Varin paced the city square, rubbing his temples as the idea of losing his dearest friend at the academy was becoming a reality. What was, for a short while, a fun visit to the Tavern with his friend now turned sour at the hands of Cateline. Ignoring the inquisitions of Thaddius, Varin continued his pace and mumbled his woes to himself. “Varin,” Thaddius repeated once more. “We cannot worry ourselves about something we cannot control. What is the purpose of that?” “The purpose?” Varin scoffed. “First of all, it worries me just how little you fear for our friend, Aiora. Second of all, I find it incredibly strange that Aiora goes missing shortly after our dearest princess nearly kills herself in the middle of our courtyard. The cherry on top of it all—I was bewitched, and the Headmistress knew before I knew. What do you say of that, hmm?” Thaddius remained quiet, simply shrugging his shoulders before letting out a sigh. “I am worried, Varin. About more than Aiora, though. I think there is something bigger than our missing friend.” “Sure, but until we find her I do not care about whatever else is going on. Aiora is my priority right now, I will not disappoint her by letting her vanish into thin air.” “Dramatic, but okay. What are we to do, then?” Thaddius asked, crossing his arms over his chest. Varin looked all around and pursed his lips, his eyes falling on the woodsy lake at the edge of the village. “Gerard and Aiora were close—I need to find a way to get ahold of him.” “The hermit of a man? He is probably living in a cave, tucked away from the rest of us. Shall we spend our evening looking through the caves, fighting off the rats and Rattle Egg snakes?” “Rattle Egg snakes are the least of our worries,” Varin grinned before it slowly faded as reality set in. He was hopeless—he had no way to communicate with her mentor, nor did he have a clue where he resided. The lake was fogged as always, for all Varin knew he could live at the center of that haze. Then, there was the infamous Whispering Woods, an undetermined territory of land that housed more myths than the ancient wastelands that extended past the Ellixus Region. Warriors supposedly entered those woods in search of the long-departed and missing, only to return in pieces; rotten flesh and lost souls only to remain. Biting on his bottom lip, he took a few steps towards the shoreline and rolled his pant legs up. Thaddius cleared his throat. “What are you doing?” “I need to get a better look, I want to see what is past this fog.” “Past the fog? Do you know how to swim?” Varin scoffed. “A little dip in the pond should serve me well—if anything, I can say I survived the ginormous waves.” Thaddius chuckled, nodding his head dramatically. The waves were but ripples in this pond, the only intimidating nature of the waters that surrounded Daggernest was the overwhelming and ominous fog. After slipping his shoes off, Varin made careful strides into the water and hissed at the icy temperature. He cursed under his breath and shook his head, wondering if he was just making a fool of himself, trudging into the water hopelessly without a care in the world. It was so unlikely he would find that hermit of a mentor, let alone find Aiora overall. With each step, he was beginning to believe his efforts were a lost cause. For some reason, he pushed on. Deeper into the water, until the water was at his chest and soaked through every layer of his clothes. His teeth chattered, and Thaddius’s voice was but a mere afterthought. “What do you see?” Thaddius echoed. He turned his head to look in each direction, seeing nothing but mist. His bones shook, his teeth chattered and his face was growing numb—but he pressed onwards. As if he were a warrior, fighting through the harshest winters in the wastelands, he did not allow the cold to hinder him. “Nothing,” Varin hollered back. His voice choked at the end of his response as he saw a silhouette of an island in the distance. Picking up the pace, he swam towards the scene in hopes it was more than a delusion. He trusted in his instincts, he trusted in his sight, and he trusted in his ability to push past the frigid water. Thaddius called out for him, telling him to turn back. Varin, being the stubborn headed man, he was, did not heed at his cries. He felt a draw to some land like he was supposed to discover it. When his foot could touch the bottom of the lake, he let out a gasp of relief. His legs were crying for land—although he knew how to swim, he was in no way a water baby. The sea frightened him—but the fear of losing his dearest friend frightened him more. It was a mindless approach, to venture into a hazy lake in hopes to find something, but it appeared that his instincts were just. Crawling onto the sand, he rubbed his arms to warm the skin up. As he pushed himself to his feet, he looked around and tried to peer through the fog. The land was empty, large boulders leading into low lying clouds. He frowned, the thought of arriving at a hidden island, just meters away from The Kingdom of Traburg, and still having it barren was upsetting to him. As he approached the boulders, he ran his fingers against the rough rock and kicked up some sand. An empty stretch of land, that was all that existed here—and he was an idiot for thinking Gerard would find himself in the midst of the mist, it was nothing more than rocks and dirt. It was then that his fingers ran against a smooth stone, cool to the touch and wet from the humidity. He leaned in closer to look at it, a marble of sorts that was slippery and structured. Stepping onto a rock, he stretched his hands up the smooth stone and felt a ledge. He let out a cry of glee, standing on the tips of his toes to snatch onto the ledge and pull himself upwards. As his fingers wrapped around the base of it, he hoisted himself up with a grunt with legs swinging through an open window, leaning his head over so he could see the ever-growing stairwell that wrapped around the circular tower. Dropping down carefully onto a step, he made way to the top. It was silent. Aside from the droplets of water that fell from the top of the tower into a growing puddle at the bottom. It was still—eerie and daunting silence that followed him up the stairwell. The walls were bare, moss growing around the open windows, and led to vines on the outside of the building. Eventually, he was brought to a landing where a table laid nestled in the corner of the room, an open book at the center with bottles on either side. The bottles were half-filled with vibrant liquid, a radiant glow shimmering in the shadows of the dark room. There was an unmarkable stench that made him recoil. He stepped towards it, running his finger across the wooden tabletop and pinched the dust between his fingers. Almost untouched, this room felt unlived in aside from the potions scattered around haphazardly. He kneeled, trailing his gaze across the page and tried to relive whatever this person experienced before abandoning the tower. The book was open to two things: a potion aimed to gain the ability to rid yourself of your soul, or a nearby soul, and exist as a ghost, even possessing a marked soul. On the other side, past a few torn pages, was a spell that created a portal to any land the spellcaster knew. Near or far, it could be traveled to. Furrowing his brow, he bit the corner of his lip and shook his head. This was dark magic, magic that could be detrimental to the mage, or the mage’s victim if used incorrectly. Surely, Gerard would find little solace in such dangerous acts—he got the aura of careful playfulness from him, not the aura of somebody capable of dangerous and immoral motives. Then again, there was no evidence that this was Gerard’s home, not a single letter, book, or piece of artwork that gestured he inhabited this area. Practically snapping himself on the wrist, he reminded himself to not jump to such conclusions. He parted from the table and made way to a cot, a blanket pulled back and smelled of mildew. Frowning, Varin picked up a torn piece of red fabric, bunching it up in his fists before letting it fall back to the floor. Abandoned, empty—but he wondered why it existed? Surely, there was not more than one hermit of a wizard in Traburg. It was then, as he passed the cot, that the stench grew unbearable. Covering his mouth with his shirt collar, he peered on the other side of the bed, closest to the wall, and saw a wrinkled, decaying flesh of a man. His skin was worn, eyes nothing but black sockets and blood dripping from each orifice on the body. The beard was coated with crimson, and where the irises would have been were nothing but empty holes. Lifeless, decaying holes. It was hard to tell who this was, with the rotting flesh and thin skin, but it resembled a known mentor that said he needed to lighten up. He felt ill, the air catching in his chest as he backed away clumsily. Deciding the tower was an unsuccessful attempt at finding clues to where Aiora was, Varin returned to the table and picked up one of the vials. Sloshing the liquid around hastily, he wondered what dark magic would do to him. He wondered if Gerard had practiced dark arts, if that was what earned him his death. He knew this type of magic was a give and take, and if he had nothing to give, he was sacrificing a piece of himself. Perhaps Gerard sacrificed far too much. Many mages went insane from this type of magic, or, so it was foretold. Leolina forbade the act of dark magic on or near the grounds of Lighthelm, but she never explained why. Nobody questioned it—it was an unspoken rule to follow for as long as a mage existed in Traburg. So, why did this tower exist with a book of evil spells? Then again, the Head Mistress had a collection of objects served to create doppelgangers in the heart of the kingdom. Perhaps I should not be so naïve, Varin told himself. Dark magic would not hurt him nearly as bad as the stories presaged. So, he followed what the book said. Two splashes of Warrior’s Tongue, one of Broot Blood, and lastly, a pinch of salt from the Forbidden Sands. The potion was easy, for the only elements left on the table were the ones required for that spell. He set the vial down carefully and turned his eyes to the spell that would get him out of here. He wanted to keep this potion in a safe place, and surely another trip in the water would ruin the concoction. Varin spent little time questioning the longterm effects of performing this spell, he, instead, ripped the pages out and stuffed the one that held the ingredients for the potion in his pocket. Grabbing the vial, he held onto it tightly and read aloud the spell. He was hesitant in his pronunciation but confident in his capabilities. The spell was foreign and new, but he had studied plenty of similar phrases at Lighthelm to be familiar with this—even if it was darker in origin. Varin knew he was making the founders of this language turn in their grave, assuming they laid in one. After discovering this potion, he wondered how many still walked among him. Varin felt something rare, he felt warm. Despite his soiled clothes, soaked with freezing water, he was warm in his core. His eyes stayed closed, but the air around him began to tickle his skin and goosebumps raised across his body. Opening his eyes, he watched as the floor faded into grass, the walls into trees, and the table into a fence. Blinking, he was back at the edge of Traburg, only this time he was alone. Thaddius was gone, but the town was alive. Alive with screams, with pleas of help, and with poisonous clouds of smoke that lifted into the Heavens. Varin ran into town to see where the screams were coming from, but it was useless, they were everywhere. He held the vial close to his heart as he watched children and families run past him, coughing up a lung as the air grew thicker and harder to inhale. Around him were flames that consumed the structures all around, a few bystanders burning to their demise and falling to their knees. Varin had never seen such turmoil, a scene of wicked proportions only designed to kill. The air reeked of death, more than the tower he had escaped, and his eyes watered at the sight. He stopped in the center of town and helped a child up who looked fearful for their life, Varin told him to run towards the water and wait there for help. He watched to make sure he made it out alright before turning to try and find more people who needed help getting out of this chaos. In the distance, near the Tavern and local shops, he saw a fiery being standing tall. From here, they were nothing but an eternal flame in the shape of a body, each movement of their arm gesturing the fire onward towards their next victim. Gripping at the small blade he kept in his holster, he doubted this tiny weapon would serve him as good as his sword.