ã€ŠShards of the Eclipseã€‹


 Chapter 1: Alexander

    Alexander examined the black linen string with three knots that had slipped from an envelope delivered by an errand boy. Inside was an invitation to a late dinner¡ªthe same one Elisabet had nagged him about hours earlier. The black linen meant an urgent change of plans. He ran his fingers over the rough fiber as his hopes of a peaceful evening vanished. It seemed Elisabet would get her way after all.

    He wrote a quick note to let her know he¡¯d changed his mind about attending the dinner and handed it to the boy along with a coin to deliver it. Three knots¡ªnine o¡¯clock. He still had some time to prepare.

    His rooms were sparse, furnished with only the essentials: a few pieces of practical furniture, a desk cluttered with paperwork and engineering manuals, and a wardrobe filled with clothing supplied by his patron. On the desk sat a small project he had been working on. The only personal object in the room was a small piece of worn colored glass, poor in quality and faded by time. It was nearly useless now, but he slipped it into his pocket as he changed into formal attire.

    His eyes landed on a small box containing a ring. An unpleasant weight sank into his gut at the thought: would he need it tonight? He wasn''t thrilled at the prospect of tying his life to Elisabet. Then again, it wasn¡¯t truly himself he¡¯d be binding to her, only the persona of Alexander Brenn. His position at the Light Institute was too valuable for them to cast him aside¡ªbut the thought brought little comfort. Still, he couldn¡¯t deny the truth anymore: the only way he¡¯d return home was by being compromised. That meant not only endangering his life here but also becoming less valuable back home.

    Here, he might be an exceptional engineer. Back home, he¡¯d be just another name among many.

    The rope made him uneasy. He rarely got black linen messages, their implications often serious. Perhaps plans had been accelerated. He took the ring box with him ¨C just in case. He was nothing if not well prepared. An essential trait for a spy, he reckoned.

    He was a good one.

    It was all he ever was.

    <hr>

    He arrived at the estate a quarter past seven, just as most of the guests would have already gathered. Right in the middle of the city, an iron gate swung open to reveal a private park brimming with exotic plants, their survival ensured by regular magical care.

    A grass-lined path shimmered under the eerie green light of engineered lamps. Each was filled with a powder that turned their flames emerald, casting shadows that swayed with the gentle evening breeze. The path was flanked by sculptures¡ªimposing dryads and imps of eastern folklore, their angry faces with mouths gaping to reveal sharp teeth. Dark dust and moss coated the figures. The lord of the house fancied himself a master of subversion and eccentricity. Alexander, however, found the display garish rather than unsettling.

    The stairs were covered all in a dense hedge, an apparent addition for this evening¡¯s spectacle. At the center of the arrangement, a particularly grotesque imp sculpture leered at the guests with bulging eyes and fake blood dripping from its gaping mouth. Alexander wondered if anyone here knew that, according to tradition, imps were benevolent house guardians when properly respected with offerings. Likely not. Not that he believed such myths himself¡ªthey were stories for the masses and entertainment for the elite. Eastern folklore had become the latest fascination of the City of Light¡¯s upper class. Historically, such beliefs had never reached this region, but in the distant East, they retained a strong cultural presence.

    A servant greeted him at the door, their face dusted with dark powder and gold-painted lines around their eyes. Their sharp gestures added to the unsettling ambience. The gold lines did not originate from folklore, Alexander thought with disdain. Where would the villagers get gold paint anyway? Alexander handed over his coat and stepped into the guest room, a vast space abuzz with chatter and the clinking of glasses.

    He stepped into the grand guest room. The space was vast, its high ceilings supported by tall windows that lined the entrance and far wall. By day, the room would be filled with sunlight. By night, guests could look through its stained-glass sections to glimpse stars or the moon. Shades of green, light blue, and pink merged seamlessly into transparent panes, creating a kaleidoscope of light.

    The pale pink and beige walls were decorated with moldings that framed paintings and murals. Above, the ceiling featured moldings shaped to resemble flowers within geometric patterns. Chandeliers holding a hundred candles each hung high above the heads of the guests. The candles, like the lamps outside, burned with shifting colors, their flames melting through layers of colorful powder tinted wax, a testament to the fashionable engineering of the City of Light.

    Alexander glanced at the art and furnishings. Plaster, glass, and marble sculptures dotted the space, but there was a noticeable lack of greenery. It was as though the lord of the house had drawn a line between his lavish indoor world and the wildness outside. Despite the excess, the arrangement was cohesive. The colors were harmonious, and despite the excess¡ªan aesthetic triumph. The richness of the room dazzled, but did not overwhelm. The air was filed with a faint pleasant perfume. Lord Manning may be a pompous moron, but Alexander couldn''t deny he had taste. Yet Alexander¡¯s admiration dimmed when he spotted the centerpiece of the room.

    For a moment, he nearly froze, but he quickly regained his composure and summoned a relaxed, amused expression. At the center of the room stood a statue of the Mother of Crops, slightly larger than life. It wasn¡¯t her mere presence that chilled Alexander¡¯s blood, but the expression etched into her features. He hadn¡¯t expected it to still unnerve him so deeply.

    He took a slow breath and studied the piece of art. It was blasphemous.

    She towered over everyone present, sculpted from dark stone  with highlights of pale gray-white paint applied where skin would catch the light, exaggerating every shadow and jagged contour, as if she was a creature of darkness¡ªa lurking menace. Hunger in her eyes screamed vengeance, highlighted by rusty-red paint smeared around them by the artist, giving her an almost feral gaze.

    Her long, blond hair carved in chaotic strands around her shoulders, cascaded down to her breasts, as if she was fighting against a strong wind. One hand was reaching forward as if grasping something, the other kept close to her body. Her elongated nails resembled the talons of a bird of prey more than those of a human. There was anger in her stance and raw aggression in her gaze.

    It struck Alexander that this was exactly what she was like. This sculpture, though satire made for amusement of the guests, portrayed the essence of her teachings far better than any of the pious depictions of her followers. Though Alexander doubted anyone there would actually agree with him.

    She was also dressed in a mix of gold and moss, an odd choice, though better suited than the discarded butterfly cloak laying around her feet. An artistic liberty. The butterfly cloaks, used to repel the magic of light, while aligned perfectly with the Mother''s beliefs, but were not part of the eastern culture. Made from rare southern butterfly wings, they were unaffordable for most common folk and even here they could only be imported.

    The statue stood as a stark contrast to the rest of the room, framed by bold gold accents on one side and an obsidian fountain at the back. There was a sense of underlying tension to the art pieces, as if the the art wanted to be recognized and celebrated.

    Music played in the background, the musicians engaged for the night hidden in a separate alcove above the ball room mixed with rustling of dresses and simmer of gossip. A smell of cigars followed by rustling of cards from the cigar room where men were gambling.

    He walked up to a small round table and took a glass of drinking honey. He desperately wished for dry wine, but the sickly sweet drink had recently come back into fashion. A young, successful man that Alexander was supposed to pose as, would naturally partake in the trend.

    "Ah, there you are. I didn¡¯t think you¡¯d come,"

    He turned as Elisabet came to greet him. She was dressed in a dark gown embroidered with gold, her teal-lined eyes followed the evening¡¯s theme. She looked striking, and for a fleeting moment, she reminded him of the black-powdered women from his childhood, their faces painted to ward off spirits.

    He banished the thought and smiled with effortless charm. He had a role to play.

    "You know I can¡¯t say no to you."

    "My father will be thrilled that you¡¯re here. Come, I want to show you off."

    She took his hand and lead him toward the next room. The absence of his colleagues indicated that tonight¡¯s gathering was more exclusive than usual. Across the room he noticed the Avenian ambassador engrossed in conversation with a general from the royal army.

    The second room was less spacious, with a table already set for dinner later that night. Elisabet walked up to him, a mischievous smile, holding a small white berry on a spoon. She raised it, offering it to his lips.

    ¡°Try it.¡±

    Krede fruit. He hesitated. A few guests tried to stifle their amusement; others let their smirks show. Elisabet, it seemed, was thoroughly enjoying herself. If you come across this story on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen from Royal Road. Please report it.

    Krede fruit¡ªalso known as the fruit of trust. It was edible only if it was cultivated by a mage; otherwise it turned into a deadly poison, capable of killing in seconds. Of course, the one in front of him would undoubtedly be safe, but very expensive. What were the chances that the berry in her hand was cultivated without care or accidentally mixed from a batch of poisonous fruits? The two kinds were indistinguishable. It was no secret that suppliers often provided both to the buyers.

    Her eyes held a playful challenge. He doubted she¡¯d ever seen the foam that formed around the mouth of a victim¡ªor the convulsions as life drained from their body. For her and the people around them, this was just a bit of entertainment. To him, it was reminder of how easily unwanted people were dealt with during his military days.

    He took the berry and bit into it. Sweetness dominated his senses.

    Elisabet laughed, delighted. ¡°It wasn¡¯t so bad, was it?¡±

    Too sweet, he thought. Not worth the risk.

    From across the room, the ambassador caught his eye, casually eating Krede Fruits from a bowl and giving Alexander a mocking nod. The man was tall, his short black hair beginning to thin, and a slight belly betraying his age. He wore a navy uniform with brown and red emblems on display, a light beige cravat tied loosely around his neck. He was relaxed, the influence of alcohol evident. It was no secret in the City of Light that the older ambassador was fond of drink and many people would not take  a man with this habit seriously.

    Alexander wondered if the man¡¯s composure stemmed from rue confidence¡ªor if he just dosed himself with an antidote beforehand. He knew that the man had witnessed and wielded the effects of the fruit countless times, and treated it with a kind of reserve, a respect for the lives it took. Alexander knew he wasn¡¯t the only one traumatized by the experience.

    It was a quarter to nine, and Alexander was growing weary. The air felt heavy, and he was tired of sampling the latest concoctions from the new chef. Against his better judgment, he had too much wine already. He set down his glass. This wasn''t like him. He needed to be on top of his game tonight. The spy master rarely met with him in person¡ªit was usually just his handler or a discreet message.

    Elisabet placed a hand on his leg, and he gave her a small smile before looking across the table. Most of the guests were members of the City of Light¡¯s upper class, many deeply entrenched in politics, but there were also some traders, such as Ebermony, who was loudly complaining about the latest developments at the border.

    ¡°It¡¯s just ridiculous that they can¡¯t get it under control! The counterfeit crystals¡ªif you can even call them that¡ªare ruining my business!¡± the red-faced man cried.

    Alexander¡¯s gaze shifted to the younger man seated beside Ebermony, who was clearly ignoring his neighbor¡¯s tirade. The younger man nodded occasionally, offering no meaningful response. Alexander had seen him before¡ªJimmy Mendel, often accompanied by his wife, Avery. The Mendels had one child, a five-year-old son. Alexander knew these details as effortlessly as he knew Ebermony¡¯s favorite wine, Jimmy¡¯s ambition to become a general in the royal army, and the fact that he visited his mistress every other week at a small apartment on River Street.

    He looked at the young woman sitting next to her husband. She had a slightly pointy face and an unapproachable manner. Despite striking blue eyes and long blond hair¡ªa cause of envy¡ª her indifference made her plain. At least she spoke little, which made her presence more tolerable than others at the table. There wasn¡¯t anything remarkable about her. Just like so many women here, her marriage was a union of convenience merging two wealthy families. The lack of affection between her and her husband was evident in the dullness of her gaze whenever she spoke to him.

    She irritated Alexander. He knew women like this too well. He learned their priorities the hard way. He wondered how many times he would have to see them again on similar occasions. Would he, too, grow indifferent over time, like her?

    It had already been nearly three years since he''s seen home. Well, if it could even be called home.

    The first two courses were behind them, and the atmosphere turned more relaxed. Guests strolled through the garden, some smoking, others forming small circles to converse.

    ¡°I just don¡¯t understand it,¡± Ebermony continued, his voice rising above the hum of chatter. ¡°It is of utmost importance to solve this issue. Those bastards aren¡¯t just flooding the market with fraudulent goods¡ªthey¡¯re undermining our entire economy!¡±

    ¡°Don¡¯t you mean your economy?¡± someone quipped, eliciting a round of snickers. Ebermony¡¯s face darkened to an even deeper shade of red. His financial troubles were becoming increasingly obvious.

    ¡°I¡¯ve already petitioned the King,¡± he pressed on, ¡°but the Queen of Aven should do something as well. It¡¯s her damn country, after all!¡±

    ¡°The Queen of Aven is doing something,¡± Coren Mitchel replied calmly. ¡°She¡¯s been fighting the smugglers for a long time now, but it seems to be a losing battle.¡±

    ¡°How can that be?¡± Jimmy Mendel asked, predictably seeking Coren¡¯s opinion.

    ¡°She''s been hunting the counterfeit makers, but every time she manages to close one factory, two arise in its place.¡±

    ¡°Is she really that weak?¡± another man scoffed.

    ¡°Either the counterfeiters are resourceful enough to outwit the royal soldiers, or they¡¯re getting help from somewhere,¡± Coren said, his tone measured. ¡°One wonders if those fools have nothing better to do. It¡¯s as if they¡¯ve abandoned all other duties.¡±

    ¡°It¡¯s a matter of principles,¡± Ebermony declared, puffing his chest. ¡°If you¡¯re born without principles, there¡¯s nothing that can save you. Those bastards lack the values that a cultured society instills. If they¡¯re so eager to make those crystals, they should be working in the mines and processing workshops. Honest work is available to them! Instead, they choose a life of deceit and debauchery.¡±

    ¡°Aye to that,¡± Corey said, nodding as he drained his wine.

    Lady Avery rose abruptly in the middle of the conversation, drawing the group¡¯s attention. Her movements were slightly unsteady as she stepped around her chair.

    ¡°I apologize,¡± she said, her voice cool yet slightly slurred. ¡°All this talk gives me a headache. I¡¯ll leave you gentlemen to enjoy yourselves while I get some fresh air.¡±

    Her face, flushed, softened her usual icy demeanor. Alexander noted how beautiful she looked with even the faintest hint of emotion¡ªa stark contrast to the blank expression he was accustomed to.

    ¡°You¡¯ll have to excuse her,¡± Jimmy said to the group, a condescending smile on his lips. ¡°Women are always so air-headed.¡±

    ¡°Ha, that¡¯s true, my friend,¡± Harold Evergreen said jovially, clapping Jimmy on the shoulder as he joined the circle. ¡°Although, I must say, my daughter Elisabet knows exactly what she¡¯s doing.¡± He raised his glass toward Alexander in an unsubtle toast.

    ¡°You cannot fault them. A woman¡¯s role is not to be burdened with difficult politics¡ªit would make them rather dull, and us cruel for expecting something beyond their capacities.¡± Those words had once been difficult for Alexander to say, but he delivered them smoothly now. Harold was his target, and Alexander had studied him thoroughly, every detail his sources could uncover.

    Harold beamed with approval and continued. ¡°Precisely, my dear Ebermony. Don¡¯t fret too much about this counterfeit goods problem. Yes, they¡¯re flooding the market, but it¡¯s only a temporary state. At my Institute, we conducted a thorough investigation of their quality, and the results are clear: no self-respecting mage would ever use them.¡±

    ¡°But they are using them!¡± Ebermony protested, his frustration palpable. ¡°They must be! Sales have sunk, and I¡¯m stuck paying for deliveries while my supply sits unsold. I¡¯ve even started considering exporting them elsewhere.¡±

    Harold opened his mouth, but Alexander cut in first. ¡°Harold is right,¡± he said, adopting a calm and reassuring tone. ¡°They may be buying those fakes now, but in a few months, people will realize how poor the quality is. Only the desperate will still use them. The crystals are riddled with impurities and cracks. Often, they aren¡¯t even crystals at all¡ªjust colored glass disguised as the real thing. Glass that can be bought even cheaper than the counterfeits.¡±

    Alexander spoke with conviction, though he knew the truth. Those fakes weren¡¯t going away anytime soon. The price of authentic crystals was simply too high for most to afford.

    Harold nodded enthusiastically, gesturing toward Alexander. ¡°Yes, yes, exactly! Alexander coordinated that study himself. It¡¯s quite a pity how desperate those villagers are, producing such poor-quality instruments.¡±

    Two minutes to nine. Alexander rose, offering a polite smile as he excused himself.

    In the corridor, he moved briskly toward the restrooms, then turned and ascended the staircase to the living quarters of the master of the house. The ambassador was waiting for him in the study, examining the view from the window.

    None the man¡¯s earlier joviality remained. His back was straight, his face stern and sober, and he exuded the confidence and rigor of a seasoned commander.

    Alexander entered, shutting the door behind him. His eyes scanned the room, ensuring they were alone.

    ¡°We¡¯re clear,¡± the older man said, turning to him.

    ¡°You don¡¯t look particularly happy to be here,¡± he observed, his sharp eyes scanning Alexander¡¯s expression.

    Alexander swallowed. He couldn¡¯t afford for the spymaster to doubt his capability¡ªor suspect his focus wasn¡¯t entirely on the mission.

    ¡°Just tired,¡± Alexander replied evenly. ¡°I hadn¡¯t planned on attending tonight. The research has been taking most of my time.¡±

    ¡°Research is important,¡± the spymaster said, his tone laced with impatience, ¡°but this¡ªhere¡ªis where we make real progress. Never mind.¡± He pulled a folded sheet from inside his coat and handed it to Alexander. ¡°Here¡¯s a note we intercepted.¡±

    Alexander unfolded the letter. It contained only a few cryptic lines:

    The Institute and Academy are working on it. I''m warning you. Neither you nor I want the king to have this kind of power. It was better left alone.

    As Alexander finished reading, the spymaster took the note back and held it over a nearby candle, watching the flame consume it until it turned to ash.

    ¡°This note was sent by Orpheus Mellert, the Headmaster of the Academy of Light Magic, to the leader of the rebels deep in the Wyrmwood Forest.¡±

    Alexander frowned. That made no sense. Orpheus Mellert was known for his open opposition to the rebels. He had never been associated with them in any form¡ªuntil now.

    ¡°Do you think he¡¯s working with them?¡± Alexander asked.

    ¡°That¡¯s what I want you to find out.¡± The spymaster¡¯s voice hardened. ¡°The note mentions the Academy and the Engineering Institute are working on it. Your job is to uncover what it is¡ªand why Mellert would risk contacting the rebels. The message reached them, of course; no need to raise suspicion. But you need to get to that project. Find out what it¡¯s about.¡±

    Alexander nodded, thinking about the implications.

    ¡°Work that fool Harold to gain access,¡± the spymaster said sharply. ¡°If necessary, use the ring.¡±

    The orders were unmistakable. If the ambassador had come to deliver them personally, it had to be important. Either Alexander was being tested, or the situation in Aven was far worse than he had assumed.

    As the spymaster approached the door, he paused beside Alexander, his voice dropping to a pointed murmur. ¡°And for your own sake, Nikolas,¡± he said, his gaze heavy, ¡°pay as much attention to Elisabet as you do to Avery Mendel.¡±

    With that, he exited, leaving the room steeped in silence.

    A solitary Krede berry sat on the desk. He picked it up, tossed it into the fire, and watched as it burned. Then, turning on his heel, he left the room, closing the door firmly behind him.

 Chapter 2: Vira

    5 years ago

    If there was one thing Vira knew for certain, it was that she was a lucky person. She had been born into one of the last independent tribes in the known world¡ªpeople who upheld old traditions and remained unspoiled by the outside world''s evil machinations and tainted magic. Their isolation had never seemed a high price to pay for keeping those sinister threats away. She was happy.

    Cold water clung to her hair as she emerged above the surface of a small lake near their village. Sunlight shimmered as it danced across the rippling water, blending with the mirrored image of the blue sky. The reflections were so bright they nearly blinded her. She drew in a deep breath, savoring the crisp, fresh air. Weeds and grass squelched softly beneath her feet, creating a slippery underwater carpet.

    A sudden splash behind her, and she was pulled underwater again. His skin was warm against hers, contrasting the coolness of the lake. He was beautiful¡ªher future companion.

    "I thought you had to help your father. That you had no time for foolishness today," she teased, throwing his earlier words back at him.

    Aden smiled and pressed a kiss to her cheek. "Five more minutes won¡¯t kill me¡ªand I¡¯ve missed you," he said, his voice carrying over the splashing waterfall.

    His skin was smooth under her fingers. "Missed me? In the few seconds it took to leave the water?" she teased again, brushing his wet blond hair away from his eyes.

    "It took me the moment you got out of my arms to start missing you," he replied, his tone light but sincere. She laughed, her joy bubbling up, and kissed him deeply.

    <hr>

    They returned to the village together. Their betrothal was well-known and celebrated among the members of the tribe. The air was alive with the sounds of work. Clay ovens were already fired up, and the faint smell of salt boiling in the distance cut through the crisp autumn wind. Preparations for the celebration of Aden¡¯s rise to chief had begun.

    Vira made her way to the house she shared with her grandmother. A small flock of sheep, recently brought down from the hills, was gathered near the cottage. Through the window, she saw her grandmother spinning wool at her wheel. The wool would later be sent to a nearby town to be sold.

    The tribe did not allow much contact with the outside world, the sole exceptions being trade for goods they could not produce themselves in their secluded terrain and the payment of tithes to the king whose kingdom encompassed their lands. They paid what was due, and in return, the king left them in peace. That was how it had been for centuries.

    Their village lay nestled in the fields close to the mountains and was surrounded by dense forests, as though nature itself sought to guard their enclave, like a secret once spilled, lost forever. It had been their place since the beginning of time it seemed. Every story of their origins always took place in these fields among these mountains.

    Though they were secluded, there were times they hosted outsiders¡ªtraders, travelers, or even foreign sieges. But the stories always portrayed the outsiders as occupants of this land. Never as settlers or newcomers.

    From around the corner, Vira heard a wailing sound. One of the sheep lay apart from the flock, huddled in the shadow of the building. It was Annie, her favorite sheep. Vira knelt beside her and saw blood on her leg¡ªa deep cut likely caused by the sharp stones scattered along the path back to the village. The hills were full of hidden hazards: black stones and gravel hidden by tall grass. Black eyes met hers, pleading.

    Vira sighed, knowing she had to be discreet. If anyone else found the wounded sheep, they would certainly butcher her. Autumn was in full swing, and the village was already busy preparing meat for the long winter. A wounded animal was a burden, offering more work than benefit.

    She fetched a strip of cloth and a bowl of water. As she cut the cloth with her knife, sunlight caught the blade, and a flash of light struck her eyes. She flinched, closing them tightly. For a moment, all she could see were dark spots tinged with blue. She blinked several times, her vision slowly returning to normal.

    She cleaned the wound, holding the sheep steady as she bandaged the leg and whispered soothingly to calm her. Once she was done, she led Annie to a small shed. It was rarely used¡ªher grandmother¡¯s bad legs kept her from venturing there often. Vira laid the sheep on a bed of hay and shut the door firmly.

    With a final glance back, she returned to the cottage. It was time to prepare a meal, and the day¡¯s work was only beginning.

    Her grandmother spun wool under a thick blanket. Alina, her grandmother¡¯s cousin, stood beside her. She often came to help them. Vira felt sharp eyes fall on her as she entered. The fire was already burning, which meant her grandmother must have started it early in the morning, because the cottage was bursting with warmth.

    ¡°Where have you been?¡± her grandmother asked, looking up.

    ¡°I went for a morning stroll.¡±

    ¡°Come here.¡± Her grandmother paused her work and pulled Vira into a strong hug. ¡°I love you, you know that?¡± she said, looking into Vira¡¯s face. ¡°You¡¯re my favorite granddaughter.¡± She squeezed her tighter.

    ¡°I¡¯m your only granddaughter,¡± Vira replied, her voice exasperated but with a smile. Her grandmother was emotional at times. She hugged her back and covered her grandmother¡¯s legs with a blanket. Her grandmother¡¯s walking had been getting worse lately, and it worried Vira more with each passing day.

    Vira suspected her grandmother wasn¡¯t telling her the whole truth when she asked if it hurt. It wasn¡¯t that they lacked anything¡ªthey weren¡¯t considered poor among the tribe. But some medicines were rare or simply out of reach. Vira didn¡¯t know what could help her grandmother other than painkillers, and they didn¡¯t have many of those. She felt like a small hole opened in her heart that grew larger with each grimace her grandma wanted to hide.

    ¡°You wander around too much,¡± Alina said, folding freshly washed sheets without looking up.

    ¡°No, she doesn¡¯t,¡± her grandmother countered. ¡°She¡¯s young, and she should live her life.¡± There was no anger in her voice towards Alina. She never took her cousin¡¯s remarks seriously and always taught Vira to respect the members of their family, no matter how distant.

    ¡°She¡¯s not a child anymore,¡± Alina retorted. ¡°She¡¯s going to lead the tribe if nothing changes. She should take her responsibilities seriously and set an example for others. She¡¯s supposed to be the example, the living image of the Mother of Crops. Not waste her time in the bushes.¡±

    Vira took a deep breath and swallowed her response. She couldn¡¯t argue with the older woman without upsetting both her and her grandmother. She blinked. Her eyes were sensitive that day. Maybe it was from swimming earlier that morning. She took the remaining sheets and finished folding them in silence. Alina glanced at her for a moment, then spoke again.

    ¡°You should be grateful for your position. I only hope the Mother of Crops will keep you in her graces and show you the way.¡± Alina grabbed an empty basket in which she¡¯d brought herbs and pastries. She prepared to leave. ¡°That¡¯s a pretty bracelet,¡± she added on her way out, eyeing the gold bracelet Aden had given her. ¡°I¡¯ll see you in two days, Miren.¡±

    Vira sighed with relief. Alina was a good person. She had helped them a lot, and without her, there had been days¡ªbefore Vira got to know Aden better¡ªwhen they wouldn¡¯t have made it without Alina¡¯s support. But Alina had a completely different way of life than theirs.

    Her grandmother was a bit unorthodox in how she raised her, and Vira felt lucky for it. On one hand, she had more responsibilities since it was just the two of them. On the other hand, she felt like she grew up with a different mindset than her peers. She took on all the roles of someone responsible for a household, and maybe that was why she became so close to Aden. They both had to grow up quickly. She promised herself that, when she became Aden¡¯s companion, no one would ever find themselves in a position like hers and her grandmother¡¯s years ago. She would make sure that everyone was taken care of.

    At dinner, she set two plates and lit the candles on a small table. Her grandmother needed some help moving to one of the chairs. After they finished eating, a comfortable silence settled around them, and fresh air wafted in through the open window. Vira cleared the dirty plates and stood to take them to the kitchen.

    ¡°Bring me a cup of water, my dear,¡± her grandmother asked.

    Vira returned with a cup of water and set it on the table.

    ¡°Sit with me for a moment,¡± her grandmother said, taking Vira¡¯s hand in hers. ¡°You¡¯re going to be married soon. And you¡¯re going to lead our tribe.¡± Her eyes grew watery. ¡°Aden is a good man, but many responsibilities will come for both of you. You must support each other. But the most important thing is that you can never forget who you are and what makes you the person you are now. No matter how many years pass, always remember me and your mother. The women in our family have always been strong, and you are no exception. But the world is changing, and sometimes I fear what will happen to you when I¡¯m gone.¡±If you find this story on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen. Please report the infringement.

    ¡°Ma,¡± Vira stood and walked around the table to hug her grandmother tightly.

    ¡°I¡¯m not going anywhere,¡± she said softly. ¡°I will still be here, every day. I will always be with you, and I will never forget you or your mother.¡±

    ¡°You¡¯re all grown up now,¡± her grandmother said with a smile, though tears filled her eyes.

    ¡°Do you have your mother¡¯s ring?¡±

    Vira nodded and pulled an old metal band from underneath her shirt, where it hung around her neck.

    ¡°Good,¡± her grandmother said. ¡°Now, take the candle.¡± She gestured to one of the candles lit at the table. It was old and thick, with wax spilled all around it. Her grandmother placed the cup of water in front of her.

    ¡°You know what to do.¡± Vira glanced quickly at her grandmother. It was unusual for her to engage in divination. None of the things she¡¯d seen in candle wax or any other form of divination had ever come true. Still, her grandmother seemed too moved, and Vira didn¡¯t want to upset her.

    She held her mother¡¯s ring over the cup of water and began pouring the melted wax through it. For the ritual to work, the wax had to pass through a personal metal belonging of the person doing the divination¡ªat least, that¡¯s what the old stories said. Drops of melted wax slowly began to form a shape on the water¡¯s surface. It spun around. The shape was odd, she didn¡¯t recognize it.

    A few more drops, and she set the candle down, slipping the ring back around her neck. She still didn¡¯t recognize the shape. A big flower, perhaps? A symbol of beauty? A star, a symbol of a bright future? It didn¡¯t match the more common shapes they usually saw in the cups. Her grandmother studied the cup, her lips pressed into a fine line. After a moment, she put it down.

    ¡°It¡¯s a bear,¡± she said softly.

    ¡°A bear?¡± Vira leaned in to look again. The shape did resemble a bear, a little. ¡°What does it mean?¡± She glanced up at her grandmother.

    ¡°It¡¯s a symbol of strength, of power,¡± her grandmother replied. Vira felt a wave of relief¡ªthat¡¯s what being the chief¡¯s companion meant, after all.

    ¡°But it also means challenge and¡­¡± Her grandmother paused for a moment, considering her granddaughter. ¡°Solitude,¡± she finished.

    Vira was taken aback. That seemed the exact opposite of what her life would be. Her role meant she would be deeply involved in everyone¡¯s life; her duties were tied directly to the lives of every member of the tribe. One of her fears had always been that the lack of solitude would become overwhelming. She swallowed a surge of uncertainty.

    ¡°It¡¯s just an old custom,¡± she said quickly. ¡°Those things never come true.¡± She put out the candle and smiled, taking her grandmother¡¯s hand reassuringly.

    ¡°Maybe it means that my life with Aden will have its challenges, but we¡¯re strong enough to face them,¡± she added.

    ¡°I¡¯m sure that¡¯s what it says.¡± Her grandmother kissed her on the head.

    ¡°Go to the fires. I¡¯m too old and tired to join.¡±

    That evening, as Vira left her grandmother behind, she couldn¡¯t shake the feeling that the old woman was holding something back.

    <hr>

    Vira stepped out the door, her bare feet avoiding the clay bowl that had held milk the day before. The rim was stained with tiny paw prints¡ªperhaps from a forest cat, though she''d never dare suggest that to her grandmother. The offering was meant for the spirits, a nightly exchange: milk for peace. Even now, preparing to start her own household, she found comfort in these small rituals that had shaped her life. She would continue them, if only to see her grandmother''s approving smile. Tradition wasn''t just about belief; it was the thread that kept their tribe whole.

    The morning air carried the scent of woodsmoke and autumn leaves. Though Vira didn''t truly believe in the malevolent spirits her grandmother spoke of¡ªthe ones that supposedly stalked the forests hunting for careless wanderers¡ªshe knew all too well the real dangers that lurked beyond their borders. She''d seen the scorched earth left by passing mages, heard tales of villages destroyed by unchecked power. Their adherence to the old ways, to the Mother of Crops'' teachings, was their shield against such chaos. Soon, she would stand beside Aden as he carried this weighty responsibility. The thought filled her with both pride and apprehension.

    Aden was waiting for her near one of the fires, where the evening meals took place. A few villagers had begun to gather, but it was still too early for the majority of them to arrive for the evening celebration. The flames cast long shadows across his face as he methodically fed dead leaves into the fire, each one curling and blackening before dissolving into smoke. His shoulders were tight with tension, and Vira''s heart sank¡ªhis father must have rejected his proposal. She settled beside him, her hand finding his shoulder, feeling the knots of stress beneath her fingers. She said nothing, knowing he would speak when ready.

    In their frequent excursions, Aden and Vira had discovered better land for the tribe to settle¡ªrich soil that crumbled perfectly between their fingers, natural windbreaks that would shelter their homes from the bitter mountain gusts, and high cliffs that would discourage unwanted visitors. Moving would reduce the need for constant repairs to their homes and fences. It seemed like such a simple solution. Yes, it would require bold leadership to make it a reality, but in the end, the tribe¡¯s life would be improved immeasurably.

    "I just don''t understand." Aden''s voice cracked slightly as he snapped a twig, its breaking sound sharp as a whip in the evening quiet. He tossed the pieces into the flames without meeting her eyes. "It makes no sense. We would have been so much better there. So many of our problems would disappear, just like that!" His fingers twisted another twig. "I don''t know how he doesn''t see that."

    "Did your father say why he doesn''t want to move the village?" Vira watched the firelight dance across his familiar features, highlighting the stubborn set of his jaw¡ªso like his father''s.

    Aden sighed. "Yes. He says that we cannot leave the place of our ancestors, that we need to guard the temples and continue our responsibilities."

    Aden meant the old temples of the Mother of Crops and the minor gods around her whom their tribe worshiped. She was the goddess of harvest and the one who stood against the light magic. The temples, carved into ancient caves, were sacred among their people. Their walls were full of rare gemstones that could never be removed, gems that could easily fall prey to outsiders'' greed. Each gem seemed to pulse with its own inner fire, precious beyond measure. They had to be protected; the tribe had a duty that had to be carried out. Aden''s father would consider it blasphemy to leave them to be stolen and used as jewelry or, worse, as a form of payment.

    Vira considered how to reply as she watched the crackling bonfire. It seemed almost blue at the edges after sunset. She had always found the world beautiful at this hour¡ªpeaceful and at ease, as if all of the day''s problems were put to sleep with the sun behind the horizon.

    In just three days, Aden would go through the ritual and take over leadership of their tribe. Until then, any decision made by his father was final. Vira doubted that Aden would go against his father''s wishes, and she respected him for it. She had seen the scars his father carried, heard the screams that sometimes echoed from the sacred caves. But Aden had trained his whole life for this moment. The tribe needed strong leadership, and her own fears had no place in the face of their people''s needs.

    Only three days were left until he became chief and married her. Only three days left of living with her grandmother. It wasn''t that she feared the change or felt unhappy, but she worried about her grandmother living alone. She would have to talk to Aden about moving her grandmother into their house. Her grandmother''s legs wouldn''t allow her to live independently, and Aden was understanding and cared about everyone in the tribe. He wouldn''t leave her grandmother alone. That''s why Vira loved him so much.

    <hr>

    A few hours later, the celebrations of the end of summer were about to begin.

    The sound of drums filled the air, their rhythm resonating through her veins. Fires blazed brightly, and fireflies danced frantically around the flames, as though nature itself had joined the celebration. Vira approached the elder woman, who held bowls of black and red paint. Dipping her wrinkled hand into the black paint with unexpected strength, the woman smeared it onto Vira''s forehead, and then did the same with the red. The earthly scent of paint entered her nostrils sharply.

    Vira saw the same markings on the woman¡¯s face: three turquoise lines on each cheek, and a black circle with lines radiating from it on her forehead. The black paint was meant to protect against evil spirits. The red paint, sacred color of the Mother of Crops, gleamed wetly in the firelight, a prayer for a blessing.

    A sudden gust of cold wind swept through the gathering, briefly disturbing the flames of the fires. The chanting grew louder, merging with the steady pulse of the drums. Kiefer, one of the men, began to dance in the center. His limbs were covered in paint and tattoos of eyes and sacred symbols, moving in the flickering light, as if his body itself had its own will independent of the man and it was the one leading the dance. He swirled and twisted, bending his body in time with the rhythm, then halted, extending a hand toward the sky, every muscle taut with purpose.

    Each year, the performance varied, and the individual chosen to perform the village defense¡ªthis year, Kiefer¡ªwas the one who had excelled in the maturity ritual.

    Jena, a girl about Vira¡¯s age, joined the center of the celebration. Her hands were wrapped in tree bark, and she wore a mask with terrifying eyes and sharp teeth¡ªa mask of an evil spirit, the kind that was said to lurk by still water, disguised as beautiful maidens who led young people to their doom. These creatures, once their true form was revealed, were said to have bodies resembling twisted wood and empty pits in place of their eyes. Jena¡¯s movements were quicker; she crouched, then sprang up, spinning then circling Kiefer like a snake.

    Vira stood at the front line of the crowd surrounding the spectacle. She saw familiar faces around. Aden was to her left, not far off. She spotted her grandmother further in the crowd and Alina on the opposite side of the dance, barely visible through the smoke.

    A third figure joined the performance. Cloaked in a hood, the figure held a shard of glass in one hand. A shiver ran down Vira¡¯s spine. It was a mage. She didn¡¯t recognize the figure behind the disguise, but there was no mistaking the costume. The mage didn¡¯t dance but instead followed closely behind the spirit, never taking their eyes off Kiefer. The spirit moved in large, exaggerated steps, pausing at intervals to bend or turn in rhythm, while the mage stayed close, synchronized with every movement.

    The drums grew louder, and the flames leaped higher, licking the tops of the trees that surrounded the glade. Kiefer took a defensive stance, his gaze fixed. A spear was handed to him. The evil spirit hissed at him, cutting through the night air like a blade. Kiefer threw the spear, but the spirit dodged it with practiced grace, as if it were all part of the choreography. The crowd''s chanting intensified. "Be gone, be gone!" Vira joined in, her voice joining the others.

    The spirit drew closer to Kiefer, the mage lingering in its shadow. Suddenly, a large knife appeared in the spirit¡¯s hand. It swung the blade in a slow arc. Kiefer tried to block the strike, but the mage raised the shard of glass, and Kiefer froze. He sank to one knee, paralyzed. The spirit laughed, its movements jerky and unnervingly fast, its shrieks filling the air.

    Kiefer looked toward the woods.

    "Mother of Crops, help me defend against this evil!" he cried.

    A sharp crack rang out. The flames dimmed, and the evil spirit let out a high-pitched wail, its movements faltering. A red and yellow arrow was embedded in its chest. With a final, pitiful gasp, the spirit collapsed to the ground, defeated. Kiefer rose to his feet.

    Only Kiefer and the mage remained. Kiefer gripped a knife tightly in his hand. The mage began to tremble, backing away, muttering words Vira couldn¡¯t understand. Kiefer closed the distance between them and seized the mage¡¯s cloak. The drums stopped. Vira looked to the other side of the crowd. Alina was looking right at her.

    Without warning, Kiefer struck. The mage crumpled to the ground in silence, red liquid spilling from their wound. For a brief moment, everything stilled.

    Then, with a triumphant gesture, Kiefer raised his knife high. The crowd erupted with renewed fervor, the drums and voices sounding once more. Vira lost Alina¡¯s stare as the dancers filled the space, and the celebration began in earnest.

 Chapter 3: Evelyn

    Evelyn Andrews ran through the corridor of the Red Magic faculty, late for the second time this week. She was out of breath, sweaty, her hands full with lesson supplies, and her vision obscured by a tangle of hair and the awkward branches of a lemon tree. It would have been so much easier if she wasn''t the one leading the class. She hoped she could get to the classroom unnoticed.

    No such luck.

    Out of everyone she could run into, it had to be the headmaster of the Academy of Light, stepping out of an adjoining corridor at the worst possible moment. The same headmaster she would soon need to ask about a permanent position at the Academy.

    She barely avoided a collision¡ªa hair¡¯s breadth between keeping her balance and falling straight into him. The only saving grace was that she managed to keep the pots in her hands from crashing to the floor.

    "Miss Evelyn! Don¡¯t keep your students waiting. If we won¡¯t uphold standards, who will?" The headmaster, an elegant man in his early forties, spoke with a stern voice, surprise flickering across his face as he came to an abrupt halt.

    "I¡¯m sorry, it won¡¯t happen again!" she stammered through the branches still stuck in her face. But he was already walking away.

    Embarrassed, she hurried to the classroom.

    Most of the students were already in their seats, prepared with stained glass lenses, prisms, and notebooks. The wealthier ones had crystals. Evelyn set her supplies down, took a steadying breath, and opened a window to let in some fresh air. She maneuvered around the plants crowding the space: a rhododendron with pale white petals blushing pink at the edges, a pot of spring gentians with their vivid blue flowers, a dwarfed pear tree, and even a physalis with its red, lantern-like fruits. All still flowering or fruiting despite October¡¯s reign.

    The classroom resembled a greenhouse, with plants and vegetables cultivated and stacked along the walls, their growth gradually encroaching on some of the student tables¡ªthere was never quite enough room for new seedlings. Amid the greenery, the space was also dotted with common glass instruments essential for teaching the magic of light.

    The plants weren¡¯t confined to the classroom, either. The Red Magic faculty had its own greenhouses filled with exotic and rare specimens, many used in potion-making, including some especially sensitive to light. The classroom walls were decorated with hand-painted watercolor posters of field plants and insects essential for potions that enhanced red mages'' abilities. Most of these specimen could be found exhibited in glass cabinets in the gallery of the faculty.

    "Welcome to class. Apologies for my lateness; let¡¯s proceed with the lesson as planned," Evelyn said, her tone brisk yet composed. Her gaze flickered to Jeremy, who rolled his eyes with an air of impatience. She was all too familiar with his attitude. Being the valedictorian, he seemed to believe it gave him the right to look down on an assistant like her. Yet, despite her experience, his disdain still managed to rattle her nerves whenever she faced the class.

    That part of working at the Academy she did not care for. Her passion lied in research, she preferred to stay in the library, buried between the books and reading up on theories. She wasn''t particularly exceptional at her work (hence the lack of a permanent position) but she loved learning about magic theory and searching for new ways to apply it, to expand its use.

    Evelyn launched into the lesson, gesturing to the pots she had brought. "Today we¡¯ll continue where we left off last time. I¡¯ll demonstrate, and afterward, you¡¯ll have a chance to practice. Next week, Professor Pendell will test your skills, so pay attention."

    She pointed at the plants. "Now, who can tell me what these are and how we use them?"

    A few hands shot up. Maybe her day wasn''t so unlucky, if the students had enough motivation to be active in class. Evelyn nodded to Claire, a clever blonde girl in the second row.

    "That¡¯s a lemon tree, a rose, and... a carrot?" Claire ventured.

    Some students stifled giggles, but Evelyn ignored them.

    "Correct. Now, who can explain what red mages can do with these plants?"

    Jeremy smirked. "We can eat them."

    Laughter rippled through the room, but Evelyn let it slide. She couldn¡¯t afford to antagonize one of the Academy¡¯s star students, not when her own position was precarious.

    "Jeremy," she said calmly, "being the best means maintaining certain standards. If you aspire to lead someday, remember that."

    Jeremy¡¯s face reddened. He was known to dream of joining the Royal Magical Advisor Board, a prestigious body dominated by blue mages. Even his prominent family and natural talent wouldn¡¯t guarantee him a place there.

    "Try again," Evelyn prompted.

    Jeremy exhaled sharply but replied, "We can cultivate them, increase their growth and fruit production, encourage earlier flowering, and, in the case of the rose, alter the petal color or seed yield."

    "Exactly. And the limitations of red magic?" she asked.

    Another student raised a hand. ¡°Time. We can¡¯t speed up growth indefinitely, only a small part each season. Distance, since we need to be close to the plants and see the light source, and equipment to help focus the light magic. And uncertainty of course.¡±

    ¡°Good,¡± Evelyn said. ¡°But you missed one key challenge: precision. Plants are notoriously finicky. Some, like the pellax fern, need just a touch of morning sunlight, but give them too much at the wrong time, and you¡¯ll end up with dried trunks and fallen leaves. Precision is what makes a great red mage. Our role is more important than most people realize. Red mages are responsible for crops, food supply, and even land management. We prevent famines and floods by carefully planning the placement of trees and crops.¡±

    Seeing the students grow restless, she added, ¡°Enough theory¡ªlet¡¯s move to practice.¡±

    Stolen novel; please report.Energy filled the room as students gathered around the demonstration table. Evelyn called on Jenny, a brown-eyed girl.

    ¡°Do you have your lens?¡±

    Jenny held up a small circular piece of glass. Evelyn nodded. ¡°Good. Choose a plant and begin.¡±

    Jenny stepped to the lemon tree and raised one hand over it, holding the lens in the other. Sunlight streamed through the classroom¡¯s glass ceiling¡ªa necessary feature for the studies. Lessons such as this one could only be held in perfect weather conditions, when the sun was strong enough for a beginner to be able to use it.

    ¡°Focus on the light,¡± Evelyn said. ¡°Feel it become a part of you. Use the lens to gather the red parts of the light and guide them to the plant. Slowly. Plants grow on their own terms.¡±

    After a few moments, she nodded. ¡°That¡¯s enough.¡±

    Jenny stopped, and Evelyn gestured for the class to look closely. ¡°See how the leaves are just a little shinier? A bit greener? The change is subtle but meaningful. A a trained eye will catch it. Regular care like this can significantly speed up growth.¡±

    Two more students took turns practicing before Evelyn assigned homework to study the habits of the plants they worked with. She dismissed the class and left, exhausted.

    Evelyn left the classroom, fatigue weighing heavily on her. She made her way to the assistants¡¯ office on the far side of the building, determined to prepare the next day¡¯s lesson and catch up on the mountain of work she¡¯d fallen behind on.

    She sighed deeply, her thoughts drifting to her thesis on the ancient history of plant magic and its uses. Progress had stalled for weeks. The historical sources she relied on were sparse and incomplete, and her ambitious theory¡ªlinking ancient magical communities to regions abundant in plant life¡ªseemed to be heading nowhere.

    She couldn¡¯t answer a question: had mages expanded pre-existing green areas, or had they cultivated lush environments from barren land? Her resources offered little clarity. The fragments she pieced together¡ªa mix of ancient potion recipes, patchy historical records, and local legends¡ªblurred fact and fiction to such an extent that separating them felt impossible.

    Still, she couldn''t help but be captured by the complexity of different approaches to the plants that different ancient populations displayed. Some of them believed that the plants were sacred and as such should be left alone.

    Others¡ªher personal favorites¡ªplaced red mages at the fillars of society, treating them as divine providers of sustenance. In those cultures, red mages were elevated, akin to gods, a far cry from the present reality.

    It was difficult to believe that red mages would be treated better than the blue mages. That certainly hadn''t been the case for a long time.

    <hr>

    Thankfully, Evelyn was alone in the office. She could rest without interruptions. The walls were draped with ivy that curled and crawled over almost every surface, giving the room an almost secretive air. Setting her backpack aside, her eyes fell on a note placed neatly on her desk beside her half-empty ink bottle. The handwriting was elegant and tall.

    Dear Ms. Andrews,

    please come see me in my office this afternoon at 3 pm, after you have concluded your lectures.

    Respectfully,

    Orpheus Mellert

    Evelyn¡¯s throat tightened. Orpheus Mellert, the headmaster of the Academy, wasn¡¯t just any superior¡ªhe was a member of the Royal Magical Board and one of the most renowned mages in the kingdom. A summons like this was never casual. Her thoughts jumped to her earlier tardiness. Was this about that? Explaining herself to someone of Mellert¡¯s stature was unthinkable. Her nerves gnawed at her composure as she glanced at the wall clock. It was already ten to three. She didn''t even have time to prepare or gather her thoughts.

    Hurriedly, she tried to tame her hair with a pearl hairpin, a birthday gift from a friend. The curls refused to cooperate, and after a few attempts, she gave up. She left the office and made her way to the headmaster¡¯s quarters.

    Taking a steadying breath, Evelyn knocked on the heavy oak door. Inside, the headmaster¡¯s office was as imposing as she imagined: spacious, lined with bookshelves crammed with tomes on light magic, history, and political reports from neighboring kingdoms. A large desk dominated the center of the room, its surface scattered with documents and a beautifully encrusted typing machine.

    ¡°Miss Andrews,¡± Mellert greeted her, looking up from his work. ¡°I''m glad you found the time to meet with me. Please, have a seat.¡± He gestured to a cushioned chair opposite him.

    Evelyn sat down, fidgeting under his piercing gaze. She felt inadequate in the presence of one of her idols. She had hoped to pass her years at the Academy without ever attracting his attention.

    ¡°I understand you¡¯re working here as an assistant to Professor Pendell,¡± Mellert began, ¡°and that you aspire to secure a permanent position at the Academy.¡±

    She nodded, her heart pounding.

    ¡°I¡¯ve reviewed your research,¡± he continued, his tone measured. ¡°I have to admit¡ªwhile they are good¡ªthey are not exceptional.¡±

    Evelyn¡¯s stomach sank. This was it. Her efforts weren¡¯t enough. She¡¯d chosen a career path that demanded more than she could offer, and now she was about to face the humiliation of hearing it from the very person she admired most. She felt her hands turn sweaty.

    Mellert¡¯s expression softened slightly. ¡°However, I don¡¯t believe in quick judgments. I see potential in you, Miss Andrews. Your dedication to your work is clear.¡±

    Her breath hitched as she waited for his next words.

    ¡°I have a proposition for you,¡± he said. ¡°An extremely important endeavor is underway: the creation of a magical artifact that, if successful, could become one of the most significant discoveries of this century¡ªperhaps even in the recent history of magic.¡± He paused, letting the weight of his words settle. ¡°The project is strictly confidential. I cannot share specifics until you agree to participate.¡±

    He leaned forward slightly. ¡°This requires the combined effort of the best mages and engineers in the kingdom. We need as much help as we can get. I would like to offer you a part in this project, not a large one, but a part nonetheless. It¡¯s an opportunity to hone your skills, and success here could greatly enhance your chances of securing a permanent position. Unfortunately I cannot say much more than this before you agree, as I was personally sworn to secrecy by the King.¡±

    ¡°I must warn you,¡± Mellert added, his tone grave. ¡°This project is protected by the highest secrecy. Sharing any details, even with close confidants, would be considered an act of treason.¡±

    For a moment, Evelyn couldn¡¯t speak, her mind racing. Sensing her hesitation, Mellert continued, ¡°You don¡¯t have to give me an answer right now¡­¡±

    ¡°Yes, I¡¯ll do it,¡± Evelyn said, the words escaping almost as soon as she overcame the initial shock. This was her chance¡ªher opportunity to prove herself and secure the position she had longed for. The details could come later; what mattered most was that her dream was still within reach. A spark of hope flickered to life within her, and she would do everything that this work required to be successful.

    The headmaster¡¯s expression softened into a warm, knowing smile.

    ¡°That¡¯s excellent news. I¡¯ll admit, I was hoping you¡¯d agree¡ªit would be a shame to lose someone with such potential.¡±

    Evelyn¡¯s heart raced, a mix of nervousness and excitement coursing through her. The gravity of the project wasn¡¯t lost on her. She felt nervous excitation at the prospect of working on a project so important, it had to be protected by a treason punishment.

    ¡°I¡¯m afraid I don¡¯t have time to introduce you to the project myself,¡± Mellert continued. ¡°You¡¯ll be working closely with Professor Hart and his assistant. In fact, his assistant should be here shortly to brief you and explain everything in detail.¡±

 Chapter 4: Vira

    5 years ago

    The day of her wedding was sunny. A good sign, her grandmother had said.

    She felt beautiful. She was beautiful. Her grandmother cried softly at the sight of Vira in her ceremonial dress. Vira¡¯s dress was simple: white with a vest embroidered in vibrant colors. Three rows of red beads adorned her collarbone, and atop her head sat the most exquisite flower crown she¡¯d ever seen, lush with cornflowers, poppies, and dandelions interwoven with green leaves. It brought out her eyes. The warm aroma of wedding chalka, baked fresh that morning, filled the house. She left her hair loose, falling down on her shoulders.

    Outside, the young women of the village surrounded her, their voices rising in a harmonious chant. The melody carried on the breeze like a blessing, a prelude to a life of joy and love.

    They made their way thorough the village in the direction of the clearing where most important events took place. Aden had successfully completed his trials, though he was left with a scar on his face that cut through his left eye. Vira found it strangely alluring, a mark of his strength that only deepened her affection for him.

    The entire tribe had gathered, forming a semi-circle. At the center stood Aden¡¯s father, solemn and proud, his skin painted with intricate symbols of rank and ceremony. Aden stood beside him, his body covered with new tattoos signifying his rank and wedding painting on his skin. Vira¡¯s skin also bore ceremonial markings on top of her tattoos. Symbols for prosperity, longevity, fertility ad protection mixed among different colors of the paints. She felt as though she carried the blessings of the entire village on her shoulders.

    Even the sky seemed to open completely. She felt a lump form in her throat as tears welled in her eyes. Recently, it seemed as if she couldn¡¯t stop crying¡ªeverything moved her. And this moment was no exception.

    She walked up to Aden and stood before his father, who wore a proud expression and smiled at her warmly. He, too, was dressed in celebratory attire, his skin adorned with intricate blue paint that marked his status and reverence for the occasion.

    Her grandmother stood close by, watching her with a quiet, tearful smile. When their eyes met, Vira couldn¡¯t help the flood of emotion that overtook her. She smiled wider, unable to stop the tears of happiness that spilled down her cheeks. She quickly brushed them away, but then caught a glimpse of Aden, stifling his laughter. His eyes were filled with adoration as he gazed at her, his smile wide. Vira felt his love for her like a warm blanket, a shield against everything bad in the world.

    ¡°Members of the tribe, followers of the Mother,¡± Aden¡¯s father began, his voice steady and powerful. ¡°My son has fulfilled his destiny and is ready to take on the responsibility of his legacy as your chief, the one who will lead you. He will replace me in this difficult task. And just as I was entrusted with this duty, and could not fulfill it without the help of my beloved companion, who is dearly missed...¡± Vira felt her eyes sting a little, the sun was even brighter today, unusually for this time of the year,

    ¡°...so too will my son be supported by his beloved,¡± he continued, his voice thick with emotion. Vira blinked a couple of time, but the stinging remained. She tried to discreetly rub her eye a little to get some relief. ¡°They will guide each other, help each other through difficult times, and form a union of peace and mutual respect. A love that will grow, just as our tribe will grow.¡±

    The stinging returned, sharper this time, and she couldn¡¯t stop herself from rubbing her eyes again. Aden shot her a concerned glance, his brow furrowed. Aden¡¯s father paused, his gaze flicking to her briefly, but then he carried on.

    ¡°We are here today to celebrate the union of these two souls, who have chosen to become one¡ª¡±

    His words were abruptly interrupted by a shriek from the crowd, cutting through the air.

    <hr>

    "Look at her eyes!" a woman shrieked. "Look at her eyes and tell me she¡¯s normal!" It was Alina, her grandmother''s cousin, pointing an accusing finger at Vira. "She¡¯s a mage!"

    A murmur spread through the crowd creating the tension in the air.

    "I saw with my own eyes how she reacted to light three days ago," Alina continued, her voice growing more frantic. "She kept turning her eyes away from the light since then. At first, I thought she was just tired¡ªpoor girl¡ªbut I looked closer, and trust me, there¡¯s evil in that girl! Look at her eyes, she has a blue ring around her irises!"

    She looked expectantly at the chief. Vira stood frozen, unable to speak, the words feeling surreal as the sting in her eyes intensified.

    "What are you talking about you fool?" Vira¡¯s grandmother demanded, her voice shaking with anger. "Have you lost your mind? This is Vira, the girl you¡¯ve known since birth. She¡¯s as good as they come! She¡¯s no mage!"

    Her grandmother hobbled toward Vira and grabbed her hand tightly. Vira felt the strength of her grip, but it wasn¡¯t comforting. It only fed her fear.

    "Alina, what are you talking about?" Vira asked, her tone steady despite the tumult of emotions inside her.

    "Those are grave words you speak." Finally, the chief addressed Alina. The entire tribe fell silent, waiting for him to continue.

    "Vira has always been a great girl," he said, his voice firm. "A great woman. My son chose her as his companion. I have never had any doubt about her character."

    "I¡¯m not a mage," Vira said, trying to laugh off the tension, but her voice faltered as the air around her grew heavier. "I¡¯ve always followed the ways of the Mother of the Crops. You know that. You visit us often."Help support creative writers by finding and reading their stories on the original site.

    "Yes, I¡¯ve been keeping an eye on you all these years," Alina sneered. "And I¡¯ve always been suspicious of you. Always wandering around, who knows what you¡¯ve been doing alone in the forest?"

    "I¡¯ve never gone alone," Vira replied quickly. "I was with Aden, or other members of the tribe."

    "Can you prove it?" Alina shot back, her eyes gleaming with accusation. "I¡¯ve seen you so many times, going alone into the woods. Who knows what kind of magic you¡¯ve been practicing there? And then, just one day, out of nowhere, Aden¡ª the chief¡¯s son¡ª announces that he¡¯s chosen you as his companion? How are we to know you didn¡¯t bewitch him with your powers?"

    Some of the people in the crowd nodded, their faces filled with doubt.

    "That¡¯s not true!" Vira protested. "We¡¯ve been friends for a long time. Everyone knows this."

    "They have been acquainted for a long time," the chief interjected, cutting off the argument. Alina turned to him, her eyes filled with frustration.

    "Then look at her eyes," she demanded. "Look at them and tell me I¡¯m wrong."

    Silence fell over the crowd, and Vira could hardly believe what was happening. The accusations were absurd, and she couldn¡¯t fathom what the old woman hoped to gain from such lies. They would inevitably be exposed, and Alina would face the consequences for her wrongful and malicious claims.

    The chief studied Vira for a long moment, his gaze unwavering. Then he gestured to his warriors. Two men stepped forward and approached her.

    "Leave her alone!" Vira¡¯s grandmother cried, pushing them away. But another woman, one of the warriors, held her back.

    The men grabbed Vira¡¯s arms, pulling them behind her back as they held her still. The chief approached her with a grave look.

    "It¡¯s fine, Ma," Vira said, her voice steady despite the pounding of her heart. "I¡¯m not a mage, everything will be alright."

    She threw a quick look at Aden, but he said nothing, his face impassive. Wasn¡¯t he going to speak up? Didn¡¯t he care?

    The chief stood before her, silent for a long moment, his face unreadable. They rarely spoke directly to one another, but she had never sensed any animosity between them¡ªhe had never opposed her relationship with his son.

    "Do you see now?" Alina cackled, her voice filled with satisfaction.

    "Let her go!" Her grandmother struggled against the grip of the other warrior, but she couldn¡¯t free herself. Vira¡¯s chest tightened as she realized the strain on her grandmother¡¯s legs.

    The tribe members gathered around, peering closely at Vira¡¯s eyes. A hush fell over them as one of the older men spoke.

    "It could just be the natural coloration of her eyes," he said softly. "Some people have darker rings around their irises, a shade of blue that¡¯s only slightly darker than the rest of their eyes. It doesn¡¯t have to be magic."

    "But it could be," the old hag¡¯s voice dripped with malice. "There is no place for the root of evil among us. She¡¯s tainted, unnatural. She should be killed."

    Vira fought against the hold of the two men. "Like hell I am!" She managed to break free for a moment, but they quickly restrained her again. "I¡¯m not a mage! I don¡¯t know anything about magic! I¡¯ve always followed our ways!"

    "You must have strayed from them," someone in the crowd called out.

    "Magic comes to those who seek it," another voice added. "It may not be your fault, child, but it shows what¡¯s inside you. It can¡¯t be helped."

    "Stop that!" Her grandmother shouted, her voice trembling with desperation. "This is Vira! You all know her since she was born¡ªshe¡¯s not a mage! She¡¯s my granddaughter!"

    "Take her to the cave and guard her while we decide what to do with her," the chief commanded. The two men grabbed Vira again and began pulling her toward the caves, the place where prisoners and accused were held. A pang of fear shot through her chest.

    "Aden," she turned toward him, her voice trembling, but he didn¡¯t speak, only watched as she was dragged away, the cold shadows of the caves waiting ahead.

    <hr>

    Two days. Vira had spent two endless days in the damp, cold darkness of the cave. The only break in her isolation came when the door creaked open for her meals. The boy who brought them barely stepped inside, avoiding her gaze as though she were a wild animal. She remembered helping him climb down from a tree when he was younger, his cries of fear turning to gratitude when she coaxed him to safety. Now, he couldn¡¯t even look at her.

    The cave was hellish. Her tangled hair clung to her neck, her skin chilled from the rough stone walls. Through the cracks in the wooden door, she could just make out the faint light of night outside. It seemed like another day would pass without news, without answers. She let out a sigh and leaned back against the wall, only to feel a sharp jab. Turning, she found one of the gemstones embedded in the stone¡ªthose precious stones that had given her tribe a home and a purpose, the very reason they settled in this unforgiving land. It was laughable.

    They thought she was a mage?

    The past two days all she could do was think. Why had Alina accused her, when she clearly wasn¡¯t a mage? Jealousy, she had reasoned at first, but what of Aden¡¯s father? Why had he gone along with such an outrageous claim? If he didn¡¯t want her as his son¡¯s companion, why had he never opposed their union outright? This wasn¡¯t ignorance; he was too shrewd to believe such a baseless accusation. Was it a ploy to maintain control over Aden? To undermine her influence?

    The questions clawed at her, but one more sinister thought loomed at the edges of her mind, threatening to take hold. Would they kill her? Execution for alleged magic hadn¡¯t happened in her lifetime, but the old stories still lingered¡ªtales of mages corrupting the land, of purges in the name of purity. She shook her head sharply, as though to dislodge the thought. No. They wouldn¡¯t go that far. Not her tribe, her family. Families support each other. Aden wouldn¡¯t let it happen. He wouldn¡¯t.

    The door creaked again, and her heart jumped. A shadow entered, and she squinted into the faint light. Someone reached down, gripping her arm and pulling her to her feet.

    ¡°Time to go,¡± Elise¡¯s voice came, low and curt. ¡°They¡¯ve decided what to do with you.¡±

    Elise, one of the warriors, held her firmly. Vira had expected a crowd, perhaps the entire tribe gathered to witness the verdict. Instead, there were only a few figures waiting outside: the chief, two more warriors, Alina, and two strangers. Something was wrong. Outsiders were never allowed here.

    The gag in her mouth silenced her questions, and Elise¡¯s grip kept her from struggling. She had years of training over Vira.

    ¡°That¡¯s the girl,¡± Aden¡¯s father said, his voice detached as he gestured to the strangers.

    The taller man frowned, studying her with an expression that made her skin crawl. ¡°She¡¯s a bit old to manifest magic, no?¡±

    ¡°She¡¯s a mage,¡± Alina hissed, her tone dripping with conviction. ¡°There¡¯s no doubt.¡±

    Vira¡¯s eyes pleaded with Aden¡¯s father. Surely, he would stop this madness, call out Alina¡¯s lies. But he didn¡¯t meet her gaze. He stared past her, his face impassive.

    Elise shoved her forward, delivering her into the taller man¡¯s waiting hands. The stench of him hit her like a wave, and she fought back a gag.

    ¡°You won¡¯t need this bracelet where you¡¯re going,¡± Alina sneered, slipping the piece of jewelry from Vira¡¯s wrist. Her voice was devoid of sympathy as she added, ¡°I will pray for you.¡±

    Vira struggled, twisting against the rough grip of the men, but it was futile. They dragged her to a waiting horse and hoisted her onto it without care. As the riders moved out, the familiar land blurred into shadows behind her, the faces of her tribe receding into darkness. The last thing she saw was Alina¡¯s cold, satisfied smile.

 Chapter 5: Vira

    5 years earlier

    Ropes burned her wrists, and thirst parched her throat. They stopped for the night in the woods. A small fire flickered, offering no warmth to her distant spot. Two men sat nearby: one wiry with sickly pale skin, the other muscular but nearly toothless. Both were filthy. She leaned against the rough bark of a tree, which dug uncomfortably into her back. With tied hands she couldn''t get rid of a bug that crawled on her. At least she wasn¡¯t gagged anymore.

    The men roasted meat and mushrooms over the fire. The mushrooms had green tops, sparking a brief hope within her. But a glance revealed they were the edible kind. It was very common for folk to mistake the poison for edible green mushrooms. Her grandma taught her how to distinguish them. Saliva pooled in her mouth as the meat sizzled, but all she received was a piece of stale bread from their bag.

    The sound of hoofbeats reached her before she saw the rider. A man arrived with a boy, whose hands were also tied. Vira watched, her despair deepening.

    "Did you save some meat for me?" the third man asked, taking the boy off the horse. He tugged the child roughly, pausing when he noticed Vira, then shoved the boy to the ground beside her. The child couldn¡¯t have been older than ten. Tears streaked down his face, covered in dirt, likely from the long ride.

    "That one¡¯s a bit old, don¡¯t you think?" the man remarked, eyeing Vira. "Won¡¯t make much profit as a mage."

    "She''s a blue mage," the man raised his eyebrows in surprise. "Besides," the wiry one added, "selling her anywhere else is too risky. We¡¯d have to go farther than Aven, and we¡¯re too close to the border. I don¡¯t want to get caught hiding a blue mage. The boss will decide what to do with her." The others nodded in agreement.

    "What about the boy?"

    "Green mage. His mother tried to fight back, even cut me with a knife," the new man continued, showing a red stain on his jacket where a cloth was wrapped around a wound on his arm. "But I made sure she wouldn¡¯t do that again." The others snickered, and the boy cried silently.

    "They didn¡¯t want to sell him?"

    "No, he¡¯s from a village southwest of here," the toothless man grunted. "Those people are trouble, but they¡¯re easier to deal with than... the tribe and the people near the border."

    "You don¡¯t need to come with us to the boss, Bron," the taller man said, turning to the toothless one. "We can manage two scrawny kids on our own. You don¡¯t have to tire yourself from the travel."

    The man called Bron spat on the ground.

    "You think you¡¯ll get my cut, eh?" he snapped. "Forget it you scum. You two are always trying to cheat me. Nothing but cheaters." He pointed at the boy. "Don¡¯t cry, boy," he said, throwing a stone at him. The boy curled up further. "You don¡¯t have it so bad. Look at her. A grown woman, and doesn¡¯t cry!" The men laughed.

    "You''re lucky you have magic, or you''d end up a slave in the southern lands," the wiry one added, standing up and walking over to the boy. He leaned down, voice dripping with malice. "Are you a pretty lady?"

    "Yes, a pretty lady!" the man at the fire shouted drunkenly. The wiry one laughed and turned back to his companions, pretending to dance.

    "Should we dress him like one? If he so wishes to be one?" he mused, glancing at the boy. "He¡¯s got pretty blonde hair. It¡¯ll fit."

    Vira discreetly kicked the boy in the shin.

    "Stop crying," she hissed, just loud enough for the men to miss it. "Stop your crying, or it¡¯ll get worse."This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.

    The boy peeked at her with eyes so big it broke her heart how much pain and fear they held.

    "So?" The man turned around and looked at the boy, who hiccuped but managed to stop his tears.

    "Look, the lady decided to stop crying!" he shouted, leaning in close to the boy. "You better not cry anymore."

    Fortunately for the rest of the night the men left them alone. Vira¡¯s joints ached from sleeping on the cold forest floor, and the morning air was biting. The boy shivered beside her but didn¡¯t cry again.

    <hr>

    "What''s your name?" Vira asked quietly when the men prepared the horses.

    The boy whimpered, but didn¡¯t answer.

    They traveled all day, without a break, the storm clouds gathering ominously in the sky.

    "Damn," the third man swore, clearly the leader among them. "We¡¯ll have to stay another night. Won¡¯t make it to the estate until tomorrow."

    They stopped as evening fell, just as the storm was about to break. They found a small wooden shack that looked ready to collapse under the coming rain. It was empty, though it wasn¡¯t the first time they¡¯d come here¡ªthere was a familiarity in the way the men moved through the space. Vira and the boy, still tied, were shoved into a small, dark room that smelled of mold. The room seemed to have once been a pantry, but time had worn away all signs of it. There were no windows, but holes in the roof let in the rain. It was cold.

    One of the holes was made by a warped board. Vira felt her hair dampen, sweat mixing with the dirt on her skin. She was exhausted¡ªher body sore from the hard journey and another night on the unforgiving floor. The boy still hadn¡¯t said a word, curled up in a corner. The voices of the men grew louder outside, no doubt fueled by drink. Vira saw flickers of firelight through the crack under the door. Her stomach clenched with hunger. That night, they got no food. She lay on her back, staring up at the crack in the roof. Through it, she could see the sky. The roof had been pecked apart by birds, and the hole was eaten by mold and insects. She turned her head, trying to focus on the clouds instead. Beside her, an old shelf was leaning precariously, falling apart. She eyed it warily. It looked anything but stable.

    She waited until the voices and fire sounds died down.

    "Get up," she hissed, kicking the boy with her foot. He blinked up at her slowly, his eyes glazed with sleep. The storm outside cracked loudly. A small pool of water had formed on the floor beneath the roof hole.

    "Get up!" she whispered more urgently, pointing to the roof. "Help me get up there."

    She pointed to the shelf. "Hold this for me. We¡¯ll get out together."

    The boy looked at her, then at the shelf, and finally at the hole in the roof. His big, teary eyes met hers. He turned his head and sat back down on the floor.

    "What do you mean, no?" she asked, frustrated. "Don¡¯t you want to get out? You want to stay here with them?" She pointed to the wall separating them from the men. The boy remained silent, staring at the floor. They didn¡¯t have much time. Once the storm subsided, the sounds would carry in the shack.

    "Fine. Suit yourself," she snapped, anger rising. "Can you at least get the ropes off my hands?" She twisted to show him the ropes, and he nodded reluctantly.

    It took them almost a quarter of an hour to untie them, and Vira kept looking impatiently at the door. Finally, the ropes were off. She wanted to return the favor, but the boy scurried away and sat in the corner again. She shot him one last frustrated look, then pushed herself up onto the shelf. She needed to get at least herself out of here alive.

    The improvised ladder was wobbly beneath her. When she reached the hole, the wood was worse than she had expected, brittle and sharp. She began to make it larger. Splinters cut into her skin, and rain poured down on her, making the surface slippery. One of the boards slid under her nail, and she hissed in pain but kept pushing forward. The hardest part was not the escape itself, but getting onto the roof. She had to use her hands, which were already weak from the recent events. Still, with a grunt and a curse, she managed to haul herself up. She reached back through the hole, panting harshly, waiting for the boy to change his mind, but he remained motionless, stubborn.

    Sighing, Vira left the roof as quietly and gracefully as she could. Her feet landed softly in the wet grass. She was free. But she needed to move quickly, before any of the men noticed she was gone. She only hoped they wouldn¡¯t take their anger out on the boy.

    Her freedom waited in the forest behind her. Turning to the forest, she froze. A dark figure stood between her and freedom. Her blood turned to ice. It was one of the men¡ªshe could tell by his stance. The toothless one. He was swaying slightly as he walked back to the shack, unaware of her presence. She held her breath, trying to stay still, praying he wouldn¡¯t see her.

    Only ten more feet separated him from the door. She held her breath. Only a few seconds more¡­ A lightning bolt split the sky. Sharp light filled the space. The man stumbled and turned his head. The thunder that followed drowned out all other sound, and she felt her pulse hammer in her ears. Then a ringing. They broke out to run at the same moment. The man was too close, he caught her before she managed to reach the edge of the forest. Next thing she felt was pain on her face. Then again. And again.

 Chapter 6: Evelyn

    Evelyn felt excitement run through her veins and new energy filling her with purpose. This was her chance to finally make her dreams come true.

    A knocking sound filled the room.

    ¡®Come in!¡¯ Orpheus said.

    A man walked inside. Evelyn¡¯s heart sunk. Cal. Her initial excitement deflated.

    ¡®Professor-¡® his smile froze as he noticed Evelyn sitting in the room. The change was momentary, but Evelyn caught it, being used to his mannerism. He quickly schooled back his features to a pleasant expression.

    ¡®Hello Professor,¡¯ he nodded at the man and turned to her. ¡®Evelyn.¡¯ He gave her a reluctant smile. It clashed with his confident stance and straight posture. Before she could respond the professor cut in.¡®Oh, you know each other, wonderful!.¡¯ The man clasped his hands.

    Hesitation shone in Cal¡¯s eyes before he responded.

    ¡®Yes, we studied together here.¡¯ The older man¡¯s face beamed.

    They¡¯ve studied together, for sure. Evelyn still remembered him and his group of friends that made sure to make her, Jim, and Codie¡¯s life miserable. Him and his friend Avery. Despite the years of distance, Evelyn felt like she was transported back to those days and back to the person she was then. It was just one year where all the mages and potion makers studied together, but what a year it was. It turns out it remained etched in her memory much stronger than she expected. And now is all of the sudden erupted. She then continued to train in red magic and he went on to become one of the prodigies of their generation in blue magic. Because of course he did.

    ''Perfect, then I am sure that your cooperation will be fruitful Please introduce Ms. Andrews the scope of the project and her part in it. I wish you both all the best and success.'' With these words they were dismissed.

    Evelyn couldn¡¯t believe her bad luck, she really thought that she wouldn¡¯t have to meet him even again. But she wouldn¡¯t let it be an obstacle. It¡¯s been years since then and she¡¯s a different person now. Much more composed. And she would tackle it with dignity. This small obstacle wouldn¡¯t stand in her way of succeeding.

    They walked out and stood in the corridor at a distance slightly larger than politeness required in awkward silence.

    Standing in the corridor, her emotions under a sliver of control, she examined the man in front of her. He certainly changed. His face carried traces of maturity that took place of the teasing smirk he used to wear. She could see the first wrinkles on his forehead, even though he was only approaching thirty. He had a blue band ring on his third finger, similar to her red band one, a symbol of their magical affinity and an old custom. Hers was from red crystal, affordable to anyone. His, on the other hand, was made from sapphire, beautifully polished and quite extravagant.

    ''I admit, I wasn''t expecting you.'' He said. Was it disappointment and condescension in his tone? She wouldn¡¯t let it get to her. She was given this chance and he would have to deal with it.

    ''No, you wouldn''t.'' Her voice cold.

    He looked like he wanted to say something else, then closed his mouth. Then he said:

    ''This work has to be kept away from anyone who isn''t involved, this is really an important topic, I am surprised that you would choose such a thing to work with.''

    Of course he would think her not qualified enough for this.

    ¡®I¡¯ll send someone with material to read before we start.¡¯

    <hr>

    Cal promised to have the materials delivered to Evelyn before they began the actual work. The work required extensive preparation. Though Cal hadn''t said so outright, Evelyn suspected he was doing most of the heavy lifting, while Professor Hart contributed little.

    On her way home, she wandered through the market. She picked up pears¡ªdeciding that the crisp autumn weather deserved a celebratory pear pie¡ªalong with potion ingredients she was running low on, though she rarely relied on them. Lastly, she bought raw meat for her cat. When she arrived at her small home, she discovered him napping on her freshly washed and ironed sheets, leaving fur everywhere.

    "Leopold," she muttered, exasperated but unable to stay mad. After making herself tea, she settled into her worn armchair by the window, clutching the day¡¯s newspaper. It was a habit inherited from her father. "If you don¡¯t know what¡¯s happening in the world around you, you might as well be blind," she heard his voice in her mind and smiled. She should visit her parents soon.

    As she unfolded the paper, an article caught her eye immediately.

    "''A great many changes are in need of urgent introduction,'' says the current Royal Magical Advisor, Mr. Tavenholm, who has been recently supporting a controversial statement concerning the organization of the magical and regular society. ''It is becoming a great strain on the royal treasure, to continue supporting the scholarships for low mages.'' he stated.¡±

    Ensure your favorite authors get the support they deserve. Read this novel on the original website.She felt a wave of irritation. Low mages, of course. It was a derogatory term, mostly used by the blue mages, that came from the fact that red magic, in contrast to blue, was much more subtle, and demanded less strain on the wielder.

    Evelyn remembered seeing the Royal Magic Advisor once at the official opening ceremony of the year at the Academy. Even now, as she recalled his cold gaze devoid of any sympathy on his pale face, she couldn¡¯t suppress a shudder. He wore a polished sapphire ring that must have been worth more than her parent¡¯s cottage.

    Of course, he would use the term, no matter if it was banned on the Academy grounds. He didn¡¯t have to bend to their rules.

    "Scholarships cost the kingdom a fortune," the article continued, "and low mages, he argued, contribute far less to society than high mages. Frankly, almost anyone can become a low mage these days, and that reality is draining the economy. Their magic is common and should be treated as such."

    Evelyn¡¯s fingers tightened around the paper. Common? Her jaw clenched. Red magic wasn¡¯t something just anyone could obtain¡ªit was a rare, innate gift. How could a mage like Tavenholm dismiss an ability vital to food production and healing? She continued reading.

    ¡°It isn''t yet clear if the King will listen to his Magical Advisor, as he is known for his rather tolerant view of the mages. Meanwhile Mr. Orpheus Mellert, the Headmaster of the Academy of Light Magic together with Mr. Lysandre the member of the parliament, known for his merits in the financial sector, are in opposition to the statement:¡±

    "All mages bring equal value to the kingdom," Mellert had said. "It is tolerance and equality that distinguish us from places like Aven, where mages are conscripted into the military and valued only for their abilities, not their humanity. We must not follow such a dangerous path."

    Evelyn was no stranger to the deep-seated animosity between Mr. Tavenholm and Headmaster Mellert. Tavenholm''s views on the "proper order" of magical society clashed sharply with Mellert¡¯s staunch advocacy for equality among mages. She had experienced similar sentiments herself from the blue mages at the Academy¡ªsubtle slights, cold dismissals, and the occasional outright insult.

    It wasn¡¯t enough that red mages were already viewed as a threat by many. In other lands, they were treated as tools¡ªcommodities forced into service on the battlefield. And yet here, people like Tavenholm seemed bent on creating more divisions, driven by pride and selfish, shortsighted goals. Statements like his didn¡¯t just stir resentment; they sowed the seeds of rebellion and made life harder for everyone in the long run.

    Evelyn sighed, setting the paper down. There was nothing she could do about it.

    At that moment, Leopold decided it was time to wake up and demand food. Never mind that his bowl from the morning still had plenty in it¡ªit wasn¡¯t as fresh as he would like.

    ¡°Stop making so much noise,¡± she scolded as she cleaned his bowl and added a fresh portion of meat. ¡°Mrs. Gresley will have me evicted if you keep disturbing her naps.¡±

    Mrs. Gresley, her elderly landlady, was a widow with an uncanny knack for finding fault in everything, especially Leopold¡¯s meowing. The cat had developed the uncanny habit of choosing precisely the moment she fell asleep to start his racket. Evelyn couldn¡¯t fathom how he timed it so perfectly, but it was a constant source of worry. Not that Leopold cared about Mrs. Gresley¡¯s complaints. And, truth be told, Evelyn didn¡¯t blame him; the woman wasn¡¯t particularly kind to cats¡ªor people.

    A sharp knock at the door pulled her from her thoughts. An errand boy stood on the threshold, clutching a bundle of papers wrapped in parchment and tied with a red cotton string.

    ¡°These are from Mr. Tavenholm,¡± the boy announced.

    Thanking him, she set the heavy package on the table. She had expected a modest stack of reading¡ªthree or four papers, perhaps five. What she received, however, was closer to an entire book. She frowned. Surely Cal didn¡¯t expect her to finish this quickly? She still had her lectures to prepare.

    Tucked under the string was a note in Cal¡¯s tidy handwriting:

    Evelyn,

    Here are the materials I gathered for you to read. I marked them by importance¡ªplease start with those labeled crucial. The Headmaster has decided to free you from student duties for the duration of this project, so you can focus entirely on this work. I remain for your questions.

    Cal

    She rolled her eyes. Did he think she wasn¡¯t capable of managing both her regular work and this assignment? Then again, she couldn¡¯t deny that the stack looked intimidating. Not that she would ever admit as much to him.

    The rest of the evening passed in the glow of flickering candles. Leopold perched on her lap, purring contentedly as she began to read.

    She picked up the first paper, marked important in dramatic red ink underlined three times.

    It is commonly accepted that light magic has its limitations, and no reports to date suggest these boundaries have been breached. One of the most critical constraints is proximity: a mage must remain near the light they are manipulating. This paper explores a theoretical possibility¡ªcould a mage control light from a significant distance using a specialized instrument?

    Evelyn coughed, nearly spilling her tea. Leopold stirred, fixing her with a reproachful stare before curling back into his fur. She reread the passage, certain she must have misunderstood. Magic at a distance? It was impossible. Everyone knew that.

    The principle was foundational. Even children understood it, let alone engineers or potion makers. Light magic required proximity; it was a law as immutable as gravity. That was why red mages often traveled to tend distant gardens and crops¡ªa prospect she herself had avoided. No potion or charm could circumvent the distance constraint.

    But the paper persisted:

    This theory hinges on the discovery of a unique material capable of producing ¡°twin beams¡±¡ªinterconnected streams of light. By controlling one beam, the mage could simultaneously influence its twin, no matter how far apart they were.

    She quickly scanned the rest of the article and moved to the next paper in the pile, which built on the same concept:

    Prior work theorized the existence of a material that could generate twin beams. We believe we have identified such a crystal¡ªone capable of linking two beams inextricably.

    Her heart raced as she skimmed the remaining pages. Every document pointed to the same groundbreaking conclusion: a crystal that could connect two light beams, allowing a mage to control one from an unimaginable distance.

    If true, this discovery would change everything. It would overturn the very foundation of how magic functioned, shattering the long-held limitation of proximity. No wonder the project was so tightly guarded. The implications were staggering¡ªand potentially dangerous.

    Evelyn set the papers down, her mind buzzing. What had she gotten herself into?

 Chapter 7: Vira

    5 years earlier

    She woke early to find the boy trying to clean her face with a rag torn from his clothes. Her right eye was swollen shut. She couldn¡¯t speak, her throat dry and aching. She spat out the grass stuck in her mouth.

    ¡°I thought you could make it,¡± the boy whispered. His voice was weak, trembling.

    She felt nauseous. ¡°I thought,¡± he continued, his eyes heavy with sadness, ¡°I thought that without me, you¡¯d have a chance.¡± He paused, glancing away. ¡°They brought you back right after you went out. You were really unlucky, you know. The man had just stepped out to relieve himself. A minute later, and you would¡¯ve made it.¡± He stopped as she hissed in pain, shifting uncomfortably.

    ¡°I thought you were stupid for staying. What¡¯s your name?¡± Her voice came out harsh, her throat straining with each word.

    ¡°Jeremy.¡±

    ¡°Vira.¡±

    Late that afternoon, they arrived at an estate. It loomed over the rural landscape like a monument to excess. A small village was visible in the distance, its blue roofs standing out against the grassy hills. To Vira, the estate was hideous. Gold-painted spikes adorned two small towers. Its walls were painted with geometric patterns in shades of blue, light beige, and green. The entrance was flanked by columns resembling drawings she¡¯d once seen in an old, unreadable book buried in her grandmother¡¯s attic.

    A well-dressed servant greeted them at the door. ¡°I¡¯ll call for the master,¡± he said, disappearing inside.

    As they walked through the estate, Vira was struck by its grandeur. The walls were lined with pink and blue marble, and golden lamps stood between furniture made of intricate wooden mosaics. Exotic vases, filled with fresh flowers, sat on ornate tables. Fabrics hung on the walls, depicting unfamiliar figures in elaborate poses. They passed an open door revealing a grand room with a mantelpiece, above which hung a gleaming blade¡ªa sabre. It''s pointy edge shone in the light of the candles with an ominous threat. Vira had never seen one before. In her tribe, men used spades or knives, and weapons like this were unheard of, reserved for the nobility.

    She knew that in Aven, the nobility was sharply divided from the rest of the population. It wasn¡¯t so different from her own tribe, where hierarchy was absolute.

    The men led them into a smaller, far less adorned room. Its plain stone floors and bare gray walls were a stark contrast to the opulence they had passed.

    A man entered. Handsome and in his early forties, he was dressed in garments dyed with colors Vira had never seen before¡ªdeep indigo with silver threads, and black patterned like butterfly wings. Silver buttons studded with aquamarine stones glittered on his jacket. He held a walking stick, more for style than need. He studied them with a sharp, scrutinizing gaze, saying nothing at first.

    ¡°Where did you get them?¡± he asked, still not looking at his men.

    ¡°We got the girl from the ¡­ tribe,¡± one replied. ¡°They sold her for forty-five silver lumens.¡±

    The man raised an eyebrow. ¡°Hmm. She seems old. Won¡¯t be worth much. What color?¡±

    ¡°Blue.¡±

    ¡°Ah,¡± he said, his tone changing slightly. ¡°Then you¡¯ve done well.¡± He turned to Jeremy. ¡°And the boy?¡±

    ¡°Southern lands, my lord,¡± another man, Bron, answered.

    ¡°Southern?¡± The man turned, his expression hardening. Bron faltered.

    ¡°Y-Yes, my lord. He has green magic.¡±

    ¡°And on which side of the border did you get him?¡±

    Bron hesitated, then shrank under the man¡¯s stare. ¡°Aven,¡± he admitted.

    ¡°Did you pay for him?¡±

    Bron paused, his face pale. ¡°No. But he had no one!¡± he added hastily. ¡°No one noticed him missing. I did him a favor! He would¡¯ve died there anyway.¡±

    The man¡¯s expression darkened. He crossed to a window, opened it, and raised his hand. A faint orange ring glowed on his finger. Bron screamed, collapsing to the floor. Though Vira saw nothing between them, the smell of burned flesh filled the air. Bron writhed in agony, his cries echoing off the cold walls.

    ¡°Never steal children from Aven territory,¡± the man said coldly. ¡°We are granted privileges to operate here, but only if we follow the rules. No stealing children on this side of the border. If this comes back to me, you¡¯re dead, Bron. We have rules for a reason. Do you want to keep working?¡±

    Bron nodded weakly, clutching his seared arm.

    ¡°Then stick to the rules,¡± the man snapped. Straightening, he addressed the room. ¡°Pay Sevyn and Peter. Bron forfeits his payment this time. And next time, use the back entrance.¡± He turned to leave but paused. ¡°Merron?¡±

    The servant entered.

    ¡°Take our guests and make them presentable¡ªas much as possible. They¡¯re leaving tonight with Dale.¡±You could be reading stolen content. Head to the original site for the genuine story.

    Merron closed the window and handed payment to the men. He then turned to Vira and Jeremy. ¡°Come,¡± he ordered, leading them away.

    They were taken to a neglected corner of the estate, a small, makeshift addition. ¡°Clean yourselves. You have fifteen minutes,¡± Merron said, pointing to two separate bathrooms.

    Vira entered one. The bath was already drawn, the water almost warm. She sank into it, letting the heat soothe her aching body. Her hands were filthy; her right one bore a deep cut from the roof splinters during her escape attempt. The wound would scar, she thought. She hoped it would.

    The scar would be her punishment for being a mage.

    Closing her eyes, she pretended she was back at the waterfall near her village. But the memory dissolved as warm hands grasped her. Startled, she opened her eyes. She was back in the cold, unfamiliar room. Fury burned in her chest. She hoped those hands would wither and rot.

    Grabbing a towel, she hurled it at the wall.

    A knock broke her thoughts. It was time to go.

    In the courtyard, a small carriage waited. Merron spoke to a thin-haired man in a dark green cloak¡ªDale. He looked unremarkable, easy to overlook.

    ¡°Good, you¡¯re here,¡± Merron said as Vira and Jeremy approached. ¡°This is Dale. He¡¯ll take you to your new residence. Make a good impression. Remember, you¡¯ll be representing us, and we value good manners. Dale, they¡¯re yours now.¡±

    With that, Merron left.

    <hr>

    Dale, the man in the green cape, led them to the carriage, which was little more than a wooden cart drawn by a single horse. The road ahead was uneven, and the air turned colder as they left the estate behind. From a distance, they passed a village, its faint lights glimmering in the distance. Soon, they entered a dense forest, where shadows grew thicker and the world seemed to quiet.

    The underbrush was dense, and no wildlife stirred along their path. The rustling of the trees and the sound of the cart wheels creaking over uneven ground were their only companions. The path narrowed, lit faintly by the glow of pellax ferns. Their greenish light shimmered softly in the darkness, an eerie sight. These plants were steeped in legend, said to mislead travelers by mimicking the light of distant villages. Here, their glow was abundant, casting strange shadows as the cart passed.

    Hours later, fires appeared in the distance. Vira leaned forward, straining her eyes to make out the shapes ahead. She couldn¡¯t tell if it was another village or an estate, but wooden constructions loomed out of the darkness. They looked like a blend of crude fortifications and simple swings, the kind she¡¯d built with Aden for the youngest children in her tribe.

    The cart slowed as they approached a tall iron gate crowned with spikes. Vira thought she saw writing etched onto it, but the dim light made it impossible to read. Inside the gate, the pellax ferns and dense trees gave way to open ground.

    A large, dark building emerged from the shadows. The cart came to a stop in front of it, where a stern-faced woman stood waiting.

    ¡°New recruits,¡± Dale announced, climbing down from the cart. He motioned impatiently for Vira and Jeremy to follow.

    The woman grimaced as her eyes swept over them. ¡°Couldn¡¯t you bring them in better condition?¡±

    ¡°Say they¡¯ve been through training,¡± Dale replied casually. ¡°Besides, that one¡¯s a blue mage.¡± He nodded toward Vira.

    The woman¡¯s gaze lingered on Vira, skeptical. ¡°Well, we need them all.¡± She handed Dale a sack of coins, which he swiftly counted. The sack appeared heavier than one worth 45 silver lumens.

    ¡°Much obliged,¡± Dale said with a satisfied bow. Without another word, he climbed back onto the cart and drove away, leaving Vira and Jeremy behind.

    The woman stepped closer, her sharp eyes fixed on them. ¡°No matter where you¡¯re from or what you¡¯ve been through, keep it to yourselves. No one here wants to hear it. You are now part of Aven¡¯s magical military training. Follow orders, work hard, and you¡¯ll be fine.¡±

    She straightened her posture, her voice turning brisk. ¡°My name is Ms. Herrington. I oversee the dormitories and enforce order. Any disturbances in the sleeping area, and you answer to me. Now, follow me.¡±

    She turned on her heel and led them inside. The building was cold and unwelcoming, with narrow corridors lit by flickering lamps. They were taken to a small, bare room.

    ¡°This is temporary,¡± Ms. Herrington said. ¡°Tomorrow, you¡¯ll join the dormitories.¡± Without leaving them so much as a lamp, she turned and left, plunging the room into darkness.

    <hr>

    The next morning, sunlight revealed more of their surroundings. They had spent the night in a small wooden barrack. The landscape outside was vast and barren, shrouded in mist. The grounds were treeless, dominated by a massive fortress in the center. Built of dark stone and timber, it looked ancient but had clearly been adapted for military use. Rows of similar barracks lined the open space, and an area farther off held what appeared to be training equipment.

    At dawn, Ms. Herrington appeared to escort them to breakfast. The meal was held in a large hall with long, communal tables. The room was crowded with students of varying ages, though Vira quickly realized none of them appeared older than twenty. Most were younger¡ªcloser to Jeremy¡¯s age.

    As they entered, heads turned. Whispers rippled through the hall, and eyes followed them. Some gazes were curious, others indifferent, but a few were openly hostile. The sneering stares were mostly directed at Vira. She noted with unease that no one else at the first-year table seemed to be her age.

    Suppressing her discomfort, she sat down, determined to remain calm. She refused to make herself a target on her first day.

    The food was simple but filling: porridge, eggs, and a small piece of fried meat. Her stomach growled, but she ate with restraint, though Jeremy devoured his meal without hesitation. Days of hunger had clearly taken their toll.

    The students around her looked different¡ªcleaner, their clothes tailored and their hair styled in unfamiliar ways. Vira tugged at her sleeves, concealing the tribal tattoos on her arms. Though she found them beautiful, she knew they marked her as an outsider. And if there was one lesson her life had taught her, it was that people hated outsiders.

    After breakfast, the students dispersed to their classes. Ms. Herrington led Vira and Jeremy to a waiting man. He was tall and imposing, with the bearing of someone used to command. His sharp eyes assessed them with cool precision.

    ¡°These two?¡± he asked curtly.

    ¡°Yes,¡± Ms. Herrington replied. ¡°The girl¡¯s a blue mage, though she¡¯s older. The boy¡¯s a green mage.¡±

    The man leaned in, studying Vira¡¯s face. ¡°A blue mage?¡± he murmured. ¡°I can see the rings around your eyes. How long have you been practicing light magic?¡±

    ¡°I haven¡¯t,¡± Vira said, her voice steady.

    ¡°Don¡¯t lie unless you want to be punished,¡± Ms. Herrington snapped.

    The man¡¯s piercing gaze lingered on Vira. She met his eyes, unflinching. Years of standing before her tribe¡¯s elders had taught her not to waver under scrutiny.

    ¡°Where are you from?¡± he asked.

    ¡°Wilcrest Tribe,¡± Vira answered reluctantly.

    ¡°Ah, that explains it,¡± he said, straightening. ¡°They forbid magic and sell their mages to us. Did you know they used to kill children with magical abilities?¡±

    Vira¡¯s heart pounded. That was a lie.

    ¡°Oh yes,¡± he said, catching her disbelief. ¡°You¡¯re lucky to be born now, in a time when prosperity outweighs superstition. Your abilities must have only recently shown themselves¡ªotherwise, they¡¯d have dealt with you earlier.¡±

    He turned to Ms. Herrington. ¡°She¡¯s old for a first year, but blue mages are in demand. Put her with the first years. The boy, too.¡±

    He glanced at Jeremy briefly but said nothing more before walking away.

 Chapter 8: Alexander

    Alexander recalled the message in his head: his first objective was Orpheus Mellert. It was a daunting challenge, given the animosity between Mellert and Elsbet¡¯s father. Mellert, fiercely protective of his reputation, would not take kindly to anyone affiliated with the Institute, especially not someone in the director''s favor.

    Still, Alexander had uncovered a lead. One of the street boys he paid to monitor Mellert¡¯s movements reported that the professor had been visiting an old academy building by the river, officially closed for renovations. Suspiciously, the so-called "renovations" involved mages rather than construction crews. These weren¡¯t just any mages¡ªthey were the Academy¡¯s best, individuals whose faces Alexander knew from meticulous observation. Among them were the blue magic prodigy Cal and a handful of royal guards, their identities confirmed despite the masks they wore in public.

    Alexander couldn¡¯t investigate directly. His face was too well-known¡ªhe had ties to the Aven ambassador, and Captain Gerum of the royal guard harbored vague suspicions about him. Gerum had no evidence, of course, but Alexander knew better than to tempt fate by appearing near a high-priority site uninvited.

    A bottle rang against the hard curb outside the Institute''s back entrance. Alexander slipped inside, avoiding the crowds and any chance encounters. He climbed to the third floor where his laboratory waited. The room was stifling, the windows closed and the air thick with the familiar smell of dust and oil. Despite the oppressive atmosphere, he felt a flicker of relief. This was his domain.

    A knock interrupted his moment of peace. He turned to see Mark standing in the doorway¡ªslightly hunched, hair disheveled, his expression as unkempt as his appearance.

    ¡°You¡¯re late,¡± Mark said, his tone brimming with self-satisfaction.

    ¡°Thank you for pointing that out.¡± Alexander didn¡¯t have time for this. His schedule was already strained.

    Mark huffed and stepped inside uninvited, glancing around with mock disdain. ¡°Your office is a disaster. Maybe you could¡¯ve used some of that time spent with the director¡¯s daughter to tidy up in here.¡±

    ¡°Are you volunteering?¡± Alexander shot back, his irritation mounting. ¡°That would be a step up from your current responsibilities.¡±

    Mark smirked. ¡°I came to deliver a message, actually. Thought you¡¯d like to know that true success comes from hard work, not¡ª¡± he paused for effect, ¡°other pursuits.¡±

    Alexander nearly rolled his eyes. Mark worked hard, yes, but he was painfully mediocre, and no amount of effort seemed to elevate him above his limitations.

    ¡°I¡¯ve been assigned to a highly sensitive project,¡± Mark continued, puffing himself up. ¡°Top secret. A joint effort with the Academy.¡±

    Alexander¡¯s interest piqued. Could it be the same project he¡¯d been investigating?

    ¡°What did Mellert have to say about this?¡± Alexander asked, keeping his tone neutral. ¡°He detests working with engineers.¡±

    Mark grinned, savoring the moment. ¡°He didn¡¯t have a choice. The order came from above. Since he doesn¡¯t know any engineers personally, he had to take whoever the Institute assigned. Which, lucky for me, happens to be the best.¡± He paused, relishing Alexander¡¯s silence before adding, ¡°Don¡¯t worry, though. You still have your composites to play with while I make history.¡±

    ¡°History? You?¡± Alexander let out a short laugh. ¡°You wouldn¡¯t make¡ª¡±

    ¡°Now, now,¡± Mark interrupted with a condescending smirk. ¡°That¡¯s beneath you, Alexander. Anyway, I¡¯m sworn to secrecy, so I can¡¯t tell you more. Here are some documents from the director.¡± He dropped a stack of papers on a nearby table. ¡°I won¡¯t be your errand boy for much longer.¡± With that, he left without another word.

    Alexander¡¯s mind raced. The Academy and Institute had no official collaboration. This had to be the secret project he¡¯d been searching for. The division between mages and engineers in the City of Light had always baffled him. In Aven, they worked together seamlessly, creating innovations in magical technology that would crush the City of Light in a confrontation¡ªif it came to that.

    When it came to that, Alexander corrected himself. The queen¡¯s ambitions were no secret. She was backed into a corner, and a decisive move was inevitable. The economic strain alone demanded action. Still, he pushed these thoughts aside. Politics weren¡¯t his fight.This story originates from Royal Road. Ensure the author gets the support they deserve by reading it there.

    The question was why Elisabeth¡¯s father hadn¡¯t chosen him for the project. He was the best engineer available, and both he and the director knew it. Could this be a test? It was hard to believe that anyone would choose Mark otherwise, given the man¡¯s track record of mediocrity and the director¡¯s frequent frustrations with him.

    Alexander recalled a hint dropped by Elisabeth¡¯s father at dinner¡ªa subtle nod to the project and, more pointedly, to Alexander¡¯s future with Elisabeth. Was this an ultimatum? A way to force his hand regarding their marriage?

    He sighed and turned to his desk. Opening a technical drawing, he tried to focus on the equipment he was designing, but the lines blurred together. He shuffled through the papers on his desk, an uneasy feeling prickling at the back of his mind.

    Strange, he thought. I¡¯m sure I put those documents away.

    He sifted through the clutter, the sense of suspicion growing. Something was off.

    He was never late to a meeting. It had been drilled into him since the very first day of his training. But today, it seemed the meeting had started earlier than expected. He arrived a few minutes before Mark, but when he stepped into the room, a few people were already gathered. The Institute''s director, with his familiar slightly plump figure, was immediately recognizable. He stood surrounded by members of the Institute, but beside him stood a new figure¡ªa man Alexander didn¡¯t know.

    The newcomer was a tall, dark-haired man with a commanding presence. His posture was so rigid, so precise, that he might as well have been a soldier on parade.

    "Ah, Alexander, my boy!" The Institute director greeted him warmly, then turned to Mark with noticeably less enthusiasm as he arrived, slightly out of breath. The director¡¯s frown quickly gave way to a smile, one of those practiced smiles that made the recipient feel like they were part of an exclusive club¡ªa camaraderie that was, of course, entirely fabricated.

    "Meet Mr. Sanders," the director continued, his excitement palpable. "A new member of our Institute. He has vast expertise in light engineering and has graciously agreed, after many letters from me, to join our forces."

    The director paused, a glimmer of pride in his eyes. "I admit, it was a humbling experience, but I¡¯m thrilled he¡¯s decided to give us a chance. I¡¯m certain the research we do here will benefit enormously now that he¡¯s here." He raised his glass, and the others followed suit, offering their congratulations.

    Alexander studied the man. Sanders was older than him, with black hair and an easy smile that didn¡¯t quite reach his eyes. He recognized the name immediately¡ªJohn Sanders, the famed lumineer of light engineering from the southern territories. Alexander had read his manuscripts and, to be honest, had expected someone more¡­ enigmatic. But there was something about Sanders that nagged at him.

    The man blended in too easily. He stood among them, laughing and chatting, as though he belonged in this engineering environment. But something was wrong. His posture was too stiff¡ªno sign of the weariness that came from late nights bent over a desk, the frustration of a difficult project. There was no arrogance in him, but also none of the self-doubt that marked a person who fought daily to prove their worth.

    Then Sanders turned to him, flashing a knowing smile and raising his glass in acknowledgment. That was it. The gleam in his eyes, the way he controlled every movement¡ªit was all too familiar.

    He was exactly what Alexander had been trained to be. What he was when he first joined the Institute. A spy. A spy from Aven, here because Alexander hadn¡¯t delivered the results expected of him.

    Alexander swallowed hard, his mind racing. Why hadn¡¯t they told him about this? Why send another spy without informing him? He laughed bitterly to himself. Of course, they wouldn¡¯t. It was clear now¡ªhe either stepped up or failed. The message was unmistakable.

    He couldn¡¯t speak to his handler about it. He wondered if his handler knew about this. He probably did.

    ¡°Alexander, come meet Mr. Sanders,¡± the director¡¯s voice pulled him from his thoughts. With a polite smile, Alexander excused himself from the conversation he was trying to ignore and walked over to the two men.

    As he approached, he felt a flashback to his military days¡ªthe polished pleasantries, the smile that masked the hunger in a man¡¯s eyes. Sanders was no different.

    "John Sanders, it¡¯s an honor," Alexander said, offering a measured handshake. He turned to the director with a raised brow. "How did you manage to get him here? I¡¯ve heard that the laboratories in Libereth are unparalleled in all the known world."

    The director beamed, pride coloring his cheeks. "Well, our facility remains one of the leading institutes in the world. We¡¯re rising, and hopefully, soon we¡¯ll be the ones setting the standard."

    "I¡¯d like to think of it as a challenge," Sanders said smoothly. "We need to carry the torch of excellence to other parts of the continent¡ªnot just hold it for ourselves, wouldn¡¯t you agree?" He leaned in slightly, as if drawing them into a secret. "Development thrives on competition, after all. The southern technologies have been dormant for far too long. There¡¯s been no motivation to push beyond what¡¯s already been achieved."

    There was no subtlety to his words. No attempt to hide his intentions.

    "Exactly!" The director agreed enthusiastically. "But I think you¡¯ll be surprised at what we¡¯ve managed to accomplish here. I wouldn¡¯t be so quick to declare Libereth superior. Tell me, how is Jerome Ackelmander doing? I heard his estate was flooded¡ªwhat a shame." The director¡¯s voice held an unmistakable glee, the satisfaction of having stolen a top engineer from his rival.

    Alexander couldn¡¯t help but wonder how they would explain it if Ackelmander and Sanders ever crossed paths again. They¡¯d likely never compare notes¡ªby the time that happened, both men would likely be long gone from the city. But the thought of it made Alexander uneasy. There were deeper games being played here, and he had no doubt that he was a pawn in them.

 Chapter 9: Alexander

    He entered the Archives with a heavy heart. He knew he was grasping at false hope; there was little chance any information about the secret project would be here. Even proposing to Elisabeth wouldn¡¯t guarantee access to it, and once he was seen as the director¡¯s future son-in-law, the scrutiny he faced would only increase.

    The Archives were located in the underground section of the Institute, a place where records of all research areas were stored. He passed the corridors, coworkers¡¯ offices, and took the stairs leading to the west-north side of the building. This part of the Institute was older, its walls plain stone¡ªuncovered, with sparse embellishments aside from the occasional torch hook. The Archives had only one entrance, and every visit had to be registered and approved by Annie, the keeper.

    She wasn¡¯t at her desk. A meticulously organized list of visitor cards lay next to a notebook filled with names and dates of visits. Tilting the notebook slightly, he saw only a handful of entries from the past month. He angled it further when¡ª

    ¡°Alexander, right?¡± A cold voice broke the silence, and he jerked his head up, taking in the man before him.

    ¡°Sanders,¡± Alexander corrected, keeping his tone low.

    ¡°I see you¡¯ve found your way to the Archives.¡±

    ¡°Yes,¡± he replied calmly. ¡°I need to catch up on the projects I¡¯m expected to lead. It¡¯s best to know the history of their progress.¡± He paused, lowering his voice. ¡°Speaking of which, Udona sends her regards.¡±

    The man smirked. Alexander¡¯s expression remained carefully neutral, though a shiver ran down his spine at the mention of her name.

    ¡°Be careful,¡± Alexander said, his tone even. ¡°It¡¯s easy to misstep in new surroundings.¡±

    The man laughed softly. ¡°You¡¯re off your game. Keep it up, and you¡¯ll be eaten alive.¡±

    ¡°Oh! Sorry, I was in the back explaining to Niethen how we organize new manuscripts,¡± Annie¡¯s voice broke the tension as she returned. ¡°I trust you found what you needed, Mr. Sanders?¡± Her cheeks turned pink at the smile Sanders gave her. Alexander couldn¡¯t help but notice: she never smiled at him like that.

    ¡°Yes, of course, thank you, Annie. I¡¯d have been lost without your guidance.¡± The warmth in her eyes lingered as Sanders departed.

    When she turned to Alexander, her expression softened but lacked the flirtatious edge. ¡°Which section are you visiting today?¡±

    ¡°The reports from last year.¡±

    She nodded, marking the visit in her notebook. ¡°Here you go,¡± she said, retrieving a key from the orderly rows hanging on the board beside her desk. ¡°I trust you know the rules?¡±

    ¡°Of course.¡±

    ¡°Felix?¡± A soft voice called from behind a door. ¡°Should I throw out the extra copies of manuscripts if there are too many? It seems unnecessary to keep them.¡±

    ¡°Hmm, let me check...¡± a hesitant male voice responded.

    ¡°No, no! Wait for me, Niethen!¡± Annie¡¯s voice was suddenly high with alarm. She glanced at Alexander, worry creasing her brow. ¡°I¡¯d go with you, but I need to supervise Niethen. Otherwise, this whole place will be chaos.¡± She sighed, half-apologetic.

    Alexander silently welcomed her preoccupation¡ªit meant she wouldn¡¯t check on him when he strayed into restricted sections.

    As he moved deeper into the Archives, he tried to suppress the bitter thoughts creeping in. If Sanders had entered the Archives, he must have been sent by the same people as Alexander¡ªby Udona. That realization felt like a stone in his gut. This wasn¡¯t just a test of loyalty; it was a challenge, a direct move against him. He had underestimated the gravity of the situation.

    Descending into the darker, older parts of the Archives, the air grew colder, biting his lungs. These sections were carved into ancient caves by a forgotten civilization. Their original purpose was unknown, but the rough edges bore the marks of primitive tools¡ªproof, historians claimed, of human hands. He¡¯d never cared much for such details. He had no time for reflection now; his focus was survival.

    The restricted section was pitch black, its silence oppressive. He struck a match, the brief flare of light illuminating rows of iron bars and shelves. The sulfuric scent pricked his nose, oddly comforting in its familiarity. It reminded him of training days in the Mondovian Desert¡ªjust him and a matchbox, left to survive. His body tensed at the memory, his stiff back protesting as he straightened. He needed to return to regular practice. Two weeks without training was too long.

    Quietly, he picked the metal lock on the iron gate and slipped inside, moving with the silence of a predator. He navigated to the section containing records from the previous month and searched.

    Nothing. No clues about the secret project. Either the Institute kept no records, or Sanders had beaten him here and taken what he needed. Alexander swore under his breath and slammed the shelf shut with more force than he intended. The noise made him freeze, but the silence remained unbroken. Still, it was a mistake. Another slip like that, and Sanders wouldn¡¯t even need to try to beat him.

    On his way out, he offered Annie a faint smile.

    ¡°Oh, Mr. Sanders!¡± Felix called, his arms full of precariously stacked documents, some threatening to fall. ¡°There is something I¡¯d like to discuss with you, can I come by your office?¡±

    Alexander waived his hand impatiently.

    ¡°Pay attention to that!¡± Annie¡¯s scolding voice was the last thing Alexander heard as he exited.

    Outside, the air was fresher, the bustling streets of the merchant district alive with noise and smells. The contrast with the Archives¡¯ quiet was sharp. The aroma of fried meats and stews mingled with the tang of sweat and market produce. His stomach growled; he realized he hadn¡¯t eaten all day.

    As he scanned the food stalls, a sharp pain shot through his leg. A small boy had collided with him. The boy¡ªblond, wiry, and well-dressed despite his dirty clothes¡ªglared up at him with a mix of defiance and embarrassment. Before Alexander could react, a stern voice called out.

    A case of literary theft: this tale is not rightfully on Amazon; if you see it, report the violation.¡°Ivan!¡±

    The boy froze, eyes wide, and tried to dart around Alexander, but he grabbed the boy¡¯s arm.

    ¡°Where are you running off to?¡± Alexander asked, his voice edged with annoyance.

    The boy struggled but didn¡¯t seem intimidated. Alexander recognized the boldness of aristocratic upbringing in him. Before he could say more, a breathless woman approached.

    ¡°Avery.¡± Alexander¡¯s voice was neutral, but she tensed.

    ¡°Alexander.¡± Her tone was cold, her green eyes sharp. The resemblance between her and the boy was unmistakable.

    ¡°Thank you for catching my son,¡± she said stiffly, pulling Ivan closer. ¡°He has a habit of running off.¡±

    ¡°Glad to help. How old is he?¡±

    ¡°Six.¡±

    ¡°Would you like me to escort you back?¡± he asked. ¡°It¡¯s crowded; easy to get lost.¡±

    Her lips tightened, suspicion clear in her gaze.

    They walked in tense silence, side by side, the boy ahead of them, held by the nanny by his shoulder. No one spoke a word, and Avery made it very clear that she did not want to engage with him. Her upbringing was the only thing that prevented her from rejecting his offer of company publicly.

    He felt a bitter satisfaction at making her angry. It was probably the first time she had shown any emotion publicly. To an observer, she probably looked as though she were having a pleasant day. But after evening upon evening of watching her, he had learned to notice the slight tension in the corners of her lips, the almost unnoticeable frown every time she glanced at him.

    He knew he shouldn¡¯t indulge in this. He knew he should probably ignore her, just as she ignored him, but he was too weak. There was something about her that made him want to see her stripped of all the layers of social norms and polished upbringing.

    He wanted to shout at her¡ªthat her husband was a piece of trash, that she was a stuck-up socialite who had sold her soul for splendor, and that she had never once looked at him without a shimmer of heat in her eyes. He wanted her to either act on it or stop looking at him entirely. He wanted to break through all her walls and see the raw essence of who she truly was.

    Of course, he couldn¡¯t do that. He was supposed to be a gentleman.

    ¡°How is Elisabeth?¡± she broke the silence as they walked. He almost stumbled. That was unexpected. She knew exactly how to make him uncomfortable; he could see it in her eyes.

    ¡°She¡¯s well, thank you,¡± he managed to reply.

    ¡°Ah. That¡¯s great news, I suppose.¡± Was she mocking him? ¡°Please send her my regards. I never seem to have enough time to speak with her at social gatherings. Goodbye.¡± She nodded her head, dismissing him like a common errand boy.

    She had done that on purpose. He had been in similar situations countless times before, and it had never mattered. Yet now, he couldn¡¯t bring himself not to care.

    He cursed himself and turned around, hoping no one had noticed their brief stroll. After all, gossip didn¡¯t need fertile ground to grow. And if he was being honest with himself, this ground was as fertile as it could possibly be.

    He was walking back through the street when he felt a low rumble in the buildings, soon followed by the loud sound of an explosion. It caused a stir among the crowds, with people nervously searching for the source of the disruption. Small explosions like this happened regularly¡ªat least a couple of times a year. Someone always forgot to properly handle lightning powder or used too much of it. After a brief moment of unrest, the people around him returned to their chores. The city guards and officials would soon take care of it, and it wasn¡¯t in the immediate vicinity of the street.

    Alexander didn¡¯t think much of it until he saw a plume of fumes crossing the blue sky above the buildings. It was right above the archives.

    His chest tightened. It couldn¡¯t be the archives. There were so many buildings surrounding them. Uneasiness crept over him as he continued his way. He stopped. He had to make sure.

    Turning, he almost ran back through the streets, pushing past people and heading toward the bridge. The closer he got, the thinner the crowd became. Many of the people were heading in the opposite direction.

    His chest tightened further. The archives were protected; no one would be so stupid or careless there. Yet he couldn¡¯t shake the memory of Sanders¡¯ cold smile earlier.

    The closer he came to the building, the more he smelled dust and smoke mingled with fire. Voices shouted over one another, rising above the chaos. Stone debris littered the street.

    One last turn and¡ª

    Part of the archives had collapsed. The fire was small, but the explosion had caused part of the building to crumble. Dust still hovered over the area, thick and oppressive.

    He couldn¡¯t believe it. Running to the ruins he scanned the crowds of people gathered in front of it. With relief he noticed Annie, with dust covering her shawl, but otherwise unscratched. There was a young woman next to her, looking shaken, probably Niethen, but¡­ he couldn''t see Felix.

    Nervously he looked through the crowd, but soon turned to the place of explosion and began to frantically search for the boy. He went in the direction of Annie¡¯s reception, where the small back room was previously, its walls now destroyed and only a part of them still stood straight.

    He found the boy¡¯s body beneath a broken stone pillar, snapped in half. The sight was terrible, though the stones and rubble mercifully concealed the worst from prying eyes. He didn¡¯t uncover it, giving the boy a last shred of dignity.

    He stood there for a while, unable to move, feeling utterly detached from the moment¡ªnumb. A pale hand lay exposed in the sun. Slowly, Alexander removed his coat and covered the body with it. He knew the others were coming to join him, but he didn¡¯t register them.

    Did the boy have family? How would they take the news? He had been so young¡ªnineteen, maybe twenty. Always annoyingly optimistic, smiling as he brought Alexander files or asked questions about his work.

    Alexander noticed something in the boy¡¯s hand. Leaning closer, he saw a smudge of dark powder¡ªblack powder. That piqued his interest. It was uncommon. Why would it have been in the archives? Why would Felix have it in his hands when everything exploded?

    Discreetly, Alexander gathered some of the powder on a handkerchief he carried, intending to investigate later.

    A heavy weight settled over him. Shock twisted into anger and guilt. He had known about Sanders, had known something was wrong. He should have realized this might happen.

    This death was his fault.

    Felix lay there, buried under stone, because of him.

    He swallowed hard. But why would Sanders do this? It didn¡¯t fit the usual pattern. Drawing so much attention was unwise; they were always taught to act subtly.

    Unless Sanders wanted to cover something up.

    Maybe Felix had found him out. Or perhaps something else was at play. Had Sanders gone off script?

    Felix had tried to speak to him earlier at the archives. Something about it being important. But Alexander had brushed him off, saying he didn¡¯t have time.

    He cursed himself for it now.