'At last, the time draws nigh! The power I have desired shall be mine!’ The figure declaimed. They gestured, a single page raising up from the portfolio and hovering alongside him as he looked down at them, his own features still hidden. ‘Ah, you must be the one I seek, scion of the Icereaver, Lady Janaxia Uth Tremari. Such a shame that my own blood is insufficient to the task, but yours should more than suffice. And in such a lovely package as well!’

Despite his face being hidden, there was the distinct sense of being leered at, as Ranaria writhed around Janaxia’s body, her voice urgent. ‘The Book of First Shadow! But Kinnevar said he destroyed it, using all his powers! That’s what destroyed his physical form and drove him into his long slumber.’ In the low light, all Janaxia could see of the hovering page was black scribbles, moving and shifting across the page. Normally, she would have enquired about it – it wasn’t a story she’d ever heard about Kinnevar, which was rare, but this was scarcely the time for further enquiries.

She tried speaking but was only able to utter a dry rattle, her fingers moving by the slightest fraction, but still far from even the simplest spellcasting. The figure gestured and Janaxia was pulled forward, held suspended in the air.

‘At last! To draw an heir of the Icereaver here was no small task. But now you are here, and your blood and spirit are all I need. I was worried that one of your siblings might have been sent, but they seem to have sent the runt of the litter. The rest of my family were easy enough to deceive, performing a ritual to sacrifice themselves for my power.’

Janaxia tried to fight, to break free of the enchantment. It pressed on her, a force binding her body, but not her will. What was it that Kinnevar had said? That the world was hers, a steed to ride, bound by her will, that wanted to help her, if she would just let it? But she was always bound and controlled – by Mother, treated her as a tool or punishing her, by her siblings who had no respect for her, kept locked in a miserable shell of an ancient house, not even the finer surroundings of Redcastle! Only amongst rogues and vagabonds did she have any freedom, any will or power, and that was on a mission from Mother. She wanted to be more, could be more, she knew it, but how?

The paper seemed to rustle, the scribblings growing thicker, black writing denser now. At this range, Janaxia could see the letters, or at least the shapes scribed onto the paper. Her head swam, eyes tearing up, unable to make any sense, the formations lost from memory as soon as they vanished. She glanced down, seeing that the ‘book’ on the lectern was actually an empty shell, a cover and binding without anything between them except for some tattered rags and scraps of parchment.

‘I wasn’t expecting it to be this simple, your brothers and sisters are all far more powerful, and would destroy me in a flash! But you, the weakling runt, never allowed out, you I can handle. I may even keep you around afterwards, you are quite fetching, hollow out your will to make you obedient.’

Janaxia’s pride was stung by his statement of her weakness, as she felt the magic around her, gritty and harsh on her skin. Kinnevar’s words ran through her mind. The world wants to help you. Let it. Don’t be fooled by wizards, their prattling formulae dissecting the forces behind everything. Flourish, by your own will and presence. Bind the world as you wish it.

She opened her eyes, feeling the forces around her. The mage was close enough that she could see beneath his hood, a thin, pock-marked face, pale and unhealthy-looking, grimy rings beneath each air. To be captured by someone so plain! At least if she had been kidnapped by Asai or Anef, then that was a story worth telling, of the beautiful sorceress captured by a handsome rogue. But this! This was just a pathetic wizard, likely her younger, and proud of nothing more than empty knowledge. Pride flared, and anger, and then power. She could feel it slipping over her, the assurance of her blood, centuries of dignity and knowledge, scarcely something that could lose to some prattling fool.

Her arm twitched, the magic now feeling harsh against her skin, like a cheap set of clothing, rough and easy to discard. The wizard continued to scrutinise her as the parchment orbited around, like a vigilant pet.

‘Your ancestor tried to destroy this, but while words stand true, it cannot be truly destroyed. It may have withered to just a single page, but it persists still. Weakened and broken, it hid, until one of my ancestors found it. For decades we have tried to understand its powers, but only I have the knowledge to truly comprehend it! The blood of the burner, to restore the unwritten text!’

Her other hand started to twitch, fingers twisting. If only she had a weapon, and he was closer! But the indignation was taking hold of her now, a blazing fury, of being help captive by some youth, using only a simple spell, with no style or flair! She squared her shoulders, settling her jaw, readying herself for when the spell faded. Not that she was entirely sure what she would do, but at the least, she would let this stripling fool have a piece of her mind!

He moved closer, gesturing at the parchment, making it move in front of Janaxia’s eyes. She couldn’t look away, the text on the edge of comprehension, maddeningly close but never quite reaching comprehension. Her eyes teared up, unable to look away, but she glared at it. No mere scrap of a book, something apparently ruined by her own ancestor would stand in her way! The symbols seemed to warp and shift, as Ranaria hissed and slithered around her body.

The parchment seemed to almost flinch, trying to escape. But she simply stared it down. She was the heir of Kinnevar the Icereaver! Such a thing was nothing to her! She felt the last vestiges of magic fade from around her, and she dropped to the ground. The wizard looked startled, swiftly incanting a spell, magical energy blasting from his fingers and impacting Janaxia. It seemed little more than a sting as she stepped forward, ready to lecture him on his slovenly appearance.

The parchment bobbed in front of her, and she tapped it, trying to convey her will to it. The text warped around her fingers, dark sprawls spiralling along her skin. The wizard took a step away from her, hood falling back to reveal his face properly, shock on his face.

‘But, you…’

She drew herself up, glaring at him. ‘Quite what are your intentions? This entire affair seems almost unforgivably banal! Should you not have put a little more effort into this? And maybe some rather better clothing for yourself? What is this!?’

She glared at him, feeling power spark from her eyes. He looked terrified, his own fear only serving to fuel her confidence. No-one had ever been terrified of her before! She tensed a hand, feeling power within herself. He tried another spell, a spurt of flame shooting towards Janaxia. It singed her skin, but mercifully didn’t damage her outfit. His terror was a thing of beauty, fuelling Janaxia’s confidence, as she reached towards him, hand extended.

There was no space for him to retreat, his back against the lectern. Janaxia felt herself smile, cold and cruel, no longer the abused final daughter, an afterthought and unwanted spare, but a figure of doom and fear. A whisper started to sing in her mind, a vague susurration, the edge of comprehension promising to soon blossom into power. His hand scrabbled at his waist, a knife coming to hand, edge gleaming with a supernatural sheen.

‘You would usurp part of the Icereaver’s legacy, my inheritance, for your own petty reasons?’ She moved closer, right on top of him, watching his panic turn to fear, his lips unable to form words.

Then he stabbed her. Pain burst in her chest, between her breasts, cold steel puncturing into her. His eyes were wide with fear and panic now, almost gibbering with terror. Janaxia felt coldness blossom inside of her, pushing back the pain as the spell holding the parchment up vanished, the material falling onto her, immediately slicking with blood, sticking to her chest.

And then she made herself stand up, straight and proud. No true Uth Tremari, no heir to the Icereaver, would allow themselves to be stopped by something so petty, so banal, so mundane, as a simple stab wound! She flicked her fingers, a bolt of darkness shooting out. It hit the wizard and he flew backwards, smashing into the lectern, his head cracking against it, struggling to rise again.

Janaxia’s vision swam – she could see dim shadows in the room now, a countless mass crowding around, all different shapes and forms, formed of shadows and mist. Some were warriors, powerful bodies sheathed in heavy armour, others appeared to be wizards and sorcerers, bearing magical regalia. Others were less human – hulking, bulky forms, heads crowned with horns, or bestial shapes, fur-covered and powerful.

The wizard screamed something, a word of command to activate guardian forces. A statue lumbered into animation, giant fists ready to strike, barely visible amongst the crowd of shadows. A cold force slithered across Janaxia’s neck, Ranaria’s face moving into view. Now it had colour and definition, rather than being a poorly-formed shadow – she wasn’t all that bad-looking, although her pinched and bitter expression was doing her few favours, and a touch of colour at the eyes and lips would do wonders. And something with that lanky black hair – definitely a wash, then maybe a braid, wound with golden chains?

Still in a daze, Janaxia reached out and touched the ghost, feeling pressure as her hand brushed through the space she occupied, Ranaria looking startled. When she spoke, her voice was more than the usual quiet hiss, a full-throated sound, like actual speech. And one that could do with more precise elocution, her loose vowels making Janaxia wince.

‘Janaxia! But how are you…’ She looked around, suddenly seeing all the other ghosts for the first time. ‘The legions of the Black Mark, they were destroyed!’ Her form faded, mist flowing back into the gem.

Hot and cold were shooting through Janaxia, the pain bursting from her wound mingling with pride and strength, the stares of the ghosts goading her to action. The golem strode forward through the misty shapes, intent on destruction, Anef and Asai throwing themselves forwards. Their blades struck out, bouncing off the stone body without achieving anything. It twisted, smashing at Asai, a punch hitting his arm, flesh and bone mangled from a single strike. He sank back, ashen with pain, blood streaming down his side.

Always act with purpose. Even if you don’t know what you’re doing, no-one needs to know that. Janaxia reached down, feeling her body chill, fixing the wizard with a cold look as she pulled out the knife, ignoring the pain of the wound and the blood spilling forth. There was some enchantment on the blade, metal lighter than it should be, supporting it in her hand.

A word burst from her lips, cracking the world, the room vanishing into darkness. Infinity stretched around her, impossibly distant stars the only thing to break the endless void. Was that approval in the eyes of the ghosts? All of them were staring at her, eyes questioning. She could sense a distant will, something that seemed familiar, somehow, but was utterly unknown to her, like something she’d always known but never thought about or acknowledged.

Child of ancient blood, you would seek to bind us? It wasn’t a voice, but rather words, text, forming full-fledged in Janaxia’s mind, black text on a scarlet background, something she could somehow read despite not recognising any of the characters. Two of the ghostly figures moved closer – demonically large humanoids, skin vivid red, rippling with muscle, nails razor sharp – as more words burnt into her. This is no place for such as you. Do you think yourself an equal to the ancient powers of this world?

The wizard tried to struggle to his feet, Janaxia contemptuously nailing him with another blast, knocking him down again. This time he didn’t rise. She planted herself squarely on whatever was supporting her above the endless void. ‘I am Janaxia Seyroon Falmeth Uth Tremari, of the blood of the Frostreaver, and his chosen heir. By what right do you deny me?’

She could see the golem, turning and smashing at Asai, an attack barely missing her. A rope was tossed by Shanelle, but the thing was too strong, simply dragging her off her feet.

‘I command you to help me. Aid me, lend yourself to my cause, and be honoured that I accept you as an ally.’ She spoke with all the force and confidence she could muster – not as the useless daughter of her line, but as Janaxia Uth Tremari, beautiful and proud, heir to ancient magic. She fixed her jaw, staring into the darkness, trying to imagine it was a recalcitrant servant slacking off from their proper job, of serving her, of performing her will.

You wish for power, child of ice and darkness? There is…

Janaxia cut the voice off. ‘You will obey me!’ She could feel her strength ebbing, blood flowing down her body, hopefully at least slicking her dress to her body in an attractive fashion. Words from ancient poetry came to mind, sounding appropriately dramatic. ‘Weakened whelp of ancient darkness, you have no power beyond what you are granted! Become my servant, and you shall be rewarded, or else be banished to the eternal night!’

There was a suggestion of movement in the infinite void, lines of force appearing on the golem, its movement slowing. Anef and Asai were both injured, bleeding heavily, movements slowing as Durapi was smashed back against a wall, falling heavily to the ground, struggling to rise.

‘You will help me. Aid my friends. Now!’ She tried to make her voice a sharp crack of command, but felt herself weakening, blood flowing heavily. The letters surged, somehow closer and louder.

I hunger, young one, do you think you can bear the weight of the most ancient of words? Your ancestor attempted to bind both me and my sibling, and that almost destroyed him. Perhaps you will be more…

Janaxia cut them off again. ‘Destroy the monster and aid me.’ She didn’t make it a question; it would happen, a simple surety, just like the sun rising. Then she felt something else slithering over her skin and glanced down – through the hole that the attack had cut into her clothing, she could see black lines forming, sealing the wound.

Service for service. I am weakened by the long fast and shall require much sustenance. You must…

The golem snapped to a stop as though fighting invisible restraints, lines of energy hissing and scoring themselves into the stone of its body. Krem thrust a sword at it, unable to do any damage, as Janaxia kept herself steady, feeling somewhat recovered, aiming for as much imperious hauteur as possible. ‘Aid my friends. They are important to me!’

You would bind yourself to create the world as you wish it to be? That is within my power, but…

‘Heal them!’ She could see Anef and Asai were both barely managing to stay up, arms mangled.

That shall wither my powers to almost nothing. You shall bear my mark, as my servants of old did. But you must feed me, all the essence this world provides. It has been too long since I…

Janaxia coughed and clicked her fingers, gesturing at Anef and Asai. The darkness around her surged, flowing over the twins as Janaxia felt herself weaken. The golem struggled within its bonds, body starting to fall apart as acid and cold cut through the stone of its body. The darkness splintered and shattered, real world surging back.

Then so shall our compact be made! Let the world be made by your will, and my will become your world!

The shapes surged forward, intruding into the real world, tearing the golem apart before vanishing. Janaxia stood there, proud and confident, as the other wizard gibbered backwards, before he was torn apart, body vanishing into bloody mulch. And then another darkness rose up, this one soft and welcoming, shrouding her, welcoming her into an embrace and she sank down, fading into unconsciousness.