Varin walked outside with Thaddius, their eyes set towards the city nestled within the center of Traburg. It was not often that the two of them ventured into town just to visit, but tonight they were set on the idea of a distraction. Cateline had been in recovery for a few days now, and the fact that she didn’t perish in that icy inferno shook the Lord to his core. The trio had avoided any conspiracies to what had happened with Cateline and her bout of magic, but that didn’t mean Varin’s mind wasn’t absorbed on every possibility there was.

The sun touched the horizon in a display of beauty, the clouds bleeding hues of purple and orange. The Lord looked towards the mountainous region, searching the peaks for any sign of illumination that would resemble what he saw when he ventured off with Aiora and Thaddius.

“Has Aiora mentioned anything of that strange man?”

“Strange man?” Thaddius said with a furrowed brow, his expression flashing into a spark of realization when he comprehended what Varin was asking. “Ah, no, I don’t think she has. To be fair not much has been said by the girl. She’s been in her own little world since Cateline had that accident.”

“Glad to see I’m not alone thinking Aiora has been distant,” Varin mumbled as they stepped into the tavern. There was a bard playing a joyful tune in the corner, a small crowd formed around with smiles on their faces. It was not very clear if the group was cheering on the struggling musician on or watching him as if he was a jester. With a scowl at the pitchy strings, the two took a seat and drank their mead.

“To be quite fair, Varin, when are women not distant? In these times, understanding a woman’s mind is as rare as earning some coin.”

“No, Thaddius. You’d earn coin if you didn’t bet it all away.”

“Now just because I lost that duel doesn’t mean I have a problem!”

Varin hummed and unfortunately zoned out whatever else the satyr was saying. So many worries raced across his brain, and the answers wouldn’t be revealed anytime soon. Before Cateline arrived at the academy, Lighthelm and Traburg were quiet. There were no worries of magical plants that could level the grounds with the power that resided in their stems, nor were there magical Princesses that practically burned the fighting grounds to ash. Things were normal, scholars came and went as they pleased and the omniscient Leolina was but a mere afterthought.

Now, it seemed his worries shifted from his desire to go home with newfound skills, to the yearning to know everything about the good and bad of magic. Lighthelm focused on the naturalistic elements that can aid a mage in their journey through magic, from fire to lightning, but coincidentally avoided the aspects of otherworldly and sacrificial wizardry. The Lord was never one to dabble in the immoral arts, even when it came to partaking in deeds of good over evil. He lived by a certain standard and was a firm believer that was how his family’s name radiated success, but for the first time, he desired to taste something of evil origin.

“Varin,” the satyr said as he smacked his cup down onto the table. “You couldn’t possibly look direr, what is the matter?”

“Thaddius, what brought you to Lighthelm?”

The satyr pinched his lips into a thin line, little lines forming around his mouth from the dramatic expression. “Are you looking for an honest answer or a fabricated one?”

“I am guessing you have one for both?”

Thaddius grinned from ear to ear, nodding his head as he leaned towards Varin slyly. “Of course, every man should have an alternative explanation in case things go wickedly. So, which is it?”

“Let’s start with the fabricated answer, simply because I’m curious,” Varin said with a mischievous grin, leaning back in his seat as he watched his puerile friend come up with his answer.

“Power, Varin. It’s what every man wants, from the poorest commoner to the most regal Prince. We all want power.”

“There are plenty of ways to go about power, Thaddius. Most require less time and dedication in comparison, too.”

Thaddius tapped his finger on the wooden table. “Ah, yes, but nothing good comes from the easiest travels, Varin! If that doesn’t please you, I beg of you to ask for the genuine answer.”

“Pray tell.”

Thaddius’ cocked his head, strands of his hair loosely wrapping around and getting caught within the ridges of his horns. “Control.”

“Does that not go hand in hand with power?”

“Not when we are talking about ourselves, Varin. Nothing is worse than holding that energy inside without discipline. Look where that has gotten our newly visited Princess.”

Varin’s eyes lowered to the table, taking in what his elder friend was saying to the Lord. It wasn’t often Thaddius spent effort on conversations that were solemn in nature. Often, he was the one lighting the room with jokes only a fool would find humorous. As Varin got to know him, he realized that his comedic relief was certainly a front that hid his true sentiments.

“Have you ever done something so terrible with magic, Varin? Something that you’ve regretted while exploring that instinctual desire to release the pent-up power within?”

Although the man shook his head with uncertainty, he knew how big of a lie the gesture was. Varin did not travel so far to just to learn a bit of magic, he did not seek out the terrible consequences of what he was simply to become a better warrior for his King. Life would never be that simple for Varin. He had ruined any chance at an ordinary life because of one drunken night fueled by rage.

“I think we both know that is a lie,” Thaddius responded with a frown and stood. “We should all know the three of us to have some things buried deep that nobody should ever know. If you genuinely think that bewitchment inside you is innately good, you’re a fool.”

Varin watched as Thaddius walked to the wooden counter to order another round of drinks. Looking around the tavern, he took note of the inhabitants. Mostly men sat at the tables, drinking away their sorrows and talking to the few women scattered about. Most of the men looked dirty, their brown clothes stained with dirt and mud. The face of a commoner was typically tan, making the Lord feel like an outsider with his pale complexion and tidy clothes. As his caramel rested on a woman nestled in the corner of the tavern aside the bard, he caught her studying him with a curious stare. The blonde woman emitted something otherworldly, her skin tan, and her eyes radiantly green. He narrowed his eyes at the sight before turning away, deciding whatever aura that haloed around her was irrelevant. He had far too many issues as it was already. Despite his best efforts to stay focused on the peeling wood and idle hum of the bards' instrument, the woman’s stare bored into the side of his head and created a sensation within him that could only be described by an embodiment of peril.

Varin’s veins grew warm as if the blood beneath his skin was boiling, and as he reached up to wipe a bead of sweat away his fingers dragged against his burning skin. With pounding temples and an aching brain, Varin turned to look back at the blonde woman only to be greeted with an empty corner. Gripping onto the side of the table, Varin turned to Thaddius once he returned. The satyr’s mouth moved as he looked at Varin with worry, but he couldn’t comprehend a word of it. Every syllable that dropped from his tongue was foreign to the man now, the only words that rang loud and clear residing in the back of his mind.

The children of the night will rise again, only those who are worthy will survive. Join us, Varin, else all you know will crumble.