaxed the tension she hadn¡¯t realized she¡¯d held. Steeling her gaze looking over the pond, towards the straight and towards Navorri. She finally broke the silence with a whispered apology.


    ¡°Sorry¡±


    ¡°Hmm?¡± Konigen glanced downwards towards the child, as though he had only just discovered her presence.


    ¡°For my lack of control¡± Syndra whispered, only audible to Konigen.


    He remained silent for a while. He drew breath as he lowered himself, and with a groan he rested himself against the sandy moss by the pond. He made a long drawn-out sigh.


    ¡°I will not pretend that your lack of control and balance isn¡¯t dangerous. However, what might you think this temple is for? Why do you think I brought you here?¡±


    After a moment she tentatively answered: ¡°To teach us?¡±


    ¡°One who does not know defeat, will be unable to learn from their faults. The type of magic I teach is not exactly well known¡­ To most, magic is an ambient force, weak and polluted. We take what we can muster, and we shape and use it. When this reservoir empties, there is no more magic to be had.¡±


    Syndra listened intently, it wasn¡¯t often Konigen deliberated on his teachings outside of his classes. Konigen also stared towards the shadows lengthening. Like a long shadowy hand, it reached out from the foot of the cliffside temple, and covered the townscapes below in a blanket of shadow.


    ¡°Why do you think I teach this magic?¡±


    ¡°To avoid us hurting other people with magic we can¡¯t control¡±


    This narrative has been unlawfully taken from Royal Road. If you see it on Amazon, please report it.The two sat in silence for a few moments, before Konigen spoke once more


    ¡°To bring you balance. That is why I invited you here. To steady the brazier, lest it became a wildfire.¡± Konigen raised his hand, and like molehill a stone pushed the water aside. Its smooth surface revealing itself to be native to the currents.


    ¡°Sorcerers are crude. They breath the ambient magic, and shape as much as they can hold. Magic from the source instead is pure and more powerful. But the physical form is limited. The magic that passes through us must be in perfect balance, lest it devour us.¡± He lowered the smooth rock back from where it came. ¡°


    The master looked wistfully across the lengthening shadows that reached eastwards. Entertaining the idea that one day his pupils could spread his teachings from his masters. There was much that could be learnt and much to gain from it.


    ¡°Knowledge comes before training. Training before mastery. Mastery before balance. Balance before control. You seem to start the journey halfway completed. Give it time, learn and understand, and I have no doubt in my mind, you will become one of the greatest mages this world has ever seen.¡±


    Feeling a sense of pride, Syndra straightened her back. Words of confirmation where few and far between. Absorbing this rare praise, pride swelling up from inside her chest, she couldn¡¯t help but stand. Konigen gave her a smile, and that was the last push she needed. The girl ran off to check in with the quartermaster to take part in any tasks remaining before the sun had completely disappeared beneath the horizon.


    Konigen however remained sitting, his smile faded as suddenly as it had arrived. Staring towards the reddening sun. There was much to be done, before he himself could achieve control.


    Would his masters even approve of both means and ends? He took a deep breath and pushed his fears aside.


    For now, he simply enjoyed the moment.

 Wrath

    Syndra sat by the edge of the cliff, overlooking the strait. Outside the temple beneath the grounds. It was late evening, a time where the students would hone their skills, meditate, or relax. She had considered training as usual but couldn¡¯t be bothered. The lessons had degenerated. Rather, they hadn¡¯t changed. They were much below her abilities, she hadn¡¯t had the chance to push herself for seasons. She felt that she had distinguished herself, that her power spoke for itself. Yes her demonstrations clearly wasn¡¯t enough for Konigen. They still trudged around the same topics and the same lessons. The greatest fisherman is not the one who catches the greatest fish he would say. Pushing all that aside, she fiddled with the straps of the satchel she had brought. Heart racing and goosebumps covering her bare arms, despite the sun¡¯s best efforts. Looking over the lands so far away. Navorri. She didn¡¯t know if her family was still in that town by the sea, or if they went back home. Nor did she truly care. She steeled herself and opened it with a quick movement. From within she drew a scroll she had taken from the library. It was not the first time she had taken from the library without permission, and every time she felt the same mixed feeling of adrenaline and shame for going against her mentor¡¯s wishes. The knowledge contained within was varied. Esoteric knowledge, history of the Ionian isles, poems, and literature. She could never be exactly sure what she grabbed before she opened and read them. The stone was warm from sun and a cool breeze blew from the east. She took a moment to calm her nerves once more before she unfurled the first scroll. Carefully as to not damage the papers. Upon the yellowed pages was a reverse family tree. The bottom detailed the azakana, lesser demons. The further up, the purer the feelings associated. The information was sparse, seemingly inferred. The azakana all had names ands descriptions, but the further up the tree, the smaller the descriptions. Until at the very top few strands only had single words connected. From she gleaned that the more primal the feeling, the stronger the spirit connected to it. It would seek out and feed these feelings.


    A thrill grew within her, this was definitely above her abilities. This would be a true challenge. She laid the scroll out in front of her, placing rocks to hold it in place. Pushing herself off the ground, jumping on the spot, spinning her arms to warm her body. Once again beholding the information upon the sepia parchment. While excited she let caution guide her, and focused on a lesser feeling, near the bottom of the lineage. Irritation formed from ambition, connected with the azakana Siji. She should be able to manage that. As she had done so many times prior, accessing the well of power resting within realm of spirits, this time using this particular feeling. She followed the ritual as scribed, molding the magic in part to expand her knowledge, and in part to challenge herself, but mostly to sate her curiosity and try something new. The ritual was in some ways much like fishing. Wherein the sorcerer was both lure, rod, line, boat, and fisher all at once. She threw this pool of concentrated feeling into the preverbal waters below. A deep focus on the feeling, keeping it as intense as she could muster. She had gotten better at wielding magic, to the point where it only ached slightly. This was new. Like using muscles, you aren¡¯t used to. It was both straining and exciting to experience the need to push against boundaries. Her mind treading water struggling to find balance against the currents, explored the colourful mirrored expanse of the forest around the temple. Without using her eyes, she saw a world were all things seemed vibrant and ordinary, but the moment she squinted at something in particular, a rock, a tree, the wind itself, it would change take on a new shape or connotation. With all things remaining both usual and unusual. The colour drained from the surrounding area. The wind blew warmer. She knew she had attracted company. She felt a presence, more than she saw. A spindly creature, long legs and arms, with a thin torso crept between the trees. Long, jet-black, hairy arms took hold of trees, to pull its long body forward. Circling ever round the lure Syndra had placed, she questioned why she had even started the ritual. Slowly she began pulling back, step by step. The creature pulled forward, matching her tempo. A thirst visible in reflective eyes. She ran, up the mountainside, through the winding path. It was gaining on her. She could hear the strained breath. The rasping of a dog on a hot day. Long fingers closed around her ankle and she fell over, looking back, the arm seemed to extend far down in the forest, the arm extending from it like a long evening shadow. She opened her eyes, standing once more on the precipice of the cliff. Stumbling slightly to regain her balance. Her heartbeat was faster than ever before, against a threat more real and more ancient than any danger she had thought of before. Slowly she removed the rocks holding the scroll open and rolled it back up. It was both frightening and exhilarating. Packing the small satchel, she took a look around. The grass around her had turned brown, leaves had curled and dried up. She took a deep breath. As she stepped through the rocky terrain, cliff on her right side, she heard a twig snap from a footfall that wasn¡¯t her own, and in the dark she saw two reflective eyes. She backed away slowly, the light insufficient to get a proper look who or what owned those two glistening pearls. A rustle of leaves betrayed movement, yet the eyes remained transfixed upon her. She backed away, slowly. Her breathing heavy and her mouth dry. A touch of something on her leg provoked a gasp. Her eyes darkened. She pushed with all her might around her leg, creating deep grooves and cracks in the ground. When she looked down the was nothing on her. Looking back into the forest the eyes were gone.


    If you discover this narrative on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen. Please report the violation.She ran. She ran as fast as she could back towards the temple. The horrible breathing all around her, the sound of wood scraping against wood, and foliage pushed aside. She turned her head to see movement in the trees, bushes being pushed apart. Whether it was loose rocks underneath, a root, an incline she couldn¡¯t be sure. One moment she had impacted the ground. An ominous presence around her. Once more she summoned all primal force what she could muster and attacked. Gale force winds straining the trees¡¯ roots, ripping bushes out of the soil, and buffeting rocks in unpredictable directions. She knew she had hit it from the cough, reminiscing boiling tar, emanating from within the woods. She did not relent. Forcing her magic upon whatever was chasing her. Whatever demonic creature she had lured. The trees lost their vigor. Making the glade an early autumn, turning to winter, as they lost their leaves. Leaving behind a drowned forest. Her breathing ragged. She pushed her hair back, to investigate the forest. She saw no movement, no life. Heard only the distant fluttering of birds trying to escape the deadly phenomena. She leaned against cliff-face for support. Catching her breath, gathering her strength, regretting her rash decisions. She wiped her eyes she couldn¡¯t help but feel a sense of pride. She had defeated an azakana, a demon. She looked for the bag. It had come loose during the fall and was nowhere to be seen. Scouting across the naked trees, she saw no trace of it. When the sun rose again and more light would guide her, she would come back and look for it, but not now. She had to get back. When she passed through the gates, night had fallen. When she entered her room Yima gasped. She asked her something that Syndra didn¡¯t register, instead she collapsed in her bed, exhausted. She awoke to what would be another boring day. Another routine, but when the lessons started, she was surprised to find that Konigen instructed them in new more advanced techniques. It filled her days. Exciting new magics around every corner. She never did find the satchel again, and it was probably for the best.

 Erosion

    With crystallized breath the children gathered in the courtyard shade. Before the sun rose, and before the first meal, they gathered in the morning. As they would do every morning. The young students would enter regimented formations, based on how advanced their classes. The students would receive their schedule, and the day would continue.


    Syndra felt restricted. She tugged at her robes, they were too tight. She had recently grown, and in an awkward display she had torn the seams of her flank while working in the kitchen. Until she could receive new ones, she would simply bear with it.


    The robes were made loose as to allow for smooth, unrestricted movement. This was little comfort against the pinch of robes too small. They had stood since before dawn, yet the sky had shifted in colour, promising reprieve from cold and boredom. She shifted her weight to her other leg, and tugged at the armholes of her under-shirt.


    ¡°¡­Syndra and Yatta¡±


    She straightened herself and looked forward. Konigen had spoken her name. In a moment of confusion she looked toward the other pupil mentioned, yet he remained stoic and focused. If he was as bored as she, he hid it better. They stood a few more minutes, before her group was dismissed. She followed the vastaya Yatta and a few others. She liked Yatta, but he was too aggressive for Syndra¡¯s liking. He kept prodding beyond when Syndra had had enough. The pupils trudged around the temple to the garden, cautiously she followed, trying to guess which part of the garden she had been assigned to.


    Yatta was fine to work with as long as the work itself was physical to keep him preoccupied. He got to work, weeding the fireweed from the shimmerberry bushes. It felt weird tending the garden, she always wondered what the weeds might provide, if they were planted separately. Nevertheless, she tended to the embertree planted in the middle of the lot. Its branches and roots covering the bushes and providing them the climate and nutrients they needed in the mountainous terrain. It was a dangerous plant, that could easily start fires and dry out other plants, if not controlled. Fetched the shears and ladder from the toolshed nearby.


    As the sun shifted in the sky Konigen wandered through the garden. He approached them, as Yatta was gathering shimmer-berries. Syndra had crawled into the tree, and wormed her way across the branches with a set of oversized shears. She pruned the various branches, and tossed them into a cast-iron pot, resting on the ground.


    ¡°Syndra, walk with me¡±


    Syndra looked down at him, confused. Twisting her body, hanging from her arms. She let go, falling the remaining distance, catching herself against the soft ground. The two of them walked across the temple and descended the steps down the dark-stone cliffside temple. The cool breeze freshened Syndra, felt nice as her clothing had become somewhat clammy. Her feet feeling the heat of the rocks through her sandals.


    The pair exited the temple grounds, and scaled the steps down the cliffs in silence. Once fully out of earshot of the temple itself, Konigen spoke.


    ¡°I hope you¡¯ve liked your time here.¡± His eyes were still locked on the steps he took.


    Without hesitation she answered.


    ¡°It¡¯s better than anywhere I¡¯ve ever lived before. The food is good, the place is safe. I trust the people and they trust me¡±


    Support the author by searching for the original publication of this novel.¡°Sounds like you¡¯re acclimating fine to temple life then?¡±


    Syndra chewed a little on those words and considered for a moment.


    ¡°I think so. There¡¯s a lot I don¡¯t like, but balance requires compromise¡±. She steeled her speech trying to voice her determination. Konigen concealed a smile. She didn¡¯t understand, but at least she knew.


    ¡°Good. Because you have a lot to learn, and I think this might be the right place for you.¡±


    They scaled the remaining steps in silence.


    He stopped, the edge of the road leading to the harbor in front of them, separated by the carved darkened cliff, and the dirt she had arrived on some months prior.


    ¡°You have considerable power and I have deemed it necessary that you should learn to understand and control these, before I can let you leave¡±.


    ¡°Well. I don¡¯t want to leave. This is where I can learn¡± Syndra beamed back at him.


    ¡°Syndra, you need to understand. You must obtain a high level of mastery. You are special, yet your powers chaotic. You must be ready, you may leave, if only to spread teachings. You simply have too much for any one person to control. Especially one as young as you.¡±


    His hand shielded his eyes from the sun as his eyes travelled the path out and towards the village. Konigen went silent, trying to judge her pupil and give her time comprehend the weight of his words. She followed his sight, along the paths. When it seemed like her mind had settled he continued.


    ¡°You may not be sovereign of your own destiny. The power you wield intuitively takes masters lifetimes to command. You will be a prisoner in your own skin and this you must accept.¡±


    With the gravity only words can hold, the girl stood. She stared through brushwood, trying to pierce the world that was concealed beyond, while processing this information.


    Finally, she looked back upon her master


    ¡°I get it. If I can¡¯t control myself, people get hurt.¡±


    ¡°The amount of potential you possess is a load heavy with responsibility. And once you have mastered it, it will be a great tool for future generations of mages. What we can learn from your mastery will grant much wisdom for ages to come. Many will seek to misuse you, for your powers. Which would be detrimental not only to the people of Ionia, but the very land itself.¡±


    Syndra placed at the bottom of the stairs leading up to the temple and lowered her stare once more to the winding path. Never had the outside world felt so far. Run a sudden instinct told her to run as far away as possible, flee the prison. She held firm, tears forming in the corner of her eyes. Konigen sat beside her and placed a hand on her shoulder. The comfort greater than any she had received from her family. There they sat, looking down the hill towards the freedom neither of them would have. The freedom to decide where their life would take them. There they sat in a young day¡¯s rays. The warmth a comfort against the call of causality.


    Looking back up at the temple, she took a deep, ragged breath, and brought herself under control. She stood with squared shoulders. Turning her back to the trail leading downhill, and moved up the winding path to her fate, leaving her master behind. Her decision was made, though the result pain them both.

 Ceremony of Graduation

    Syndra was no longer a child. She had grown tall in the time she had spent training. Mastering her natural talent, and with her peers she had gathered before Konigen, to prove themselves and graduate to the next level of training. She had no doubt that she would graduate, but her peers all had much to overcome, but they worked to make up for their lack with technique. She respected their individual abilities to overcome their own weaknesses through ingenuity. Once a barrier has been hit, one must find ways to circumnavigate their hindrance, to prove their value and to evolve and improve. That is if you hit your barrier.


    Konigen was wearing fine silken robes in red and yellow. He rarely wore these, but today was special. Tradition implores respect for the ritual.


    From the stone steps atop the garden, the master overlooked his students. Each showing promise, and each with their own problems holding them back. These young students had become more than assets over the years. Steeling himself as five of his most promising students were about to be tested. The final step before control. Yima, Tenko, Syndra, Yatta and Aolien presented in formation by facing the temple, facing him. Children from across Ionia. All from different backgrounds, all with incredible potential. The more potential, the more devastating each of their flaws.


    The stage was set. The students stood ready their bare feet sinking into the sand of the garden. The sun stood high, and the atmosphere was tense. Their loose robes slowly shifting with the wind, hiding their slight movements. Behind them the lush garden lazily bobbed in the midday breeze. Behind Konigen the other students stood, some hoping to see a glimpse of mastery, others hoping secretly for superiors¡¯ failure.


    Konigen lifted his claves dramatically, signifying that test was about to begin. Silence befell the garden, all standing at attention ready to show their technique on which they¡¯d spent months working on. Each tailoring their understanding of the magical realm to their own abilities. Konigen considered each of the students.


    Yima and Yatta would likely use their Vastayan blood to their advantage. Tenko would a container to guide his magic, and Aolien was often difficult to predict, an experimenter but mostly harmless¡­ Unlike Syndra. She would likely do something rash to show her natural talents. Something extravagant, and very powerful no doubt. He would have to be mindful of her.


    With a clack, Konigen brought the two wooden cylinders together, signifying the start of the test.


    The timid Yima acted first, kneeling and in one smooth motion, she grabbed hold of the sand, and tossed it into a cloud. Using magic to attract the grains to each other. Creating a shell around her. Like a glowing egg, one could only glean her appearance from within the grain and glow of green and beige magic. Shielding herself in a stable cocoon was a solid demonstration. Konigen was certain she would pass.


    Clack.


    The other flank acted. Aolien drew a broomshaft, he had concealed behind him. Magic crackling along the shaft, shooting small bursts of lightning, connecting with the ground, producing a discordant, unharmonious sound. The sound, although unpleasant, was an original usage of the magic. Konigen himself certainly hadn¡¯t heard anything like it. Noting the amount of power necessary for such a simple result, surely had little practical application, yet remained unique. If he could keep the magic stable, he would surely pass.


    Clack.


    Beside Yima, Tenko knelt and picked up a plate he had hidden beneath the sand. With a cursory rub, he created a small glowing disc, no larger than a coin. It rested upon the plate humming with energy. He traced his fingers in a circular motion, stirring the magic on the plate. The glowing mass increased steadily, circular motion by circular motion, until it fully encompassed the plate. He then dropped the material plate, and to the surprise of Konigen the student still held the magic. A masterful mix of arts. Spatial manipulation and solid magic. Scrutinizing the presentation for errors he concluded that the magic yield was low. Tenko would likely be a great teacher. His understanding of theory was great, his control immense, but the magic yield he could produce was low.


    This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.Clack.


    Yatta vanished from sight, the magic pushing the sand underneath away in a wave. Konigen was impressed. A moment passed, and yet another, before Aolien¡¯s wooden length cracked, and from it Yatta reappeared. A lack of focus on either part could have disturbed the other¡¯s control. Although it was likely that they both created discord within another.


    Yatta kicked the sand in frustration. With a sharp breath he composed himself and extended a hand to Aolien, who were unharmed. The bruised ego would heal with time. They grasped the other¡¯s wrist, and Yatta heaved Aoelien up, the shared magical impulse making their hairs prickly with static.


    Clack.


    Almost imperceptively, there was a yank in the air. Konigen narrowed his eyes, noticing the shift in breeze. He felt a part of him, pulling towards the sandy garden. He leaned forward in anticipation. Syndra raised her hand, palm down, towards a point two steps front of her. Her head tilted back slightly, as if she was using her bodyweight to haul out an incredible mass. A moment passed, and yet another. Konigen furrowed his brows. A feeling of dread sinking, creating a deep pit in his stomach.


    Aolian looked at his hands, noticing the residual crackling energy being pulled away, toward a spot in front of Syndra. The garden had visibly darkened. Trees and bushes shifted, their leaves and branches reaching toward the font of power gathering.


    Syndra stood gathering, concentrating, her hair had undone itself and was raising, as though the power itself was pushing from beneath her feet. The other students struggling to simply stand and sit where they were. Tenko¡¯s disc becoming malformed, bending to the will of the power source beside it. Sand circulated around a spot, somewhat darker than the area around it. For a short moment, the pull, the wind, time itself seemed to stop.


    In that split second, Konigen realized the destructive potential in front of him. He, his assets, his students where in mortal danger. In a desperate attempt, he attempted to direct power away from the singularity forming in the middle of his garden.


    With a sound as loud as thunder, as a boulder falling from great height, as mighty trunk sundered by a storm. The power was unleashed, throwing Aolian and Yatta away, Tenko, who was preoccupied with holding his own magic. Was tossed aside, his solid magical object swallowed like a bucket to a river, melting before shattering like dry water, sending shards in all directions. Twigs and sand, blasting every which way, hair and robes struggling against their anchors.


    Syndra lost balance taking a step back against the force unleashed. The power she had accounted for was not there. Like when lifting an empty box, she overcorrected her containment. The power of will exerted upon the dark sphere scattered the weak magic around her. It now hovered inside the glassy crater in the middle of the garden. Slowly letting go of her pressure, like a bubble expanding, the warm air, breathed into the surroundings, leaving a somewhat sweet aftertaste in the soul of the onlookers. This air brought with leftover magic from the massive rift opened through Syndra. Washing away Yima¡¯s glowing shield, revealing a sickened young vastaya. The edges of the garden singed, each leaf crackling slightly. Syndra, short of breath leaned her hands on her knees.


    Konigen, in stunned silence, mouth slightly agape. Siphoned the magic from Yima¡¯s dark prison. Dispelling the hardened exterior. The magic crackling and melting before dissipating. The dark sphere slowly rotated, pulsating, with each pulse a new wave of heat. He made an effort to disperse as much residual energy as could be done, and the rest redirected into a safe holding.


    Syndra looked at her mortified teacher, her surrogate father, the only person to have ever supported her existence. Her very being. She couldn¡¯t help but feel proud of the unrivaled display of power and control.


    His expression taken as the highest praise she couldn¡¯t help but smile.

 Pain

    ¡°I proved power beyond what my peers could hope to muster!¡± Syndra shouted at her master. Her wild hair a reflection of the frustration and confusion the young woman felt.


    They had only just concluded the ceremony, bringing Yatta and Yima to the infirmary. The other injuries were physical in nature, and seemingly not severe enough to warrant treatment. Konigen had brought Syndra in tow.


    ¡°You lack control! Look around you. I barely know to which extent you have hurt my students! You¡¯re lucky that they¡¯re all still breathing¡±


    ¡°I had it under control! If you hadn¡¯t interfered none of this would have happened.¡±


    ¡°If I hadn¡¯t interfered, we wouldn¡¯t be dealing with a few singed plants and some sick students¡±


    ¡°Exactly. So if you-¡°


    ¡°In fact, not even one of us would have survived. You overvalue your own control. The power you wield is clearly too much for you at such a young age. What could be gained if you simply muffled your own eager self-destruction. You lack balance. Both in your power and control. Your carelessness squanders your potential. No mountain climber reaches the top by jumping.¡±


    Enjoying this book? Seek out the original to ensure the author gets credit.¡°I do not only jump. I use your teachings! I follow your guidance.¡±


    ¡°Is that why you¡¯ve been stealing from the library? Is that how you summoned an azakana? You are dangerous and out of control. Were it not for me, that demon would still be loose.¡±


    ¡°I banished it!¡±


    ¡°No, you didn¡¯t. You are arrogant in thinking a young pupil could defeat a creature such as it. You do not realize what you are meddling with. A child thinking the waves calm because she wills it, failing to realize that there are bigger things than her in this world.¡±


    Syndra took a deep breath.


    She turned and headed outside once more. Through the courtyard, around the temple proper, through the garden. She ignored plants, the summer¡¯s sun, and all the magical elements of the sacred garden. She paid the singed plants no mind and stomped along the paths until she reached the outcropping. She stood in front of the lake and looked out past the narrow strait.


    She noticed not the passage of time, instead she was absorbed in thought and possibilities.

 Responsibility

    The day had passed. She only reentered her shared domicile when the sky had turned red. Her dinner was filling, and she made sure to eat extra, for she knew she would need it. She stoked away some extra, for when hunger would come again.


    Syndra did not own much. Her comb and pouch of coins, ever unspent. Saved for a day such as this. What cloth she had and what little memoires she had of the time before the temple. It was barely a bundle, but it was what she had.


    She placed each item into a small rucksack and heft it upon her shoulders. With a cursory glance she thought that she had what she needed.


    She exited her living quarters, making sure to check for any other late-night conspirators. Thankfully the coast was clear. Avoiding the slap of her sandals against the stone floor, she instead floated through the corridor, towards the staircase leading out and into the courtyard. Deeming herself outside earshot, she lowered herself onto the slanted steps, and began her descent towards the courtyard. She headed towards the temple entrance. The island of Bahrl, The Placidium. Anywhere but here.


    The moon hung low in the sky, bringing its pale light onto the dark stone. In that muted light she saw a shade. Leaned against the temple walls. Her curiosity lured her closer, until she recognized the hunched shape as Yima.


    The story has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the violation.48


    The colour was drained from her skin, her breath short and ragged. Syndra leaned down by her side and put Yima¡¯s arm over her should, placing her other hand on her hip. She stood lifting Yima to her feet. Slowly, one step at a time, Yima was carried to the infirmary once more.


    Yatta sound asleep, the room lit in a blue light.


    She had regained some consciousness, though still far from lucid. Syndra turned and lifted her bag, when Yima¡¯s voice croaked.


    ¡°Don¡¯t¡­ eave. -dra¡±


    Her words shallow. Syndra turned, to look at her once more. Yima coughed and looked toward Syndra. ¡°Please¡±


    Syndra walked to her tugged the sick girl.


    ¡°Why would you want that?¡± whispered Syndra.


    ¡°Please¡­ Just stay. I¡¯ll live.¡± Yima slowly faded back into unconsciousness.


    Syndra sat silently by her side, pondering Yima¡¯s words and wishes. When the patient had stabilized, she went to her pack, and brought out the food she had readied. She placed it by Yima¡¯s bedside.


    She cursed her own weakness and walked back out of the infirmary.

 Spiteful Ambition

    Today there¡¯s a visit. They¡¯ve been told to be on their best behaviour, the students that is. That¡¯s me he¡¯s thinking of. Syndra and Yima had discussed at length the proper attire for an important guest and Syndra had had to yield in the end. Uniformity from the student body would be preferable. They would want to show a united front, such was Konigen¡¯s wisdom. Why highlight the strengths and unique magics on display? Syndra had pointed out, somewhat sarcastically. Yima had instead argued that was never the purpose. Konigen had to show control, to that purpose the student body had to show restraint.


    In silent protest, Syndra had chosen to tie her hair with a simple band, instead of braiding it like the others. With the robes, they wouldn¡¯t tell either way.


    Now they stood as they ranked, the highest ranking in the front row, and Syndra behind. Every rank until the children could barely float a rock. From head to toe, Konigen had his small army of mages. They had gathered like any other day. Only this time it wasn¡¯t for eachother, neither for Konigen.


    This morning was somewhat warm. As warm as a shaded courtyard by the sea can be at dawn. Shifting her weight from one leg to the other, her breath crystallized with an agitated sigh.


    This is a waste of time Syndra clenched her teeth, itching to get to training. She held firm and waited, if she ever wanted to graduate, she had to remain measured, constrained. She took a deep breath, stinging her lungs.


    Konigen walked through the gates, with a carriage in tow, drawn by a two worax. The house tree-woven in classical Ionian fashion, yet it looked somewhat foreign. The entire cart had some, kind of, energy to it¡­ It felt alien, yet somehow still, familiar. Syndra felt almost drawn to it. She hid her arms inside her sleeves, pinching herself to remain focused.


    The carriage was flanked on either side by retainers. They wore mismatching garbs, covering the clinking metal underneath. Each a flurry of colour and sound. Their weapons looked gruesome, and exotic. Angular and powerful. Syndra had no fear, only fascination.


    Konigen seemed to be in conversation with one of them. He wore clear emerald robes. Rarely seen donning finer clothing. It was weird to see him so¡­ humbled.


    He let the carriage towards the students, where it slowed its advance, until it stood a hand¡¯s worth of paces from the cohort of mages. Konigen stood facing the carriage, as one of the four armed and armored guards moved to open the doors of the coach house.


    In that moment, she felt some kinship towards these strange foreign soldiers with unknown banners and colors. Many-coloured as they seemed, they too were uniformed, they too followed orders. Travelling to and from foreign lands, a longing for freedom. Wonder if I could travel with them, leave this temple for ship, trade stone for wood, or would I just trade one mask for another?


    The old woman who stepped out of the carriage looked Ionian, though her clothing foreign and skin weathered. She glanced at the square of young students in shallow appraisal.


    ¡°Are these all of them? I thought there would be more¡± Her voice rasp from years of strain, and demeanor betraying disappointment. Who was this person to judge them based off their number, without taking a single look at their abilities? Konigen, in a rare display of agreement, seemed to share Syndra¡¯s thoughts.


    ¡°These are each trained in unique magical arts and each easily worth a coven.¡± Konigen boasted. Using his fine robe¡¯s long sleeves to full effect, as he gestured towards the gathering. She scoffed, obviously unimpressed.


    ¡°Then show me if this is worth the investment¡± with an arrogant air, she moved past the students.


    Marching towards the main entrance, her stride long for her wizened frame. Konigen gestured for the front row to follow.


    ¡°The next two rows, help unload the carriage and put it in the cellar and the rest of you can find your assigned tasks in the mess. Oh¡­ And no magic when lifting them!¡±


    With a wave of his hands and a dramatic turn, Syndra relaxed her stance and looked towards the Yima and the rest of the group walking with Konigen and the mysterious woman.


    The story has been taken without consent; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.She wouldn¡¯t be so full of herself if I could show her what we¡¯re made of. Syndra shook herself out of her daydream and walked towards the carriage. The uneasy feeling amplified the closer she got to the crates stacked on the backside of the wooden vehicle. The guards unloaded the heavy crates. Her peers groaned, realizing they were the ones who had to ferry the crates. Previously she¡¯d thought it a fleeting feeling, but the closer she got, the more she felt a pull. A certain emptiness. They filtered out, pair by pair, and box by box, until it was only Aolien and Syndra left. But she barely noticed, until Aolien called out to her. She snapped out of her stupor for the second time that day. Grabbing the side opposite she lifted.


    They walked in silence, until he broke it. ¡°Why do you think we aren¡¯t supposed to move these with magic?¡±


    She shifted her grip, as they turned a corner. ¡°Probably Konigen¡¯s idea of a lesson or something. Learning our place as second rank students.¡± Aolien noticing her obvious annoyance, changed the topic. ¡°So¡­ What do you think is inside the box?¡±


    Syndra chewed on that question a while ¡°I couldn¡¯t tell you¡­ But it feels weird¡±


    ¡°Weird how?¡±


    ¡°Like¡­ It¡¯s disturbing something. Like it¡¯s trying to take something from the air. It¡¯s¡­ Kind of dry?¡±


    Aolien looked pensive. ¡°I¡­ Think I know what you¡¯re talking about¡±


    After a moment they reached the stairs leading down. Yatta was coming up the stairs with Seito, pushing past the two of them. Syndra lost her grip, and the crate dropped. A sound of stone and wood colliding, rattling the insides. The two offenders muttered an apology and hurried back towards the courtyard. Syndra swore under her breath and looked down at the crate. The corner had completely broken off, they wouldn¡¯t be able to carry this down the stairs.


    ¡°I¡¯ll go look for a hammer or stretcher¡­ Or something¡± Aoelien muttered, clearly sharing annoyment. His footsteps echoed through the corridor, step by step leaving Syndra alone with the box. She stared at the mess, the quiet growing oppressive. She looked around, checking if anyone was around her, seeing the coast clear. She knelt by the broken side and peered into the box.


    It held a kind of rock. Syndra groaned. She reached out towards the contents of the crate. Konigen has got to be the worst teacher to ever teach. Her hand attracted to the object, on contact the first thing she noticed was that it was in fact wood, and the second thing, her hand felt energized. She pulled her hand back, the object stuck to her like cold metal, leaving her hand slightly numbed. She tested her fingers. Apart from being slightly red her hand was fine. The adrenaline that came with surprisal was wearing off, and she stood back up.


    If Konigen thinks he can order us around for a prank, I¡¯m moving it however I want. She summoned her magic to lift the box and felt the pull again. The box remained still. Syndra¡¯s brows furrowed. Stupid box. She focused her full attention on the container. Still nothing. The temperature sank and colour muted. She was sure she was using magic, but it felt like lifting a sleeping arm. The box remained still. You dare? Challenged by the box. Intrigued by the contents. Her raw power, questioned? By a piece of grey wood?


    She lifted her hand, and the air in the room, the temple itself, shifted. The box warmed and vibrated, it slowly lifted off the ground, one corner at a time. Syndra smiled to herself, but her momentary success was halted, as once more fell to the ground. She redoubled her efforts. This box would not beat her. Fully lifted off the ground the unfettered magic bringing her off the ground as well.


    A sudden explosion sent shattered wood in every direction. The eruption originating from within the box. She barely had time to redirect magic to deflect the shrapnel.


    A burst of splintered wood flew past her. She managed to parry fragments that would otherwise have torn her apart. The blast threw her back into the stone walls, and a sharp pain engulfed her senses.


    She woke up with a splitting headache, Aolien knelt beside her. With vision blurry and spotted, she faintly heard the unmistakable sound of Konigen yelling.


    Damn¡­ My band has come undone.

 Barrier

    My barrier. That¡¯s what Konigen claimed.


    Syndra sat by the garden in the sand. The evening sun warmed her back. She put a hand on the edge of the crater. The smooth surface a proof of her power, but also her limit. Is this all I can muster? She sat feeling increasingly powerless. She had never seen the hint of an end. She had assumed her potential to be boundless. She hadn¡¯t expected a barrier would come, and never so suddenly. She stepped into the polished pit, the glassy surface glossy to the touch of her bare feet.


    She had been bedridden for some days and had only just been able to get out for walks. Talking at length with Konigen about what had happened, and what she should do now. Aolien and Yatta had visited to apologize, but she had barely noticed. She was lost in her own mind, trying to grasp the very idea of finality. Yima had come by to say goodbye. She had apparently reached the end of her studies. It had brought her blood to a boil. Had Syndra¡¯s head not ached, she would likely have lost control then. When she was sick, Syndra didn¡¯t leave. A simple goodbye? Is that all she was worth? They had shared a bunk for almost a decade, and that was truly all? That was the end? Not only the end of her time with Yima, but the end of her progress. This was the limit of her power?


    Konigen had advised her to learn from her classmates. Yima and Tenko had surpassed her in rank, not because their power was greater, but because of how they handled their abilities. Their balance and understanding of their limits are what elevates them. That sort of thinking was for people who had found their bar, that¡¯s what she had thought. He had assured her that with the discovery of inner tranquility, control would come. Maybe that was to be the solution. She lifted herself off the ground, floating out of the crater. The exertion of simply carrying herself seemed more difficult than ever. Because of the injury, at least that¡¯s what Konigen had told her.


    She landed in the sand and trudged through the garden on foot. A handful of the younger students were tending the flora, gathering spices and fruits for dinner. The garden was beautiful as always. Structured and segregated. She used to not think about it as much, but suddenly she realized that it was too organized. There was no improvisation, no chaotic beauty. All plants throughout the garden had their own purpose, reason, tradition. Any foreign plant was treated as weed. It¡¯s design like the whole school. In perfect balance. Balance¡­ Nonsense. Balance shouldn¡¯t be enforced, it should happen naturally. She contemplated telling the kids off. To leave the weeds to their own devices. To what end? I can¡¯t be here every day. She passed through the garden, towards the pond. It had always been her favourite place in the temple. Mainly because it didn¡¯t feel like the rest of the temple. The area around the brook was used for training and practical spellcasting. Woodweaving, stonelifting, watertwisting. Her best memories were tied to this place, but now it almost seemed hollow. Maybe Konigen was right, maybe Tenko was a better mage than her. She knew the theory, she had the ability. The difference was simply that he knew his confinement. He knew his maximum. And now, Syndra knows her own as well.


    If you discover this tale on Amazon, be aware that it has been unlawfully taken from Royal Road. Please report it.She absentmindedly shifted the water, back and forth in the pond. The dam at the end of the pond made sure the water remained within its borders. She picked up a stone and skipped it across the pond. And another. And so, she spent her next few hours. She remembered the many lessons she had been taught and that she had taught herself. The thought of losing that sense of improvement, that high that came with every time she pushed further than she had before deflated her. More than discomfort, it festered a deep sense of dread within her. Yet nothing happened, her frustrations didn¡¯t manifest. Her turmoil stilled and stifled.


    As she gathered an ever-larger ball of water, denying its purpose as tributary, she felt the strain on her psyche. Her glare intensified on the dam. In that moment she understood what she should do. With the pressure of the water, and what power she could muster, she brought all the weight her training upon the dam, cracking it open and letting the waters flow freely. In that moment she realized barriers exist to be broken.

 Different Avenues

    Syndra had just finished kitchen-duty, boring as always, she had simply cut and had a handful of hours to herself before she would oversee the teachings of youngsters. She moved to a bare part of the temple grounds, as to not wither the garden. She took deep breaths readying herself, staring at the cup she had taken from the mess hall. All that was left was to wait for her teacher.


    She stared across the narrow straight, the visibility was clear and she could see far across Navorri. Many villages and towns were scattered across the lands, but if you did not know where they were and what to look for, they would disappear in the landscape.


    She heard steps approaching and turned to face Tenko. His gait slowing as he approached the young woman by the river, and the half-empty reservoir. He looked nervous.


    The gaunt young man looked at her, with an expression betraying discomfort. ¡°Hi Syndra¡±.


    ¡°Hi Tenko¡± Syndra answered immediately. The two stood in awkward silence for a few moments. He looked past her to what used to be the pond and further to the lands beyond the temple.


    Her cleared his throat and before asking: ¡°Did you bring an implement?¡±


    She produced the small clay mug, borrowed from the kitchen. Tenko narrowed his eyes.


    ¡°I suppose that will have to do¡±


    He straightened himself. Syndra was tall among her peers, but Tenko had outgrown her significantly. Still, he had always been weak. It pained her some to ask for help, but she had to admit that no other student was better at molding their magic than he. But nothing is free and the price of course, was to teach in his place. The lessons learnt she would then carry on to the younger students.


    ¡°Flow manipulation is delicate. The more power drawn, the more difficult to control and stabilize. Try to manifest as little as possible, while still creating something physical¡±


    Syndra breathed and held her hand palm up. In which was a small shiny orb. Larger than a fist, but small than a plate.


    ¡°Hmm. Can you make it smaller?¡±


    Syndra looked at her creation for a moment. She closed her fist around the orb, dissipating it. Upon opening her hand once more, a new sphere had taken its place. It was about the same size.


    This tale has been pilfered from Royal Road. If found on Amazon, kindly file a report.¡°Alright¡­ Work on that¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s not small enough?¡±


    Tenko looked at her, somewhat apologetically. He knew that this was a foreign concept to her. He shook his head.


    ¡°Alright, let¡¯s try something different. Create as small a sphere as possible, inside the cup¡±


    She obliged. The cup rattled, with the sound of a metal ball in a glass bucket.


    ¡°Now close it up¡±


    She moved to place her hand over the brim. The small wild thing inside shook her hands, as she tried keeping its prison still.


    ¡°The magical object inside the cup should be calmer. Relax the energy if possible¡±


    The shaking slowly halted, bringing the cup to rest. Tenko gathered his palms, in a makeshift bowl, and created a small pool of shimmering liquid. He took three deep breaths, and every time he breathed out, the pool expanded slightly.


    ¡°Now try to fill the cup. Slow and steady. Just like this¡±


    Syndra mimicked, breathing deep, holding her breath and opening a font within her. Pushing into the cup. It shattered completely, and the small object, slipped out and floated erratically towards the ground. Once colliding, it dissipated into the grass, creating a yellow patch where it evaporated. Syndra¡¯s eyes were wide with surprise, but she quickly recovered. Her frustration was obvious.


    ¡°I don¡¯t understand. What am I doing wrong?¡± She asked, mostly to herself.


    ¡°Just relax¡± Tenko said as pulled out a wooden bowl, he had brought. ¡°It requires training and calm to achieve balance. When you can fill the bowl without destroying it, the next lesson can begin.¡±


    Syndra took the bowl and thanked him. He stayed with her until he was certain she understood the basics. He had only brought the one bowl, after all.


    ¡°You just keep that up, and we can work on shaping in a few weeks, once it is stable¡­ Anyway I gotta get going.¡±


    The tall boy scurried off. Exactly what he¡¯d planned on spending his time, Syndra didn¡¯t care enough to ask. She was just thankful that he¡¯d be willing to teach in exchange for her taking care of the younger students for a few hours.

 Pushing

    As the weeks and months came and went, she used her time in the day teaching the younger students, fulfilling her various duties, and when time allowed create small physical objects.


    In the evenings she would sneak out onto the black stone of the temple steps to use that training. Filling the various small pits and caves of the cliffside to the brim with magical energies.


    One such evening, the wind from the ocean bit particularly deep. She sought refuge behind loose rocks and stone. She had carved a crevasse in the side of the temple foundations and in there she poured magic. As much as she could, every day. And every day, it would never remain stable. Today was like the many previous days.


    When the basin had been half-filled, she tried her hand in the dark pool. It felt clammy and dangerous. Like a lake, suspended, like a viscous wet air. Ready to explode in violent energy. Taking a moment to breathe and recuperate, she felt the sizzling of the pool, and redoubled her efforts to calm the waters. While Syndra thought of it less as water and more like a cloudy dough¡­ She shook her head and focused on the task at hand.


    Love what you''re reading? Discover and support the author on the platform they originally published on.With each breath, she poured more of herself into the pool, until she could barely contain it. Yet she kept going, pushing her limits, one breath at a time. Until she felt it. What she had made dissipated. As though hole in the rocks were leaking the magic into the sea. She tried holding it in place and it remained still for a while. Fighting against herself she dragged and poured and held the magic, but in the end, all that was left was the largely empty hole in the ground, with only a smattering of the magic left.


    Why will you not stay? It wasn¡¯t the first time this had happened. It was like a drain, or a sponge, drawing in her magic. Every night she went out here, and every night it was the same.


    It just, disappeared. Yet every night, she could also feel that she poured more and more in. Never would it remain stable. She had also noticed her magic would no longer singe the plant life, it no longer left the soul disturbed or scared the animals. It no longer washed away the ambient magic.


    While this is what she had wanted for so long, but it was wrong. It was unnatural. It wasn¡¯t her. She would learn to control her power, not for something else to control it for her.

 Pulling

    ¡°You need to stop testing your barrier, your power has reached its limit. You must focus on balance. For that is what you lack¡± Konigen said exasperated.


    The morning ritual had come and gone, without Konigen, it was now nearly noon Syndra was the first person he went to.


    ¡°I have not reached my limit, I know I can keep going. I know there¡¯s more to gain.¡± Syndra was desperate, she had to keep going.


    ¡°Your power is already too great for one so unfettered. Your constant search for the top is misguided. You must first learn to value where you are¡±


    ¡°Why? You always tell me what I must do, but never give me more reason than you know best.¡± She said the last words in a mocking impression of her master¡¯s self-righteous tone. ¡°The only freedom I¡¯ve had is because you always sleep in! You leave us out here to fend for ourselves, while you commit to your rituals and seances¡± The last words were spoken in a mocking approximation of Konigen¡¯s voice.


    He did not take the bait, yet he slumped his shoulders and breathed out.


    ¡°You train, you learn, and when you reach your destination you will realize that my way was the best road. The only road. Your fate is not to use your powers for your own sake, but for the sake of others. Your destiny is to pave way for future generations. Your responsibility is to Ionia¡±. He explained like a parent to a child, questioning why her chores must be done.


    Reading on Amazon or a pirate site? This novel is from Royal Road. Support the author by reading it there.¡°Ionia? What have the people ever done for me? I am not beholden to anyone! Not the people who threw me out! Not to the people who fear a little girl, just because they cannot understand her.¡± Syndra¡¯s voice almost cracked. She didn¡¯t notice, but her master did. In some ways, being a teacher he had learned more about Syndra, than she had of herself.


    ¡°And not to the people who took her in?¡± Syndra noticed Konigen¡¯s sunken eyes. His demeanor that of a tired parent. ¡°Syndra. Do you not see I do this for your sake? There are people in this world who would seek to use your powers for themselves. I am trying to set you on a course that is for the betterment of all, not least of which yourself. If you cannot master balance, you cannot attain control. And if you cannot attain control of yourself, someone else will.¡±

 The Source

    It was some time after dusk. The cold ocean air fogging her breath, as she stood by the river. This was one of many days she had used out here. Trying to test her limits, searching, prodding at her ceiling. Effortlessly she created a small object out of pure magic, barely larger than the digit of her fingers. Breath after breath, she added to the mass of the object. Until it was a semisolid dark flame. For all the months of training, and all the magic that disappeared from her grasp. She had settled on this shape. The shape held together by absolute sheer will.


    With another, smaller sphere, she struck her creation, igniting it. A dark blue flame licked the sides of the head-sized object, untouched by the wind, yet the flames still licked in the direction of the garden. She was careful not to let too much of the glow and embers evaporate into the flora, a much greater success than many of her previous exercises.


    Now, she had a torch, a guiding light. Pulling towards the gardens. She closed her eyes to fan the flames. As she opened them once more, she walked towards the gardens. Careful not to let the aggressive seeking spirit-flame spread to the magical flora of the garden.


    The flames shifted, pulled towards the temple. Her magical lodestone guiding her through the sandy fields and past the crater through the gazebo and into the temple courtyard. The flame flickered and she once more put more mass into her compass. The courtyard was dimly lit by moonlight, visibility was low. The dark light of her flame didn¡¯t provide much in the way of light. She shuffled her feet, to not loose footing. Foot by foot until she hit her foot against the step, to the temple proper, almost losing her balance. Ouch.


    Stifling a yelp. The beacon become unstable, sputtered and quickly began evaporating. She redoubled her efforts, poured more fuel to the fire, calming the fire. The strain burnt her slightly, but she managed to regain control. The fire stabilized, and she continued, this time lifting her feet properly over the entrance. Step by step she made her way through the hallways. Into the mess hall. The flames here became unpredictable, leading the search in a random pattern. Concluding that it must be a floor further down, she went through the stairs and into the washroom and storage cellar. The cold steps made a formed a dichotomy between the warmth of her hands holding the fire and soul, working tirelessly to keep the flame lit. But when she arrived, the cellar contained nothing but cloth, old tools and smoked foods. She would have assumed she¡¯d have to go further, if the flame wasn¡¯t stronger than before.


    Find this and other great novels on the author''s preferred platform. Support original creators!She climbed out, followed the hallways to the stairs leading up. Deeply focused on the flame, as it flickered and flared. Trying to feed it, keep it stable, and move her feet one step at a time. The fire engulfed her vision and her mind. Until it finally winked. Extinguished by a sudden gust of wind.


    The darkness swallowed her vision. Waiting for her eyes to adjust, she closed them to help them adjust faster. She listened; it was not quite. A deep breathing, a rhythmic snore. She retraced her steps. A growing sense of unease crept up on her, as she opened her eyes. She was stood outside her master¡¯s bedchambers. She cupped her hands and put her lips toward the makeshift bowl. Trying as she might, she could not create a stable structure, it all disappeared through the sliding door and into her master¡¯s quarters.


    She looked up once more at the shoji in front of her, now only faintly hearing Konigen¡¯s steady breathing from inside through the blood rushing through her mind.

 A Dam Felled

    It was early morning. The students had already gathered, probably being assigned their daily regimen already. Syndra wasn¡¯t with them. She stood where she had the night before. Unable to sleep. Why? Konigen was wise, but this seemed wrong. She stood outside his door, like the night before. Listening to his rummaging. His absence from the morning rituals was expected. The students had become used to his tardiness. In his absence they were teaching one another.


    With a determined stride she had walked to his quarters that morning. But as she stood there in front of his shoji, she had been paralyzed. What now? She had been so determined to ask, to listen. She had been, she was, so confused. Betrayed. But as she stood, she didn¡¯t know what to do. What would she say? What would she do?


    She took hold of the sliding door and pushed it aside, clattering against the stops. ¡°Konigen!¡± What met her was a mentor, deep in meditation. The room littered with small wooden grey statues, some teeming with energy. That same magnetic wood lining the walls and floors. It looked like a carpenter¡¯s workshop. He was clutching a small figure in his hand, a soft red glow emanating from a crystal lodged within the fetish. The man was a husk, the once lively man looking exhausted. Baggy eyes revealing a lack of sleep. He rose to his feet and took a deep breath. The room was artificially darkened by the light-absorbing crystals within each of the wooden sculptures, bearing clear resemblance to the quinlon. Across each of these stones was a deep purple shine.


    ¡°Syndra, I am in the middle of meditation. Can it not wait?¡±


    ¡°It cannot!¡± Syndra tried drawing power, the way she always had, yet in here it seemed impossible. In that moment Konigen winced. An unwilling exertion.


    ¡°It is you! Isn¡¯t it?¡±


    Konigen looked weak, defeated.


    ¡°It is¡±


    Syndra took a deep breath


    ¡°How long?¡±


    ¡°Since you arrived¡°


    The words stung Syndra. To her there was only ever one person who she had truly looked up to, but now¡­ She saw him for the weak manipulative man he was. Syndra exhaled, trying to hold herself in check.


    ¡°Why?¡±


    ¡°I thought I could teach you. I thought that you were like the many other students here. Yet you are more chaotic, and more powerful than any one creature I have ever witnessed. You are far beyond my¡­ Beyond anyone¡¯s ability to train. Your powers are unpredictable, chaotic, powerful.¡±


    He gritted his teeth as Syndra¡¯s emotions ran wild. Syndra inhaled. A ragged breath.


    ¡°You haven¡¯t been teaching me. You¡¯ve been hampering. You¡¯ve been stealing!¡±


    58


    ¡°Don¡¯t you see? I have been doing this to protect you. You and the other students. Your powers are dangerous and unpredictable. You are dangerous, unstable, unbalanced. Where they with me¡­¡± he gestured to the mess of grey wooden effigies. ¡°¡­we could do so much good¡±


    Syndra felt robbed, weakened, hampered.


    ¡°You sought to be my mentor? You are nothing but a thief, a would-be tyrant. A conquerer using my power! I am mine own sovereign¡±


    ¡°I love you, as I love all my disciples. I would never simply use you. I implore you girl, control yourself!¡± Konigen was taking a step forward, he opened his mouth, but with the wild unpredictability of the chaotic energy around him. His focus faltered and in that moment the carving in his hand cracked.


    If you spot this narrative on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation.First change felt was smell, the taste of magic became thick. A bitter taste on the soul. The morning light dimmed. The room¡¯s air became polluted with dark energy, coalescing into dark spheres. Heavy were the orbs. Obese with anguish and rage. Again, Syndra could not help herself. She had to let loose their weight. Free herself from the burden, and after that moment, Konigen was no more.


    A powerful surge brought her to tears. Her feelings not reduced but amplified by the idol¡¯s crack. And with its tear ripping it apart from the inside. The other statues and icons cracked and popped like fireworks. One by one, and with each, the surge built until it escalated to an unstoppable tide. The roof became rubble, the wooden sliding doors all but dissipated. And with every throe, the power built until Syndra was ready to burst.


    She would reduce this prison to dust. She burnt, and the realm of spirits swelled to meet her demand for power. Across all Fae¡¯lor and deep into the sea itself, Ionia shook and morphed. The raw magic she unleashed flooded the island¡¯s ambient magic and washed it away, leaving only charred and singed earth. Nothing would grow for centuries.


    The incredible vacuum left by such an outburst had the magical realm in upheaval. Like a hurricane, it swelled to fill the void she had burnt away, with the destruction of the temple and the exposure of the bedrock, the magical realm ascended the rift made, and caught hold of her. She struggled against the forces she had summoned, but the as she burnt the more it intensified, the less control she had. It dragged her down, like an insect caught in a river. Until finally she was fully submerged. With a final yell she pushed against herself, emptying her lungs. The darkness slowly spread from the edge of her vision, until it was all-encompassing, and the exhaustion of her sleepless nights weighed upon her like all the oceans. Her mind awash, darkness crept from the edge of her vision. She fought to keep wake, to keep her mind clear. Her focus slipped further and further from her grasp, until the black finally overtook her.


    The darkening forest was full of beauty, but the girl saw none of it as she stomped along the winding path.


    Glowing flitterwings danced through the twilight, leaving trails of luminescence in their wake, but she swatted them away, oblivious to their fleeting grace. Eyes downcast, she kicked a rock, sending it skidding over twisting roots. The delicate violet petals of a blooming night-sable unfurled to release its glowing pollen into the warm evening, but she reached out and twisted the flower off its stem as she passed.


    Her face burned with shame and anger. Her mother¡¯s scolding. Her brother¡¯s laughter. She still heard the sound echoing in discordant cacophony.


    She stopped and looked around with watery eyes. A feeling of d¨¦j¨¤ vu overtook her. She pushed the feeling aside and trudged further into the forest.

 Awakened

    As she stomped away, timelessly. Fleeing to the Ghost-willow once more, Evard caught up. The laughter filled her mind. Without movement, Evard was at her throat. Clasping her neck.


    She opened her eyes to a dark figure looming above her. Knife in hand. She pushed whatever it was away, sending the figure flying.


    Syndra struggled to move, but found her arms were bound. Once more summoning force to rip apart the bindings, she rose from the waters. Hacking water out of her lungs, her muscles stiff and aching. Her mind groggy from centuries beneath the waters. She pushed herself out of the waters and into the air, surveying the battlefield around her. Her eyes still unclear, she rubbed them. Realizing that age had removed her robes, she swiftly created new ones. Inspired by Konigen¡¯s old robes. A flat black dress-robes, with baggy pants, having a silver outlining. Taking note of the floating warrior she held captive in mid-air, she created greaves, armguard, and plate, for basic defense.


    Along with it she constructed a black crown. The symbol of balance that adorned the temple gates. She would be sovereign of her own fate, and all who saw her should know her as such. She had achieved the balance that she was denied then. Concentrating hardened magic at its center crushed under immense pressure, coalescing into a shining stone. A jewel of pure, concentrated magic fit to adorn the symbol of sovereignty.


    She beheld the struggling assassin. So weak and so helpless she hung. Held aloft by a mere thought. Turning her and beholding the warrior from multiple sides.


    She felt her power radiate and flow into the room, the power she pushed into physical orbs as she had done so many times before. This time they would simply be a byproduct of the arcane force that flowed from her in waves.


    ¡°How long?¡± Syndra demanded, voice cracked and unsteady from lack of use. ¡°How long have I been imprisoned here?¡±


    ¡°Years.¡± Spat the vastaya. ¡°Decades. We should have killed you long ago!¡±


    Syndra realized that the world had not changed. It was still as hateful and unjust as the day she was first imprisoned. Anger welled within her, not only because this person would have her killed not knowing anything about her, but for the fact she had been imprisoned by the so-called spirit of balance for decades. A spirit she once found solace in.


    In dismissal, Syndra flicked two fingers, sending the figure flying into the stone wall many paces away.


    She turned her gaze to the two other standing vastaya, as puny as the one who had tried to take her life. One clad like the assassin, one in heavy plate, the likes of which Syndra had never seen.


    The other assassin knelt before her, lifting his arms in what seemed like worship.


    ¡°I am not your enemy!¡± He called out. ¡°We are both children of Ionia! Join us!¡±


    He was trying to manipulate her. This lowly man, thinking fawning and flattering will have her let her guard down.


    ¡°The Noxians attacked our lands and slaughtered our people!¡± He continued. ¡°We pushed them back, but they still have foothold in our ancestral lands. They are not done with us yet! Ionia is divided, and vulnerable! You must help! Help us fight this tyranny!¡±


    Syndra was aghast. This man thought she would fight for her people. The people who had shown her nothing but fear. The people who, when they couldn¡¯t assassinate her, would beg for her power. Ultimately waiting for the time, her back was turned. Did he not realize he wore the same clothing as the one who just tried to take her life?


    ¡°I do not know who these Noxians are that you speak of,¡± Syndra replied. ¡°But if they killed my people, then perhaps I owe them thanks. The only tyranny I experienced was at the hands of those I once called kin.¡±


    The figure slumped, realizing his trickery would be ignored. She tore another rip in the world. All of her bitterness, resentment and anger made manifest. The sphere hovered above her hand, slowly spinning.


    ¡°And if you are Ionian, then you are my enemy,¡± she mused.


    With the force of a thousand waking nightmares, she pushed the object towards her would-be killer. A scream registered from the other assassin, seemingly having survived.


    Love this story? Find the genuine version on the author''s preferred platform and support their work!Movement out the corner of her eye. The last of the trio leapt from the darkness, the previously created objects came to her defence. Striking the figure and striking him into the ground.


    ¡°You¡­¡± said Syndra, tilting her head to the side, as if trying to place him. ¡°I recognize your soul. You shadowed my dreams.¡± Her expression darkened even more. ¡°You were my jailor. You¡­ You kept me here.¡±


    He pushed himself to one knee.


    ¡°You are an abomination.¡± He hissed.


    61


    The words struck Syndra painfully. Truly nothing had changed. If it was an abomination they saw, it was an abomination she would be. Stabbing into the air, she lifted the warden into the air.


    ¡°Kill me, then!¡± He snarled. ¡°But do so in the knowledge that you will never find peace. Wherever you are, you will be hated and hunted. You will never live free.¡±


    ¡°Kill you?¡± Whispered Syndra, her lip curling in rage. ¡°No. That would be too clean an end for you.¡±


    With a sweep of her arm, Syndra hurled the noxian vastaya into the waters that had held her captive these long years. Stuck in her worst nightmare. The vines that had reached for her, now grasped his limbs and curled around his body. A muffled scream bubbled to the surface, sealing his fate¡­ Then he went still.


    The rage, the sadness, the pain Syndra felt overwhelmed her. She shouted at the lands, the spirits themselves. Ripping the structure above her apart, heavy tons of blackstone rained around her, splashing into the water beneath.


    Syndra rose to her freedom. A clear sky and fresh air she had not felt in an eternity. The twinkling stars almost brought her to tears.


    ¡°Your turn to dream, jailor.¡± She whispered. Pushing the stone toward the bedrock.


    She hung there in the dark night¡¯s sky. Awake at last, awake and without direction. Freedom.


    The night was broken by lanterns and the sound of warning bells in the distance. Yelling and heavy footfalls moving through the many sets of walls that had been constructed around the temple. A tiered defence, no doubt to keep her in. Whoever these soldiers were, they, like the assassins, were adversaries. The buildings barely recognizable, having been changed much since she was last awake. Likely rebuilt after she destroyed them. The pagoda was no more, the sleeping quarters were still present, though wear, tear, and occupation had weathered its walls. The gardens completely gone, so were the forests. The harbour held massive ships, each a city in size. Much larger than what the temple had been back then. Across the sea she saw her lands: Navorri.


    She took a deep breath, but it did not sate her fury.


    She returned her attention to the large ships resting on the water. People scampered below, no doubt alerting others of her awakening, readying a legion to oppose her. She would stop them in their tracks. Raising one of the massive vessels from the sea, she tossed it into two others, reducing them all to splinters and sheet metal. Another she threw unto shore. A massive wave toppled the remaining ships, marooning them against the shore.


    Tyrants one, tyrants all, she mumbled to herself. That should keep the worms preoccupied.


    Rebuffing her grip on the temple, she lifted it higher and higher, until she could rest her feet in the courtyard. She walked to the steps that would have led out of the temple. She gingerly touched the entrance which she had once entered. Full of dreams and aspirations. She stared at what remained of the steps leading up. Two armored figures reaching towards each other, and one of the assassins were slumped together. The scene was revolting, not in the least because it seemed like there was much about the world order she did not fully grasp. What she did know was that they would either capture her, kill her, or use her. She knew not which was worst. With a flick of her wrist, she sent the figures over the edge, careening down towards water and stone.


    She stood there in the gates, pushing the fortress northward, over the inland sea.

 Monster

    Moving away from the bloody steps by the gate, she traced her hand along the walls. Following the courtyard, leading into what must once have been the gardens. Across the cobblestone, by the end of the wall was a small watchtower. Lifting herself off the ground, moving closer to it she saw a person within. A soldier hiding from his reckoning. She demolished the roofed platform around him. He fell to the hard stone, the pressure from Syndra¡¯s presence forced him to the ground.


    ¡°Who are you?¡±


    The young individual spoke a guttural tongue, she understood not a word of what was said. All this did was fill Syndra with more questions. Foreign peoples, foreign weapons. Maybe time had just passed? She left the soldier on the ground, moving once more across the stones. When she thought she¡¯d found it, she fanned her arms, ripping apart the cobblestone, underneath lay sand. Opening a wound in the ground, she tossed aside stone, until she found the pond, filled with dirt to make foundation for the paving. The green beneath was no more. Nothing but dry, infertile silt below.


    Vaguely she heard the sound of movement and shouting, she moved in its direction, toward the old barracks, where she and the other students used to sleep. As she closed in on the oblong building, soldiers began streaming out of it. Surrounding her completely, sharp weapons pointed at her.


    One of the soldiers said something that to her resembled gurgling, and dropped his weapon. His stare was fixed upon the stars, others followed his extended index finger. It seemed like they had noticed the movement. One of the soldiers, masked behind a thick metallic helmet, yelled at her. A command most likely, raising something approximating a spear towards her. The growling voice repeated the command. Syndra dashed the heavyset soldier against the thick walls of the temple. The pitch of metal being bent, and a yelp escaping the lips of her victim. She stepped past them, toward her old domicile.


    Walking through the long corridor leading toward her old room. It felt nostalgic, though the smell had changed completely. Opening the door to her old room, it seemed that nothing remained of her old room. The small table, the bed, the locker. All had been removed to make room for two utilitarian bunkbed and footlockers. Nothing remained, not the coins, not her comb, nothing. Only the stone was the same as then.


    Stepping out, she felt eyes upon her. Her gaze quickly scared the curious faces away. Heading back out, she saw the soldiers gathering themselves once more, the armoured individual, as well as the scout had all huddled together. She walked to the steps and stared into the horizon. The wind buffeted around her, as she stared into the horizon.


    Unauthorized use: this story is on Amazon without permission from the author. Report any sightings.She heard the sound of a bow being pulled, and turned with the force of a hurricane, scattering the soldiers who had gathered in formation behind her. She swept them from the fortress, like a child unwilling to eat their supper, sending them falling the depths below. They did not deserve her mercy. Their screams slowly disappearing, drowned by the wind.


    For hours she could have stood there without noticing.


    A glint in the distance, water reflecting the light of the sun rising slowly in the distance. A massive figure carved from stone. Titanic in size, it¡¯s cupped hands easily the size of the courtyard. A figurehead to a dam. From its shoulders ran the water from a reservoir, into the hands feeding a tributary river to Placidium River that she had once walked with her family.


    This statue, a symbol of the land giving to the people. It was an affront. A symbol of tyranny, and of control. The entire fortress tilted to the side with her burning anger. She ripped the statue apart, throwing it far into the forested land below.


    She took a deep breath and righted her vessel.


    All was silent. She turned to walk into the building that had replaced the Pagoda. Now only one story, a simple building. What remained of the mess hall had been replaced with what was almost a throne room. Long tables, still present on either side, and a single chair on a raised platform. No doubt the warden¡¯s. The stairs leading down into the nothingness gave a rush of wind, a howl filling the otherwise dead room.


    She stepped onto the raised platform, the stone seat looming in front. Running her hand across it. Cold and hard. She sat upon it, uncomfortable as it was, it also felt right. From here she could see through the double doors, across the courtyard, through the gates and far into the distance.


    As sunrise slowly turned to day. Her anger slowly wilted away. She pulled her knees to her chin, and clasped her legs. She thought back to all the things she had done, and how time would have painted her.


    She was alone, an awakened demon. Likely hated and written about as a great evil to be defeated. It dawned on her that none she knew when she lived was likely to be alive. No one to turn to, no allies to confide in. Not that she had any before.


    An awful thought crept into her mind. She stared at her hands, at herself. How could she even be sure that she was awake? Doubt, fear, and pain invaded her mind. Tears forming in her eyes. Whether or not she was awake, it did not matter if this was an illusion. Either way she would find no respite. She would be hunted, she would be a dragon to defeat. A monster. The pain welled within her chest. A sting only felt by those who truly have no one and nothing left.


    If it is a Monster they seek, then it is a monster they will get.

 Once More We Meet

    The ground quaked violently. A vast sound as powerful as an avalanche filled the purple woods and shook its trees. A blackstone meteor had struck the road leading through the woods, leaving a moat of dirt and buried trees.


    From seat of stone Syndra rose and rubbed her eyes. Red if not for the deep purple colouration that filled her eyes, as though her mind contained a violet sun. It was cold here, being both higher up and further north. A different kind of cold than by the sea. She did not touch upon the ground, instead gliding across the courtyard. From this vantage point, the village was easy to spot, small pillars of smoke rising. A small clearing at the foot of the mountain she had made.


    Passing over the trail leading up to what was once a temple of learning, down to what was once a refuge, she came to the palisade walls that had closed its doors to lost child. With a though she turned the might trunks to kindling, as she pushed her way through, hovering above the mud of the village grounds.


    The people of the small town looked upon her in horror, as she floated through what was an overgrown hamlet. She recognized none, nor did she expect to. Passing through the market, she picked up food items she had missed for many years. Cheese, root vegetables, breads particular to this region.


    Taking her seat on a merchant¡¯s wagon, she now truly felt the hunger accumulated. She breathed deeply taking in the nostalgic feeling, and all the dread that came with it. With a solid bite of the cheese, the bittersweet flavour filled her mouth. With each bite and swallow of the foods she had gathered, she gathered a larger and larger audience, though she truly did not care about their presence.


    They on the other hand had heard the terrible impact, seen their walls be torn asunder, felt the presence of vast power. Now seated, eating like a normal woman, albeit in imposing clothing and radiating an aura of pure danger. Like seeing a predator devour a carcass, the fascination somehow overcoming the very human instinct of self-preservation.


    A case of theft: this story is not rightfully on Amazon; if you spot it, report the violation.With the last bite, she sighed contently, and hopped off the cart. Looking around the village seemed so much smaller than when she was a child. The houses, the streets, the confines of the walls themselves. She wondered how she could ever get lost here.


    Walking along the cobblestone, to a familiar wood-woven house. The same house, older than she left it, but still very recognizable. The still-living wood still standing. As she stared upon it, it dried out, shrinking, twisting, groaning in pain. Snapping, until finally sundered and destroyed. She stood there for a moment, considering her work. She breathed out.


    With a turn, she floated down northward passage, along the forest in the village, barely more than a park. Passing silently along the winding path, singing the leaves slightly as she passed. Moving through until she reached an old, wizened tree. An ancient priestess stood in white-gold robes, barring Syndra¡¯s way to the tree. Syndra barely recognized her as an obstacle, pushed aside by the sheer force of the young sorceress¡¯ presence.


    Syndra stood in front of the tree, paralyzed. She had expected an ominous presence, an adversary. Instead a withered tree stood in its place. Weak, dry, and much smaller than she remembered. She had come to exact vengeance on the spirit, she had come to prove to herself she was beholden to none. That she was free. Standing there she felt lonelier than all the hours spent by the pond, all the nights spent training, and all the ages spent in that terrible, repeating nightmare. With all the power in the world to sunder the conduit before her, she instead felt impotent.


    She had come to make a world where she had no past, masters, or peers. Without any responsibilities or allegiances beyond those to herself. Without a road tread before her. Her own fate.


    Sovereign.


    She took a deep breath.