Air whistled past them as Aren kept the platform steady, his newfound knowledge guiding his connection to the bright blue disc below. It let the spell micromanage their pitch perfectly, accounting for gravity and drag, but there was more to it.

  He could bend the laws of physics in ways he had never imagined. By creating a negative sympathetic link between each object and person on board, he redefined their gravitational reference frame relative to the disc. To the disc, the weight of everything above it simply did not register. Inertia dulled as well, not gone, but softened, so acceleration felt uncannily light.

  To those standing on it, the surface felt solid and normal. But when Aren adjusted speed or direction, their bodies’ expected reactions did not happen. Their inner ear labyrinth searched for forces that never arrived. It caused a few people to turn pale, and he recommended that they close their eyes for the duration of the journey, which would take most of the day.

  They had departed right after they held a morning prayer in Marie’s name. In light of the new information, they had held a long discussion into the night. With the full list of every conspirator and the locations of the cultists’ hideouts, they no longer had time to travel at a leisurely pace. The longer they waited, the more time they would give their enemies to realize what had happened. They would deliver Crina to the Dark Sanctuary, and then he and Donnavan would take the matter directly to the Prophet-King.

  “I’m unsure if keeping the nineteen sunblades unconscious is a good idea,” Donnavan voiced his opinion.

  Aren turned to look at the group the traitor exemplar had brought with him to grant his planned, failed rescue attempt legitimacy. “You heard the man. It’s unlikely they will believe us. They are his personally chosen adorers. They all come from prestigious backgrounds as well. It will only cause problems.”

  “They are still innocent in all of this.”

  “And it’s better they remain that way. What will happen if they try to defend this traitor with force?” Aren asked.

  “They would be acting in ignorance… but I see your point,” Donnavan said. “We will let the Prophet-King judge our choice then.”

  Aren did not comment. Instead, he eyed the man whose mind he had defiled. “To think that this cult would spread to Vo’Teol. Well, secret knowledge has always been the best bribe at the academy.”

  “What will you do about that?” Donnavan asked seriously.

  “I will leverage my position to organize a purge, one way or another. We will most likely need to act in tandem with your country’s forces as well.”

  He wondered if the headmaster would oppose him. Archmage And’dew was not on the list, but if he did, could he win as he was right now? The king, at least, should be on his side. The man would not welcome foreign influences inside his kingdom.

  “Those will be tiring days ahead, then weeks of cleanup,” Aren said. “Let’s worry about this when it’s time. For now, we have a journey to complete.”

  Donnavan nodded. They had already discussed most of what they could plan for on their own.

  Aren turned and walked over to where Crina sat on a cushioned chair. She insisted she was feeling better, but he and Donnavan forced her to at least sit down. There was no reason for her to stand while still recovering when they were traveling by air. Her ashen eyes scanned the horizon, and he caught a glimpse of amber light reflected in them. She looked contemplative and conflicted.

  “This is quite peaceful and beautiful,” Crina said. “I have never flown through the air, in a peaceful manner, but this was not how I imagined it. The wind feels nice.”

  Aren nodded. “There is freedom in flying. I was quite addicted to it after learning my first spell for it. It was difficult to control, and I kept launching myself into trees. At least I was unable to go very fast.”

  Crina smiled, but her mood did not change much. “Ending this pilgrimage early feels wrong. Especially after what Marie did. We barely visited any of the southern cities.”

  Aren considered what to say in a moment of silence.

  Crina spoke first. “I know logically this is the correct move. The information is critical, and its consequences will be grave. Many of the governors I would have met, and some I already did, will get deposed and punished. Even some priests. Still, I promised Marie we would make the Sands better through this.”

  “I see.” Aren turned thoughtful. “Clearing this evil and corruption will make the Sands better. Those people caused neglect and pointless suffering in order to fund those cultists and their mercenaries.”

  “And while I don’t think this will make you feel good, once you are known for having helped uncover this conspiracy, your influence will only grow,” Aren said. “If you use it right. Your supporters, the Luminous Light, will certainly expand.”

  “ when I just hid behind you and Marie,” Crina muttered.

  “All of it occurred because you were brave enough to continue. Even the Prophet-King gave you an early out, but you did not take it.” Aren offered, but it was clear she still felt conflicted.

  “Again, I know logically, but it feels… hollow,” Crina said. “But what you say is true. My feelings on this don’t matter as much as what I can help accomplish with it. With time and prayer, maybe I will come to terms with it.”

  “Well, feel free to complain to me. I don’t know if I’m any good at this, but I will listen.”

  Crina nodded. This time, the smile she offered looked better. “Thanks.”

  “Do you want some rockbird soup?” Mar’tei came from behind them and offered, carrying two bowls and extending the first to Aren. “As the hunter, you get the first taste.”

  “I wouldn’t say cutting off the heads of monsters flying straight for us constitutes hunting,” Aren said, recalling the flock of human-sized birds that had taken offense to sharing the sky with them.

  Taking the bowl, he lifted it and took a measured sip. It felt rich on his tongue, clear and golden, yet silky with the unique gelatin the bird was known for. It was like a clean, restorative heat settling in his body, a comfortable welcome after the previous day and his inability to rest properly. He would probably have to settle for bitter coffee to survive the next few days.

  Crina looked at her bowl for a long moment, clearly thinking about something other than the clear surface of the soup or considering its aromas.

  “How are you feeling?” Mar’tei asked Crina.

  “I’m better,” Crina said, touching her chest. “It feels warm whenever I pray.”

  Mar’tei nodded. “My mother’s totem guided me through my grief when I prayed to the ancestors.”

  “Yes,” Crina agreed.

  “She was rough around the edges…” she started after a moment. “Impatient, sometimes blunt to the point of cruelty. But Marie cared. She never wanted another child to grow up in the alleys the way she did, fighting over scraps and pretending hunger didn’t hurt.”

  She rested the bowl in her lap with both hands, watching the horizon as the wind brushed past them.

  “The Holy One caught her sneaking into his home for dried fish. She told me she had already planned three different escape routes.” A faint smile touched her lips. “Instead of punishing her, he sat her down, gave her bread and fish soup, and didn’t ask any questions. After that, he taught her to fish. How to mend nets, read tides and avoid monsters. Eventually he adopted her.”

  “That’s hard to imagine,” Mar’tei said.

  “It is,” Crina replied softly. “Four years later, when she was thirteen, the Sun chose him. One day he was a widower fisherman, then the most important person in the Sands” Her voice tightened, though she kept it steady. “Walls rose between them. Tradition. Ceremony. Distance.”

  Crina exhaled slowly.

  “At the Sun’s Peak, she discovered her gift for the holy arts. She trained until her hands bled and her eyes burned from reading holy texts. She wanted to stand beside him again, not as a street girl he had rescued, but as someone worthy of the same light.”

  “She never said it like that,” Crina added, small tears forming at the edges of her eyes.

  Mar’tei gave a small encouraging nod.

  “But somewhere along the way, it stopped being only about him,” Crina continued. “She knew how many children still slept in dust and shadow. She saw how the governors looked away. She chose to help the Sands. Every day. No matter how hard it would be.”

  Crina fell quiet for a moment.

  “She could be harsh. She demanded too much. From others. From herself.” Her gaze no longer looked distant, and she wiped the tears away. “But she never complained. She followed her duty to the end and never once hesitated to do what she thought was right.”

  Following Donnavan’s directions, Aren detected the Sun’s River canyon in the distance. It was late evening, and the sun was already descending. Thick clouds of steam obscured the horizon as the month of rainfall boiled away. The vapor formed a wall of white, dense as cotton from afar. It was easy to forget that contact would blister the skin in an instant.

  Lone droplets struck Aren and the others as some of the water cooled in the skies. Still, it would soon disappear under the hot sun. Preemptively, he adjusted the disk structure to create overhead shielding from the heat. They needed to head straight into the wall of clouds.

  Once they were inside, they could see nothing beyond the whiteness. Traveling here normally would have been impossible. This was the widest spot of the continent-spanning canyon, and in the middle of it, impossibly, stood a tall plateau. It felt as if it had survived in opposition to whatever had scorched the continent.

  He guided the disc to fly directly above a stone bridge toward their destination. Aren could feel a large source of holy power entombing the stone rising. It most likely served as protection from the surrounding heat and vapor. He did not penetrate it with his senses. Antagonizing its inhabitants by activating alarms would have been counterproductive. Maybe with his new knowledge he could find a way around them, but this was not the time to test that.

  He stopped directly in front of it. A wall of shimmering gold obscured their view of what lay inside. He shaped his spell like a docking port, forming a tunnel that aligned perfectly with the barrier, creating a doorway-like shape.

  “Time to go through?” Aren asked Donnavan.

  Donnavan nodded and stepped forward. They followed their usual formation, but where Marie would normally stand, Donnavan took the front. Crina sat atop her ceremonial platform, and he walked beside her. The sledges were pulled by skalith at the rear of the group. Inside Crina’s sledge were the nineteen holy warriors and the mind-controlled traitor, stacked carefully. No one would dare step inside the Luminous One.

  Ripples spread across the golden surface as Donnavan walked through it harmlessly. When he touched it, he felt it detect his magic. Still, he had to maintain the connection to the spell for the rest of the group. Knowing the alarms had most likely been triggered, Aren stepped forward.

  His eyes were first caught by the contrast between the obsidian-dark ground and the sandstone-white walls. Only a moment later did he notice the bows aimed at them and the wary stances of the wall guardians.

  “The golden dome has detected my magic,” Aren said to Donnavan, and the man’s eyes sharpened in understanding.

  “We are the Luminous One’s escort. My name is Donnavan, and we have used the Sunbearer’s Ren magic to let our large group cross the steam outside,” the officer called out toward the defenders.

  The confusion that spread across the men and women atop the walls was visible even from a distance. As soon as the last skalith crossed the golden boundary, Aren emptied himself of mana. When he did, he saw a man in shining armor raise his arm, and the bows were lowered. His connection to the world’s will was within his soul, indistinguishable from his ambient soul energy.

  “Master Donnavan,” the man on the wall spoke. “We did not expect the arrival of the Luminous One this month. Isn’t the Guardian Exemplar with you?”

  “We faced the assassin’s final offensive yesterday. We lost more than half our number. Exemplar Marie became one with the One Sun to defeat their leader,” Donnavan exclaimed loudly.

  A silence passed, the leader of the wall unable to process what he had heard.

  Donnavan continued, “In light of that event, we hurried here. The Holy One himself once gave the Luminous One leave to end the pilgrimage early.”

  “I… I understand. I would ask that you wait here while I inform the head priest and the sunseer,” the warrior shouted, and upon a nod from Donnavan, he departed with a haste that suggested he was at least a fifth-stage practitioner.

  Aren saw that the man didn’t fully believe them. At least he seemed to know Donnavan and gave them enough benefit of the doubt to defer the decision to his superiors. They likely wouldn’t have to wait very long. Whatever their outlook on Crina, the gravity of the claim was enough for them to act quickly.

  Still, it gave Aren time to appreciate the building in front of him. The tall structure behind the walls looked more like a defensive castle than a temple, despite the large golden symbol of the Sun embedded in its white stone. Its blocky construction and outer hexagonal ramparts were perfect for fending off any manner of attack. Two towers protruded from it, one capped with a golden spherical dome, the taller crowned with a wide solar and golden spire reaching skyward.

  It stood as if in opposition to the black ground beneath it. Aren summed up for himself. He looked toward the young woman but saw only determination in her face. He hoped he would be able to make temporary accommodations. Meeting the hidden beast should help with that.

  The wall defenders kept a watchful eye on them, and they remained in silence for a while longer. After a few minutes, two strikes of gold rose from the castle's shorter tower and headed straight toward them. Seeing Donnavan watching calmly, Aren did not react. The two lights descended a respectful distance away from them.

  “Luminous One, we welcome you to the Dark Sanctuary,” a very tall priest in a pristine white robe spoke as he bowed toward Crina.

  The man easily towered over Aren, maybe even over Bar’tik. He was lanky in build, but his stance did not suggest a lack of confidence. His pristine white robe and yellow cloak were richly embroidered with symbols of the golden sun. The sunseer was similarly dressed, and his intense golden eyes met Aren’s directly for a moment before he turned and bowed toward Crina as well.

  “I came to hold the Watch over the darkness,” Crina said, as if making a solemn vow.

  “May the One Sun watch over you, steadying your spirit in the darkness,” the head priest responded. “My name is Azri. It is my duty to watch over this temple and you.”

  Then he raised his head. “Can I ask you to confirm once again Exemplar Marie’s passing?”

  Crina nodded, “Marie defeated a traitor to the Sands and sacrificed her life in the process.”

  “It is a horrible loss. I’m certain the Prophet-King will undoubtedly emblazon her story in the Holy Text, ensuring her virtues and deeds shine for all generations,” the head priest spoke. Had the sunseer detected a lie he would have likely intervened.

  Uttering a quick prayer the head priests looked at them with deep sadness, “Normally we would have asked the Guardian Exemplar to hold a ceremonial prayer but in this light it may be best if we discuss the details inside.”

  Crina nodded, “I would have Donnavan and my Sunbearer, Aren accompany me.”

  “Of course. I’m sure you wish to inform the Prophet-King as soon as possible as well,” the head priest said, nodding, though he raised an eyebrow at Aren’s name, as it was likely not what he had heard. Still, he turned to guide them inside without missing a beat.

  Once a large portcullis was raised and they passed inside, he helped Crina get off her platform. Then they were led through the wide, pristine halls of the temple. Their entrance was similar to what he was used to, lit by a molten golden sphere, but the next room they were led to was different. It held a steam-powered elevator, with golden-plated pipes running along the walls of the long shaft.

  When they stepped inside, the head priest pulled a lever, and after a moment and a low hiss, they began to rise. The movement was very smooth, nearly as precise as he was used to, and when they arrived under the golden dome, he was sure they were inside the shorter of the towers.

  The large area seemed designed for group prayers. Cushions were spread in neat rows, and another imitation of the Sun hung in the center near the curved ceiling. The room was quiet in its decorations, but rich golds and pristine whites were abundant.

  “This tower is where you can hold prayers whenever you wish, Luminous One,” the head priest said. “This tower and the other one belong solely to you. No one will interrupt us here.”

  “I see,” Crina said, slightly uncertain at the proclamation as she looked around at the sudden opulence.

  “You can, of course, decorate it to your taste,” the man quickly added. “Luminous Horu preferred a more pious and modest setting.”

  “I didn’t know what to imagine, but this is more than I dared to think already,” Crina assured him. “I think we should speak of the information we hold.”

  The priest nodded, and they proceeded to sit down. Once they began relaying what had occurred and what they had learned, the mood instantly shifted. More than once, the head priests looked towards the sunseer, who paled slightly with each revelation. They were especially stunned by the information that there were traitors among exemplars and that they held one who could confirm all of this.

  “We must act in haste, then,” Head Priest Azri said. “The Holy One must learn of this as quickly as possible, and I support your notion of keeping this as quiet as possible. Still, it is also of utmost importance that the Luminous One enters the black veil.”

  Crina spoke, “It was Marie’s wish that her deal with Aren be carried out, that he is to accompany me as my guardian.”

  “I understand. Let’s not waste time, then,” the head priest said, standing up, his feet steady despite the haste he showed.

  They followed behind. As they walked back toward the elevator, the Sunseer opened his mouth for the first time.

  “Luminous One, may I inquire about something?” the man asked, his golden eyes scanning Crina.

  “Of course.”

  “There is golden light in your soul that is not your own, yet seems to meld with you in a protective embrace,” he described.

  “Marie left part of herself with me,” Crina said. “She informed me I have nascent potential for the holy arts and that my guilt has transformed it into the disease that plagues my body. It warms me in prayer. I think it has also, in some way, prevented me from harming myself further.”

  Both priests’ eyes widened slightly at that. The head priest spoke, “That sounds like the holy bestowals from the texts of the Drakesbane Revolt. That is a great gift. If you wish, we would be happy to help guide you in the holy arts and in handling that light.”

  “I would welcome that,” Crina said with a smile.

  Aren allowed himself to relax slightly. It was reassuring that both priests seemed reasonable. He had been worried that Crina would be stuck here with traditionalists who might make her life harder. Once they left the elevator on the ground floor, they were led deeper into the temple and toward another elevator, most likely inside the second tower. There didn’t seem to be any stairs, but with priests who could fly, perhaps they weren’t necessary in case of emergency.

  “This elevator goes both up and down. Upwards are your quarters, Luminous One. The Sunbearer and those you allow inside may enter,” the head priest said. “Downwards is the path toward the black veil. Only you, and on this one occasion your designated guardian, may go there.”

  “I understand,” Crina said and stepped forward.

  Aren walked right next to her. They stepped on the platform and Aren curiously tried to pear through the gaps but he saw only darkness. Curiously he guided a little bit of his life force towards his head, he didn’t have precision to aim only for his eyes. Still, all he saw was a little of obsidian black walls of the shaft leading downwards.

  “At the bottom you will find a small room. I don’t know what lies beyond, but know that the Sun will keep you safe. There has never been a case where the Luminous One did not return to the surface,” the priest said. “May the Sun’s light be with you.”

  With those words, the priest pulled a lever, and they began descending. Soon darkness overtook them, but a light glowed at the top of the elevator. It seemed infused with holy energy, most likely charged by the priests. He watched the dark stone as they moved, and it felt like he was seeing patterns embedded in its cracked surface.

  “They must have built it a long time ago, but it is remarkably well maintained,” Aren said.

  “It’s older than the tyranny of dragons. Even they did not dare to disrupt this. Some records even suggest they ensured it happened,” Crina explained.

  “I see…” Aren let a silence drift for a while. “Feeling any hesitation?”

  “No, just normal nervousness about meeting a being strong enough to wipe out a civilization,” Crina said, and he laughed weakly.

  “That’s good,” he said, then fell quiet as a hand grasped his. Her right hand trembled slightly.

  Aren returned the grip, making sure his hand was steady. He was not worried per se, but there was always a little bit of wandering thought before heading into the unknown. Her hand felt warm. He should probably start some conversation to take both of their minds off the constant movement downward.

  “What should we plan first for the future?” Aren asked.

  “We?” Crina said, a little surprised.

  “I mean after this whole cultist mess is cleared up, you will have to organize the Luminous Light into a proper group. Same with me. I have to fulfill the obligations expected of archmages that I have avoided until now,” Aren explained. “When that’s settled, we could try implementing our idea to share medical knowledge between our countries.”

  “Ah.” Crina let out a sound as she understood his meaning.

  He turned away from the mesmerizing shapes and looked at Crina. It seemed like some other thought had passed through her mind, and he had interrupted it. Still, her eyes focused, and she nodded.

  “Yes, if it works out, we could transition to supporting the trade of curative reagents and ingredients. Increased trade would further help our countries’ relations,” Crina proposed.

  “That sounds good,” Aren agreed. “I’m sure our craftsmen could learn from each other as well. Your metallurgists are especially skilled. Then there are arts and luxury goods. Once rich, powerful people are hooked on each country’s wine and delicacies, there will be less movement toward war. There still is the matter of the most important issue that will cause future conflicts.”

  “Prophet-Kings’ visions regarding Vo’Teol use of magic…” Crina surmised.

  “Indeed,” Aren nodded. “If our nobles are told they can no longer drive their magical carts or use bath-heating enchantments, they will rebel. The Academy would also not agree to such a change.”

  “Our previous attempt to communicate this issue with your country has been rather poor. Starting with ‘Stop using magic or war!’ is not very constructive,” Crina said.

  “Indeed, the current peace has been established thanks to our prince’s marriage. We need to be able to solve this issue this time,” Aren said. He had thought about the matter, but it was not something with a simple solution.

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  “What if we did it in steps? This argument has been stretched across centuries without any progress. But if we, instead, asked for decreasing the mana usage by a tenth each decade,” Crina suggested, clearly something she had thought about before.

  “It could be done. Currently, we use more mana than ever recorded. I don’t think it’s sustainable. There is a limit to what can be harvested safely from the leyline. Now I should even be able to find that limit if I can prove that sucking too much mana is harmful to our world,” Aren began theorizing.

  Shelving the thought in his mind, Aren continued, “We should be able to reduce the usage of mana significantly simply by remaking old formations that have been working for a long time. We have made many improvements over the years. I’m sure if it became a requirement for prolonging the peace, the King and the Academy would be willing.”

  “That sounds great,” Crina smiled at him, and he returned it. “I will try to share this idea with the Prophet-King and members of his court.”

  Then Crina shifted her grip on his hand slightly. “Say, Aren…”

  A sudden stop of their platform interrupted her. It was gentle, but he had managed to forget about it during their talk. The room, lightly lit by the elevator’s large lamp, was not spacious. A lone empty chair stood in the corner, right next to a large set of wooden doors. The walls were made of white bricks, and a large golden Sun was engraved into them.

  “I guess we’ve reached our destination. What did you want to say?” Aren asked.

  “Nothing urgent,” Crina said, turning her gaze toward the door. “We probably should hurry.”

  Aren nodded, and they both walked toward the door. Crina did not try to separate their hands, so he continued holding hers. Using his right hand, he pushed the large door, and it opened with surprising lightness. Outside felt like a completely different plane of existence.

  Even without his magic, Aren felt the energy permeating the space. It was the same as what the cultists had used to power their fake magic but much clearer and denser.

  Purple light from crystals embedded in the ceiling lit the obsidian steps leading below. The steps were wide and stretched for a long distance toward a black spot in the distance. Aren wondered if they were below the molten canyon.

  Aren took the first step forward and he felt the obsidian floor was slightly warm. Crina stepped next to him and continued down the stairs in silence. He felt her tense a little and he tried to be a comforting presence but he was not certain if it worked.

  As they got closer, the blackness grew larger. It looked as if it were consuming all the light that reached it, a flat surface of void emanating strange energy, different from the ambient power. Then the corridor they had been walking through ended, and they entered a large cavern.

  Aren looked to both sides and could not see the end. The blackness split the world in two. Whoever made this had clearly done everything they could to separate the beast from the rest of the world. They stopped right in front of its edge.

  He looked at Crina and in the purple haze he could see worry in her ashen eyes.

  “I’m here. Let’s go,” Aren said softly.

  Crina nodded and took a step forward. Both of them touched the darkness at the same time. Physically, it didn’t affect them at all, but there was a strange feeling he could not identify. It felt as if something had been left behind. Then he realized his connection to the world’s will was blocked.

  His soul construct continued to work, retaining the knowledge it had absorbed, but the connection felt severed, or more like displaced. It was as if it were still there, but it no longer provided new sorcerous understanding. He tried to see if he could turn it off completely, but it was still beyond him.

  “Two out of three, a shame,” an alien voice interrupted his thoughts. It sounded wrong, as if he were hearing words he understood while echoes of a vastness beyond comprehension resonated around them.

  Aren looked forward and saw the back of a floating wooden throne. Purple crystal spheres hovered around it. They were inscribed with geometric shapes his mind had trouble comprehending. They ended too early only to reveal they were whole from a different point of view. The room was unending in its size. His mouth lowered slightly as he realized what he saw beyond was a city, a large bustling civilization so foreign he doubted anything like it could exist.

  There were buildings structured like wasps hives, rising high toward the sky. Giant insect-like creatures walked on the ground, carrying large containers filled with some kind of golden fluid. Then a swarm, which he had thought was a black cloud, descended and picked up one of the containers. They floated upwards and splashed the contents towards half-completed buildings.

  The largest bug he had ever seen crawled from beyond sight and climbed the structure. Then large, countless tentacles began using the fluid to form walls. It opened large mandibles, and its breath solidified the substance in an instant before it moved toward the next construction.

  In a blink, the sprawling insect city disappeared, and he was left staring at an endless plain of the greenest healthiest grass he had ever seen.

  “Interesting,” the voice said as the throne turned.

  Aren’s eyes widened. The being held a long, thin humanoid form. Its limbs were covered in black skin. Its hands looked normal, if not for the fact that each had only three fingers. Its legs, instead, were sharp spikes that did not look made for walking. Its torso and head were white and smooth like pearls, and its head was long and ellipsoid. Two black wings protruded from its back, one broken near the base, the other made of what looked like dark opaque crystals instead of feathers.

  Aren recognized the eyes. They flickered with the same purple light he had seen on the perfect man in his vision.

  “The little peeker with the connection to this world. I can see you formed it yourself. I guess this doesn’t constitute a violation of the rules, then,” the being said to itself.

  “Ah, but my sole audience has arrived. Where are my manners?” The creature jumped off its throne and landed gently on the grass. No, it didn’t even touch the grass.

  Then it bowed with a theatrical flourish of its hand. “My guests. Welcome to my little prison and part of my domain. You may call me Archivist, or if that is not to your liking, Akasha. I will not accept any other title or honorific.”

  “Following tradition, the guardian shall introduce and tell me everything they know of the spectator. I know physical touch is usually a sign of a deeper bond, so you can keep it brief. We will have time to get to know each other properly afterward,” the Archivist said.

  Aren hesitated, then his mouth opened on its own, and he lost control of his tongue. “Crina, my friend, is a kind and beautiful person. She has a troubled past, but despite it, she strives to make the world she cares about a better place. She is intelligent, but can be a bit naive. Still, she never refuses to learn and values wisdom.”

  Aren clamped his mouth shut as soon as his body allowed him. He did not know what had forced this.

  “Don’t be so surprised. This place is my domain, and my word is its rules.” Aren could swear he saw amusement in the creature’s lit crystal eyes. “Welcome, Crina. I have been getting bored, so I’m happy for your timely arrival. Do you like music?”

  “Yes,” Crina answered quickly. He could see she was shocked as well by this.

  “Good. I have been composing new songs based on a culture I have archived in the past. While I abhor this delay in my mission, it has let me view certain things from a different personal perspective,” the being said. “Still, we can discuss that later.”

  It floated closer to them, observing them closely. “I see you have an out of control talent for worship arts. You are learning to rectify this issue, that’s good. I wouldn’t want my audience to be distracted by suffering. I would warn you, however, not to use either of the powers within you on me. It won’t do anything, and if you sacrificed yourself to your faith prematurely, I would again have to wait a while for another spectator. Or who knows, maybe this time one will fail to arrive.”

  Then he turned toward Aren. “A powerful mage. Naturally talented as well. Not many could maintain the connection you hold. Their fleshy brains could not endure it. You must have learned to use this world’s mana at a very young age. Interesting. You trained your body a little as well. You have also formed a bond with that relic on your wrist too. Quite unique. Shame my pact forces me to let you go.”

  Then its smooth face split, showing a smile made of pure darkness. “Oh. I see the chemical reaction. You want to study me like I want you. You hate me deeply. No, you hate all monsters. Well, I’m not like the creatures above, but I understand it may be hard to see differently.”

  It took a step closer to him, and Aren was forced to look upward to meet its face. “Have you been a little more emotional lately?”

  The creature did not even need to wait for the shift in Aren’s eyes. “I see it. You established the connection with the world a few months ago. It was less restrained then, and I see it has affected your hormonal responses slightly. I cannot see clearly if it has done anything more to you, but it could be possible.”

  “I… have the world manipulated me?” Aren asked himself.

  “Maybe. If you were in a state of high emotion, it could have pointed you in some direction. That’s how it talks to its chosen creatures as well,” the being said.

  “Chosen creatures?” Aren felt uncontrollable curiosity within him.

  “Ah, I sparked interest. Still, I wouldn’t be much of a guardian of my archive if I shared knowledge freely,” the Archivist said, taking a step backward. “I could propose a wizardic duel. An ancient tradition of the first wizards of this world.”

  Aren felt he was being manipulated, but he asked, “What is it?”

  “It’s rather simple. We start with the first circle of magic and gradually move to more complex spells. At each stage, we have two exchanges: first you attack while I defend, then we switch roles. The first one to fail to block the opponent’s spell loses,” the creature explained, summoning small figures of wizards in large hats casting spells back and forth.

  “And if we both reach the limits of the circles?” Aren asked.

  “Then we can call it your win,” the creature smiled. “If you lose, though, I will archive you.”

  “That means?” Aren queried.

  “You will become part of my archive, preserved for all eternity. You will be conscious and able to witness my archive, but you will never be able to leave, and I will have full control over the state of your soul. I could change you to any state you have been in since becoming part of my collection.”

  “Aren,” Crina tried to warn him.

  “I know. I feel this realm is trying to amplify my curiosity,” Aren said. “Will you use your Archivist power to cast spells?”

  “That would be poor sport. I won’t use anything but mana manipulation from the beginning until the end of the duel,” the creature said, its words echoing with a certainty that became law in its domain.

  “Can I use sorcery?” Aren asked further.

  “Not to attack or defend, but anything else is fair game. I personally cannot use sorcery,” the creature answered knowingly.

  Aren hesitated. He could feel the creature was baiting him. With his sorcery, he could easily cast seventh-circle spells now. If the creature used the theoretical ninth-circle limit, he was certain he could match it if he saw an example, even if his spell would likely be pathetic compared to what the higher circles could likely do. The real question was whether he would have enough mana to defend.

  He had already learned a lot about this being. Leaving now, he would be able to call it a success. He would preserve his knowledge, and maybe in his lifetime or in the future someone would find a way to end it. He looked at Crina. She would remain its prisoner for all of her life. Seeing the casual power the creature showcased, he was certain he would not be able to overcome its Archivist power in this century. Not without more information.

  “Will you answer all my questions if I win?” Aren asked.

  “Of course, until you are satisfied,” the creature’s smile widened further, the blackness within consuming all light.

  Aren sighed, and the creature knew he had fallen for its tricks. Well, he would surprise it.

  “All right,” Aren answered.

  The creature snapped its fingers, and the world changed instantly. Aren stood in a giant colosseum made of red stone. Sand lay beneath his feet, and an audience watched. He saw men in plain robes and others who screamed the ancient archetype of wizards. All of them were discussing something and observing him. Most gazed with curiosity, some with pity. Then he saw Crina sitting in the top seat, looking with worry and fear. He tried to smile reassuringly.

  “You can start whenever you wish. I will let you craft your spells without a time limit. I will follow the one-minute rule. I want to witness all you are capable of,” the Archivist spoke. He could not read its voice, but its face showed its pleasure all the same.

  Aren did not react. Instead, he formed his first circle. His circlet appeared on his head as he enhanced his magic control and comprehension with sorcery. He focused on pure efficiency. He did not need to win by toppling the creature’s defense, nor did he expect he could. The creature would not have proposed this if it were not confident.

  An invisible bullet of air launched toward the creature. It used the concept of relative speed to further reduce the amount of mana it consumed. The Archivist formed a circle as quickly as he did, and a shimmering blue field stopped his projectile, dissipating the kinetic energy harmlessly.

  His prediction sorcery had already begun forming models of probabilities. Right now it was a chaos of possibilities. He detected a stone launched from behind him. He redirected it with a flow of air, and it missed him by a finger’s width.

  He heard a murmur from the audience as he launched a sharp wind blade that zigzagged erratically. Then he hardened the earth beneath him as spikes tried to form to skewer him. Dozens of air whips struck a blue barrier, and he stopped a spray of flames that appeared from a portal next to him. He stored the formation for a two-circle portal, it was clean, though would be ineffective at long range.

  Then he used it in his next attack to send a barrage of fire bullets from multiple angles and distances. It did not surprise the creature in the least, and he split stone apart as a boulder ten times his size was conjured over his head.

  He decided to try something else and took a little longer for the next spell. He combined emotive, mnemonic, and elemental formations. Five circles transformed into a globe of kaleidoscopic light. The real effect, however, was invisible to the naked eye, and he made sure none of it was directed toward Crina. A black veil appeared in front of the Archivist, and it emitted what sounded like a very high pitch whistle.

  “That’s rather savage. Radiation that breaks memories and transforms the fragments into raw, harmful emotions,” the Archivist said. “I should respond to this offense.”

  Five circles appeared in the blink of an eye, and Aren did not blink, yet he still nearly missed it. Space around him started to shift, and he quickly teleported away as the very ground beneath his feet ceased to exist. He did not know spatial collapse was possible at only five circles. Observing the formations in his mind, he had to admit the creature knew more about wizardry than him.

  His next spell spread green dust over the sand of the arena. Then over a hundred flowers sprouted at once. Each petal began to store energy from the omnipresent light. One after another, they began shooting projectiles of blue plasma toward the creature. He would not have been able to cast the spell without his new knowledge.

  The Archivist considered the effect for a moment before summoning a sickly green barrier just in time to defend. When the attacks landed, the flowers turned sickly and died. Just as they perished, the negative vitalic energy generated from their death exploded, and new green dust spread and seeded more flowers.

  In a few seconds, the whole field was covered in green dust and lacked space for more flowers to spawn, while Aren did not need to spend any more mana. The flowers peppered the necrotic reflection shield endlessly.

  “I should have blocked the source of light instead of going for the flowers. So that’s what the negative formation did. I have never seen that particular configuration before,” the voice of the Archivist commented from behind the barrier.

  “It was a little inspired,” Aren said.

  “Did you predict I would respond with a negative vitalic shield?” the creature asked curiously.

  Aren did not answer, his predictive models finally starting to catch up somewhat.

  “Splendid,” the being said.

  “So what happens now?” Aren asked, focusing on recovering his mana in the meantime.

  “Since no attack landed, but it also lasts indefinitely due to inadequate defense, the rules state that you can forbid me from using one of the seven resonances,” the Archivist said. The stands fell silent as well.

  Aren thought for a moment about this. He considered the possibilities and reasoned through them. Forbidding elemental could help him save mana by not having to defend against purely offensive spells. Somehow, he doubted the Archivist had much use for mnemonic formations. Every other resonance had its esoteric uses that could be troublesome, but out of all of them, he knew one that was the biggest threat.

  “Divinative,” Aren said. His new knowledge showed him sorceries that he knew could be reproduced with seven circles, spells that could predict his defense and act upon it.

  “Understood,” the Archivist nodded.

  Then Aren grounded his conductive shield deep into the earth as a field of thunder covered his entire field of vision and the roar of sound deafened him momentarily. It seemed the creature had a temper. The sand around him had melted and glassified, but restored itself as soon as the storm ended. Still, he did not spend much mana defending, and he began to craft his next spell.

  With divinative resonance removed from the Archivist’s repertoire and knowing that without its full power it would have to analyze his formations to understand them, he crafted a wholly original spell. He prioritized precision over speed, though he was careful to be fast. Then he activated it, and for a moment, nothing happened.

  The Archivist stood still. Mana buzzed in the air. A master of divinative sorcery could likely have predicted what was going to happen. Finally, when the energy in the air could no longer contain itself, a wave of white plasma shot toward the target. A defensive shield easily contained it, but then it became unstable, and just as it was about to explode, it vanished.

  Aren knew it wasn’t certain to work. The creature had kept control and dismissed its defense at the perfect moment, and the destabilizing part of his spell had fizzled uselessly. He watched for the next attack. At this stage, he could not allow himself to be distracted. He felt a space lock form around him, preventing him from teleporting as a beam of plasma wide enough to engulf half the area threatened to consume him.

  He could have used a lot of mana to defend himself, but instead he enhanced his body. He moved with the speed of a seventh-stage warrior and appeared beyond the spell’s reach. It felt somehow more responsive than when he had used it the last time, but he dismissed the spell, as it still consumed quite a bit of mana.

  “Your turn,” the creature said.

  “I’ll give you the first go this time,” Aren replied.

  “As you wish.” It waved its black arm, and eight circles appeared fluidly in front of it.

  They filled with formations at lightning speed, and finally he saw the connecting point. Instead of a single central formation, there were two, perfectly balanced, working together, and intersecting at a right angle. He began drawing his own as soon as he understood the pattern, feeling the ice formation being fed by the vitalic formation.

  He formed a shield of fire just as the dragon-shaped ice entity, alive through magic, struck. Blue and white flames spread along the frozen body, but it continued its assault, each strike driving him deeper into the sand, sending shockwaves and tossing dust into the air. He watched the foundations of the stands crack and meld repeatedly. Finally, after more than a minute of relentless attacks, the ice gave way and melted.

  Aren breathed a sigh of relief. He had guessed the mechanics of the spell and managed to respond in time. Still, it felt a little too simple. His first eight-circle spell was crude and had used tenth of his total mana. It had certainly been powerful. The flames would have incinerated the beastkin and ended the fight before it even began. The ice had simply been durable but he was sure the Archivist held back.

  Aren watched the being in front of him carefully. He pulled a metal sphere from his brooch and began tracing intricate runes in the air with his wand, each line glowing faintly as his spell took form. Over a minute passed, every motion precise, every formula resonating with mana. At last, he dropped the sphere into the center of the spell. Instantly, two immense magnetic fields flared to life, twisting and pulling at the metal. With a sudden, explosive surge, the sphere shot forward, cutting through the air, leaving a faint, crackling trail in its wake.

  Then it vanished. The sand exploded beneath the Archivist with a shockwave that rocked the entire colosseum. It was ejected into the air. Aren watched through the dust cloud as the projectile he had teleported carried the being away. Its shield held strong, however, as the metal sphere he had launched disintegrated into nothing.

  The spiked legs touched the sand, and it clapped. “That was quite an improvisation. I can see it’s your first time creating this level of wizardry. Archiving you will prove a truly worthwhile endeavor. Should I begin the next round?”

  Aren inclined his head. He had begun drawing the outer formations before the creature even started its own spell. He had an inkling of what was necessary for the nine-circle spells. He was proven right as the two intersecting circles were encompassed by a larger circle that changed the nature of the spell completely.

  The space itself was conjured around him. His own spell snapped just in time to defend him from the warping of reality. The gravitational forces outside became strong enough that light itself began to curve, and he saw the twisted stands of the colosseum. He saw Crina’s mouth open, moving slower and slower as she called his name. Time seemed to slow to a standstill as his own shield consumed more and more mana. He tried to stay calm and avoid doing anything that would invalidate his defense. He needed to endure and trust in his spell.

  When he had less than twenty percent of his own mana remaining, the spell stopped, finally running out of power. Somehow, he doubted the creature had spent all of its energy. Still, with this, it was his victory. He crafted his own nine circles slowly, making sure the spell would work at all.

  A beam of green light shot from his wand. It struck a black barrier, and its effect failed to even activate as it was dismantled by the defense. Nearly out of mana, Aren felt lightheaded. He heard the archived people clap for him. A small smile spread across his lips. Then the creature spoke.

  “Should I begin the next round?”

  Aren’s mouth opened and closed. “What?”

  “I will, then,” the being smiled.

  Then it summoned nine circles. Aren moved to protest, but the spell shifted. A tenth circle began to warp the previous formations, connecting them in a way he could not comprehend. After a moment, it was no longer a circle but a sphere of shifting formations that made his head ache. He tried to understand what it was doing. He felt his blood vessels pop as his focus broke. His sorcerous resonance spell enhancing his mind nearly collapsed.

  He blacked out. Then he was brought back to reality as a small pebble landed on his head. Then dozen more. He looked at it and his prismatic gem showed him the rocks’ nature. It was not conjured matter, it was recreated. At the smallest molecular level the spell created true matter.

  Aren chuckled at his own ignorance.

  The Archivist spoke as it approached him. “As the one who introduced wizardry to your people, I commend you on reaching the highest peak available to mortals. It is outstanding for a civilization as young as yours. I’m sure once you are archived, you will soon show me your full potential. I will grant you full access to my archives.”

  With a burst of sorcery, Aren shot away from the spot. He spent his remaining energy as efficiently as he could. His mind felt mushy. He lunged for Crina, scooping her up in one arm, his hand locking around her waist as he lifted her clean off the ground before she could blink. This way, as he made his escape, he would be the only one breaking the rules. Rising above the arena, he saw the veil of darkness in the distance.

  Then, just as he took aim for another explosion of speed, he reappeared back on top of the sand of the colosseum. Aren blinked. Then his limbs were bound together by black bonds. He fell to the ground as his sorceries collapsed. He was so low on mana that all his senses felt scrambled.

  “Can’t blame you for trying to escape, but it won’t work.” The creature stared directly down at him. “Time to stamp you. You will forget all the pains of ephemeral life soon.”

  “Wait!” Crina jumped in front of him, her feet unsteady from the sudden acceleration and turns. “I beg of you, Archivist, spare him.”

  The creature looked at her for a moment as its smile faded. “I would not separate you. I don’t come up with masterpieces of art every day, so you could spend time with him here. I could even give you full control over his archived state during those times.”

  “I don’t want anything like that!” Crina screamed.

  The being stared at her in silence, then nodded. “This is worth archiving as well. Very well, I will let him go outside.”

  Crina looked at the Archivist in surprise. Then it moved in a fluid motion faster than she could try and prevent it.

  “What are you doing!?”

  “Stamping him,” the being said. “I won’t make him shed his fleshy shell. It will be a little painful, but this way he can go outside. When he lives out his life, his soul will return here.”

  “That’s—” Crina tried to protest, but the being raised a hand toward her.

  “That is the deal we made,” the being said.

  Dark fingers stretched toward Aren, and he tried to wriggle free, but the world spun in his head. Then they passed right into his chest, and he screamed. It felt as if his soul were being branded. Searing pain spread through his whole body as something cold and wet entered his soul. It formed a circular pattern with text inside, and he could understand what it said. It was his identification number and the date of being marked.

  He breathed heavily as the fingers left his chest. Still, the bonds did not go away. He climbed to his knees and looked toward the creature, which now stared at him with calm, assassin-like eyes.

  “One more thing,” the creature said. “I don’t want you growing complacent and lazy while you are outside. Thinking your fate is sealed. That would be a waste of time.”

  A sphere of wizardry formed with a casual effort, and Aren looked at it with wide eyes. He was terrified, but a small part of him still urged him to try to understand it. He saw how the formations bent in ways that defied his understanding of dimensions. His tired mind barely recognized a few symbols of mnemonic resonance before his eyes refused to work properly again.

  Then it flew directly into his head. A memory overtook him just as he saw a viewing plane form in front of him. He saw a lush forest pass by at running speed. Two, no, four people were fleeing from a large lizard monster. Its spiked tail wiggled behind it as its beastly teeth formed a predatory grin. Smoke rose in the distance behind them.

  He recognized the forest as belonging to the southern parts of Vo’Teol, and he was certain he had never been there before. If this was his memory, he did not recognize it. He looked at the two young adventurers. The blonde man was tall and well-built. He carried a sword in his right hand, while his left supported a young girl with golden locks clinging to his chest. They both shared the same bright blue eyes.

  Aren recognized the color and shape. Sweat formed on his back as he turned toward the other adventurer. She held a toddler wrapped in cloth. Her dirty blond hair was tied into a familiar ponytail. Violet eyes gazed with fear at the child cradled in her arms. A sword hung at her hips, but her focus was on running.

  Those were his parents. With this realization, Aren began to feel his baby self’s fear and confusion. It was overwhelming. Then the lizard monster lunged. His father pushed his daughter forward, blade clad in white aura at the ready. He blocked a powerful claw strike that sent him flying into a nearby tree.

  Aren tried to do something, but it was just a memory. He heard his own cries rise into the air as the spiked tail slammed into the young girl and lifted her into the air. She lost consciousness and bled profusely from her right shoulder where the spikes pierced.

  “Anne!” his mother screamed as she turned. “Leave my daughter alone!”

  His mother shifted her hold onto him to her right hand and pulled out her sword. With a flash of green aura, she stepped forward directly into her combat stance, her sword pointed forward. His father recovered at the same time and swung downward with both hands.

  The monster dangled the little girl like a prize. Its gaze was filled with monstrous satisfaction. It lunged with speed and grace to the left to dodge his father’s blow and twisted its head to avoid the second strike. Still, it was grazed by the strike. Blood splattered upward and landed on him and his mother. It roared in fury as the leaves on the trees straightened, sharpened, and flew toward his parents, forcing them into retreat.

  It was a worm. Even his young body could feel traces of mana in the warm, sticky fluid. He felt his younger self growl in irritation. Anger and fear mixed into a hate only a child could feel as he saw his family being wounded. That emotion reacted with the magic in the blood. It seeped into him, and his violet eyes flashed with mana.

  Aren wished to stop himself, but he could only watch. A fireball the diameter of his adult arm formed and shot toward the monster. The wall of leaves tried to stop it. His parents stared in shock as the sorcery burned through and struck the monster, setting it ablaze. Along with his sister. Aren vomited as he heard his parents scream.

  The memory ended. He saw the purple eyes staring at him. He hated them. Then everything went black.

  Aren lunged upward. He looked around in confusion and saw a priestly robe running out of the room as he woke. He felt better; he must have been healed. His mana had recovered a little too. He quickly analyzed himself and saw and felt the brand on his left shoulder and soul. His fists tightened.

  Then he turned to look around. He had been left alone. He stood up, his clothes replaced by a white tunic and pants. Then Donnavan and the head priest entered together.

  “Sunbearer. How are you feeling? What happened down there?” the priest asked first.

  “I’m fine. It…” He found himself unable to speak but felt it wasn’t the Archivist’s power. It was something else. “I cannot speak of what occurred down there.”

  “Right, of course,” the priest shook his head. “I’m sorry.”

  “Where is Crina?” Aren asked quickly.

  “Luminous Crina carried you out and asked us to take care of you,” Head Priest Azri said. “Then she said she had to return down for the rest of the day.”

  “I see.”

  Aren wanted to swear or scream.

  “We should head out, Donnavan. Is the traitor secured?” he asked instead.

  “Yes,” the officer nodded. “Are you sure you are up to this?”

  “Yes.” A little irritation entered his voice, but neither man reacted.

  Aren turned toward the head priest. “Tell Crina I will vi…” His hand trembled, and he could not finish the sentence. “I will write soon.”

  Without saying anything more, he left, and Donnavan followed. He lifted the two men and the bound prisoner with his sorcery. He sped through the night sky toward the Sun’s Peak. He did not need to worry about the wellbeing of either man, so he traveled quickly without additional shielding. At least it spared him from having to hold a conversation as the wind rushed past too fast.

  Unfortunately it left him with time to think. He had been stupid, he knew he was being manipulated and still accepted the duel with being capable of wiping out civilization. He had been too confident in his new power. Then there was that memory. Was it real? Did he really kill his own older sister?

  “No,” Aren tried to deny, his words lost in the wind. Yet he could not dismiss the memory from his mind.

  Crina had saved him. What convinced the monster to listen to her he did not know. As he felt the brand at his chest he swore to himself. He would grow stronger. He would not waste this second chance. Yes, he would do it for Crina.

  Now he needed to deal with the current distraction and start planning. He would read every book in the archmage’s lodge. It would not be enough, but it was the knowledge he needed. Then he would figure it out. His new connection to the world gave him an advantage no mage had ever held. Now that he was outside, it was restored and active again.

  Their travel did not last long. He saw the titanic mountain on the horizon. It was tall, and with the tallest structure on top he had ever seen, it was taller than the Cloudsplit. He saw Donnavan guide his life energy toward his throat.

  “It would probably be best if we skip the procedure and head directly toward the Prophet-King’s chamber. It is a violation of the law, but we cannot let the court learn of our arrival,” Donnavan said, pointing toward the middle of the structure. “Prophet-King’s chamber is there. There will be a large balcony. Once you land there, dismiss all your magic. I will block the first strike and explain.”

  Aren lifted his eyebrow but nodded after a moment. “You know how to deal with them.”

  Donnavan chuckled but his eyes were serious.

  The balcony was large indeed. He landed in the middle and did as he was told. He let go of all his magic but remained wary. Donnavan moved in a snap, sword in hand, and a loud sound made him aware of the man who had attacked them. He was old, gray hair and beard decorating his head. His blade was adorned with the same long, coiled, ruby-eyed serpent as Donnavan’s.

  “Donnavan, you have grown stronger. What in the shadows are you doing?” the old warrior said in a grave tone.

  “We bring grave news for the Prophet-King. There are traitors among the exemplars,” Donnavan said, lowering himself to one knee.

  “Truly?” Another voice came from the room connected to the balcony. “Vannaren, lower your blade. Father and son should not greet each other in this way.”

  The man who stepped out looked ordinary. His stature, height, and face were ones you could easily find anywhere. His hands bore hard callouses, and his face looked rough from long hours in the sun without ever being healed. Yet his soul shone with a brightness that blinded Aren’s senses.

  He was not sure if he could win against the man even at full mana. Yet… they were weak. They were so weak compared to the true powers of this world. He nearly let out a laugh.

  Then another figure emerged from the room, and he recognized the silver-eyed prince of their kingdom. The ruler of the Sands stared at them for a moment, then searched for someone who was no longer there. It was going to be a long night.