Two Days Prior

Varin tapped his finger along the spine of his seventh book, letting out a scowl of frustration before slamming it shut. It had been a few hours since he and his friends discovered that wicked plant up at the top of the western tower. As he dived further into his research, though, he was quickly discovering that no such plant had been recorded to date. It was not supposed to be possible, but somehow, someway, Mistress Leolina had made the impossible, possible.

With each book slammed, he lost a part of his sanity. It was late in the evening, and although most were fast asleep, here he was, snooping throughout the library in search of answers. It began with a simple curious twinkle that resided in the back of his mind, one that edged him towards the desired answer that had long been lost in the wee hours of the night. Quickly, as he turned each fragile page of the antiquated books, he began to realize how wicked the possibility of a doppelganger-creating plant would be.

Varin took the nail of his thumb between his teeth, gnawing at the cuticle in an attempt to appease his stress. Each droplet of sweat that dripped down his forehead found its way into his eye, stinging the corner as a reminder of the severity of this situation. The fact that a doppelganger existed was not bad in itself; it was, instead, the capabilities and opportunities it raised. Hundreds of years ago, creating a doppelganger was seen as an asset or tool. It was in no way considered dark magic, but after the Forbidden War those imitators proved to be a dangerous and fatal foe. They could easily harness the power of their original counterpart and create a band of copycats so powerful it could drive a stake through the heart of the earth, ripping the seams of the ground in two before anybody had the chance to stop it. What was mindless on the surface was a disaster waiting to happen.

A gentle knock thudded at the door, his silvery haired friend walking in slowly. She twiddled the fabric of her nightgown between her thumb and forefinger, furrowing her brow at the stressed man, “What is it that has you up so late, Varin?”

“It doesn’t make sense, Aiora,” he whispered and pushed the books away from him, “but I don’t think I should be so surprised. How did you know I was here?”

“A mage’s intuition is never wrong. Regardless, you are incredibly predictable. After you ran off in a fit earlier, I figured you would be trying to find your answers. Any luck?”

“Not at all, according to every encyclopedia of magic, this plant shouldn’t even be possible. Creating a doppelganger requires resources that are difficult enough to find on their own. So, creating an entity with the sole purpose of producing such extraneous magical tools theoretically should not be possible. There’s not enough magic in the world to keep that plant fed enough to keep it generating those doubles.”

Aiora hummed and took a seat across from the man, turning the book upright to read the page he left off on, “Perhaps you are digging too far.”

“Too far?”

“Yes,” she whispered and peered at Varin through her lashes, “your intuition is too good, Varin, we both know this. However, instincts can get you killed. I don’t believe Mistress Leolina would appreciate it if you were digging up the skeletons buried in her closet.”

“Sometimes rain washes up those graves,” he responded with disinterest, standing to his feet. “Nothing good can come of this, Aiora. Surely you would understand that.”

Aiora tucked her bottom lip between her teeth and stood as well, returning the books one by one into their home slot on the shelf. After a moment of hesitation, she spoke with a quiver in her voice, “I understand all too well, Varin, I think it’s you who doesn’t understand. You are getting yourself into something way above your skill set.”

“Is that underestimation?” Varin responded with a grimace. This warrior was not famous on the battleground, he was not yet a hero of war, but he had the strategic mindset, wits, and strength to overcome any obstacle war could throw at him. Magic was never supposed to be such an important aspect to him, but here he was, picking around in mystical business that was not his.

“It is,” Aiora responded without remorse, “you are a Lord, the Queen of any kingdom would fancy you and pair you with their impressionable Princess at a glance. Yet, you chose to preoccupy your resources on magic and fighting.”

“No Queen looks at a Lord as a prospective husband to their Princess, I do not hold enough political power for that. Aside from that, I would not last a day in a royal family. I would be driven mad!”

“Doubtful,” Aiora snickered, “you are just as pragmatic and overindulged as any other member of Royalty.”

Varin’s nostrils flared at the jab, shaking his head in response, “Why are you here, then, Aiora? If you are so disapproving of my involvement in magic, why come here? You fancy the home life, cooking for your own drunken Armorer?”

Finally turning on her heel, she stared at her friend with a shake of her head, “I cannot begin to imagine that life. My family has no power, no Kingdom bows to our assets. My father’s a baker who could care less for my mother, and my mother is just that. A mother. She cooks, cleans, and yells at my brothers and sisters. That is no life to heed.”

“Then why should I care so much of my land?”

Aiora grew silent, her gray eyes sparkling with a tear as the torch alongside her flickered idly, “You have a choice.”

“And I’ve made it, perhaps you should keep with your own choices and leave me be.”

Varin was hardly so harsh, specifically to one of his closest friends in this academy. Although, it was also rare to see him passionate about what was wrong. Something about this doppelganger situation rubbed him the wrong way, and he felt understanding what implications it could cause would begin to appease that burning desire to know more. He had gotten a taste of darkness, and it terrified him. At Lighthelm, the darkest of magic anybody would see was fire. Nothing beyond that would be studied, and nothing unnatural in design could be harnessed. These were Mistress Leolina’s rules, and it seemed they could only be a layer of fog covering the truth of her intentions.

───── ❝ 𝖑𝖔𝖛𝖊, 𝖊𝖓𝖛𝖞 & 𝖒𝖆𝖌𝖎𝖈 ❞ ─────

Varin stood outside, reaching to grab an arrow and place it on the bow. He drew the string backward, letting it go with a snap and watched as the arrow soared through the air in a wisp. He narrowed his eyes at the target, scowling at an anything-but-perfect landing. Nothing was working for him today. He tried to play with magic, but he was sorely reminded of the unease that resided atop the western tower. After that failed attempt, he walked off to find Aiora and hopefully clear up any tension in the air, although she wasn’t in the building when he last checked. So, the only other thing to do was practice some archery. Apparently, his accuracy was as affected by his stress as magic was.

“The mighty Varin missing his shot?” A familiar voice chimed. “What has gotten into you?”

Varin snickered and turned his head, eyeing Thaddius curiously, “I am well equipped with a sword, a bow and arrow are merely there for discipline.”

“Ah, how could I have forgotten the warrior within you is limited to brute force, hmm?”

“What is it you want, Thaddius? Surely not here for a rematch of my triumph yesterday?”

“Not at all!” Thaddius roared and instinctively covered the spot where Varin’s blade had sliced his skin. “The feeling of lightning every time that blade touched me is something I would never wish upon my worst enemy.”

“I think that is because you have yet to meet your worst enemy.”

Thaddius smiled and snatched the arrow Varin was about to use, wiggling his finger in a dry attempt at irritating him, “We missed you at breakfast this morning. Also, Aiora seemed awfully upset before running off into town. What has happened, a lovers' quarrel?”

Varin took back the arrow with pursed lips, putting it back on the bowstring before taking a final shot at the target. Miss. With a huff, he responded, “Simply a quarrel, lovers were not involved.”

“That is quite alright, we all go through our individualistic stages of denial. Just, please tell me it wasn’t about the tower?”

“Indeed.”

Thaddius huffed out, throwing his hands up in the air, “So what? Scared of a doppelganger hiding behind a portal? Have more trust in Leolina, Varin.”

“I don’t know the woman, and I don’t think I’d like to. She simply invited us here, that is no reason to respect or trust her. My research tells me whatever is up there shouldn’t be.”

Thaddius walked out to the target with Varin, twirling a piece of hay between his fingers idly as he stuttered a response. With each attempt, he stopped himself to rephrase. Eventually, he found his unwavering voice, “Let’s suppose there is something dark here. Why is it a bother to you? Aiora saw her doppelganger, too. Perhaps it isn’t even creating your twin—perhaps it is, instead, mirroring the image it sees?”

“That’s idiotic, no mage would go through that effort to create a mirroring plant. Use your brain, Thaddius.”

Varin grabbed each arrow off the ground as they walked, eventually ripping the few that hit the target with frustration. It was rare he felt doubted, his friends often trusted his instincts as much as their own, but the second he began to question their precious Mistress Leolina all Hell broke loose. Friend or not, Varin did not handle opposition well when he felt passionate about something.

“What is it you’ll do if it is a source to create doppelganger’s?”

Varin paused at this question. He hadn’t gotten that far yet, and the idea of reacting to such unspeakable inventions shook him to the core, “I am not so sure. I think it’d be best if we found somebody who was more well-versed on dark magic.”

“Like whom?”

“Your guess is as good as mine, Thaddius.”

Although Varin slowly felt the tension come to rest between the two, he could not get rid of that pulsating feeling of anxiety that resided in the back of his mind. Every book he flipped through last night indicated that the use of doppelgangers was for ill intent. Not a single act in history had resulted in a doppelganger doing good, it always ended in bloodshed. In deceit. It has been years since the last war, so many that he was but a child when his elder brother went off to fight. The idea of dark magic resurfacing in an act of war hit too close to home. If his dear Aiora saw his nosiness as an overreaction, so be it, but Varin would not sit by and watch those around him become victims to mimicry.