Five months previously…

It had taken many years to reach this moment. Marek still couldn’t believe it. He looked around his apartment, which was a generous term for it. It was more akin to three closets. There was a toilet, bed, and kitchen that combined all formed one small room. Windows in each room made it easier, but it had been cramped. Still, it had been his home for many years.

Marek looked around, taking in the sight of what would soon be some other would-be Mage’s apartment. Compared to many trainees, it was fairly spartan: a bed, a desk, with some trinkets scattered about the room, probably the most important was a portrait drawn by a street artist of himself and Riona. Marek stepped forward and looked at it, holding it up to better reflect the fading evening sunlight.

He looked the same as he usually did, with long brown hair, thick eyebrows, and blue eyes that he had never really liked but had learned to live with. He had been dressed like a magician should, with flowing grey robes that announced Marek’s position as a Magician at the Citadel. Riona, though, looked transcendent, with her shoulder-length red hair, green eyes, and a wide smile that had brightened up his day whenever he saw it.

Marek sighed, putting the portrait back down on the desk. Oh, Riona, Marek thought, closing his eyes for a moment. If only. She had left a year ago, due to… something. Marek had never gotten the full story. She had been here one day, gone the next. She was like the wind, flittering about and making everyone happier and more cheerful, then she was gone to who knows where. The world was poorer for it; she had been beautiful and powerful, a combination that would have changed the world had she stayed and not gone back to her home somewhere in the East.

Marek was shaken out of his musings by a soft knock, which made him frown. Who could that be?

It wasn’t extremely late, but he wasn’t expecting anyone. It was after dinner, meaning most in the Citadel were either preparing for bed, out in Velaire, or getting ready to leave, like Marek was supposed to be doing.

There was another knock, this time more insistent. “Coming!” Marek called. He brushed his grey robes absentmindedly and hurried out of his bedroom to what could be generously described as his ‘living room’. It held a mere table with three chairs crammed in the corner of the kitchen.

Marek opened the door to see an unexpected visitor: Councilman Marast, Archmage of the Citadel, dressed in his rich red Archmage robes announcing his status. His six-foot-tall frame was crowned with a hawkish face and a grey beard. His hair was still mostly dark, but his temples were greying. Marek had seen him a few times, but for him to arrive at his apartment unannounced on the eve of his departure…

“Are you going to let me in?” Archmage Marast asked, smiling gently. He raised a greying eyebrow.

“Of course!” Marek sputtered, getting out of the way, and allowing the Archmage into his home. “I’m sorry, but I never expected to… well… have someone like you visit.”

“Someone like me?” Archmage Marast said, sounding amused. “Well, I guess you could say that.”

“Yes,” Marek said, struggling for words. “I know you’re very busy and that you’ve many things to do, so I’m very surprised and…”

“Relax,” Archmage Marast said, his smile widening to just short of a grin. “You’re not in trouble. In fact, I am almost certain you will be immensely pleased by the outcome of this visit.”

“Oh,” Marek said eloquently. He mentally slapped himself and tried again. “Please, sit down, Archmage Marast.” Marek bowed his head and pulled a chair for the Archmage to sit on. “I know it’s not what you’re used to, but I hope it’s acceptable.”

Archmage Marast laughed. It was warm and rich, and though Marek was embarrassed, it was the type of laugh that invited people to join in with him. He smiled, mostly at ease but still completely confused as to why one of the most powerful people in the world had decided to pay him a visit.

“Oh, you’d be surprised what I find acceptable,” Archmage Marast said, sitting down gracefully. He twitched a hand at a candle, and to Marek’s amazement, it lit, blazing merrily within moments. I barely even felt him open his magic! How?

Marek sat down opposite Archmage Marast, folding his hands and placing them on the table. “Well, I am about to leave tomorrow,” Marek replied. His face flushed as the Archmage looked around the room and chuckled.

“Already packed, I see,” he said, looking bemused as his grey eyes noting the obviously unpacked room. “Oh well, you’ll be using your magic to pack it all, I expect. We all did, at your age. For the first time, you’re able to use your magic the way you’ve been taught, without restriction or fear of getting caught…” he trailed off and looked at Marek sternly, who blanched.

Archmage Marast smirked at Marek’s visible dismay. “The rule is put there to keep Magicians from using magic to excess. A little use outside of class here and there is fine. In fact, now that you’ve gotten your wand, it’s almost expected for you to be flamboyant for a while.”

Marek settled back in his chair, for the first time feeling completely at ease. It was like he was talking to another student, not an Archmage of the Council.

“Well, Archmage, I was going to use it for bigger things. I planned to pack my things myself. I don’t have much that I will need on the road. Just a few necessities.”

“Oh, just call me Marast while it’s just us two,” Marast said, waving an errant hand. “You’ll hardly believe how boring it gets to hear that all the time. Archmage this, Archmage that, it’s something that you learn to live with. It’s a fine job, of course, and a title I’m proud to have, but it’s something that I don’t need to hear every second of every day.”

“It will be nice being called Mage, though,” Marek said. He leaned back and looked at the ceiling, reminiscing. “I never thought I’d make it, honestly. It’s been a journey.”

“So it has,” Marast said. “We’ve been talking about you, you know. You and your graduating class in the Year of Diev two-fifty-nine have been the talk of the Citadel.”

“Oh, really?” Marek asked, trying not to think how the rest of the Council or other influential people were gossiping about him, a recently graduated Mage. “I hope it’s flattering, at least.”

“Oh no,” Marast said, looking serious for the first time. “You passed by the skin of your teeth, and we had a debate on whether we should force you to retake your Trials…” he laughed again at Marek’s stricken expression. “I’m joking, of course. Your grades were exemplary. I’m actually here in part because of your grades and what you plan to do with them.”

“What do you mean?” Marek asked, intrigued despite himself. “I plan on leaving Velaire for my World Tour.”

“Yes,” Marast said, nodding. “It is that that which caught our attention. Most graduates these days don’t bother and stay in Velaire. It’s much easier that way.”

“I’m an orphan,” Marek said, shrugging. “There were offers, but I’d rather see the world before I come back and stay here for the rest of my life.”

“Admirable,” Marast said. He reached into his pocket and pulled out a pendant, and placed it on the table. “This is what I’m here to give you,” he said, pushing it toward Marek along the table.

Marek picked it up and studied it. The gem set in the center of it was turquoise, and whenever he narrowed his eyes, more colors seemed to reflect off it. The veritable rainbow of color mesmerized him. It was beautiful and positively overflowing with magic.

“That,” Marast said, pre-empting Marek’s question, “is Divine-Wrought.”

Marek was floored. Divine-Wrought items were priceless beyond compared and made Dominion Wands and even Staffs seem as though you could pick them up at your local street dealer. Only the richest and most powerful could even hope to see one, let alone own one.

“Why?” Marek asked. “Why me?”

“Because you remind me of myself,” Marast said. His face was straight, but there was a smile in his eyes. “When you arrived, I must confess that I thought you would be drummed out in a month. Your magic was wild, undisciplined, and you seemed overwhelmed by it all.”

“I was,” Marek said softly. “I had little clue as to what was going on.”

“But you persevered,” Marast said. He was smiling now. “You stayed after class, you asked questions, and you studied. I think Librarian Atalea eventually gave you a key so that you could let yourself out after closing time.”

“She did,” Marek said, grinning at the memory. “She told me that if I dog-eared even a page of one of her books, she would roast me alive.”

Marast chuckled. “I wouldn’t put anything past her,” he said, raising a hand to stroke his beard. “You impressed us all, Marek. I was the same, in your place.”

“Really?” Marek asked, unable to believe what he was hearing. “You?”

“Me,” Marast confirmed. “I was like you when I first arrived, wild and weak. Like you, I got to work, persevering to become who I am today. I see that same fire in you, Marek, and while you’re traveling, it would comfort me to see that this pendant would keep you well.”

“What does it do?” Marek asked, twisting the pendant in his hands. “It’s magical, but I’m not sure as to what it does.”

“Neither do I,” Marast said. “I have puzzled out some of its uses, of course. I believe it was crafted by Noam to be given to one of her prophets, perhaps even during the Divinity War. As she wasn’t always available to directly talk to her subjects, pendants like this one would be used. Most of what happened in the War is lost to history, but whenever you have a question that deeply troubles you or some sort of other concern, it will grow hot on your neck, using a little of your magic to give you images of ideas and places that could help you.”

Marek held up the pendant, awe-struck. “Incredible,” he breathed. “How long did you use it?”

“You are perceptive,” Marast said. He frowned. “I used it for quite some time until, eventually, it stopped working. I’m not sure why—it was many years ago. It was given to me by someone whom I trusted, and now I’m giving this to you, someone who I think will change the world someday.”

“I…” Marek swallowed, blinking back tears. For someone like Archmage Marast to say this meant a lot, especially to a recently graduated Mage. “Thank you, Marast. That means a lot. I will protect this with my life.”

“No!” Marast said. He took Marek’s hand and held it intently. “This pendant is priceless beyond compare, but it is not worth a single human life. Treasure it, yes, but not at the expense of your life. I have great expectations for you, and it would be to Velaire’s detriment to see you die protecting that pendant.”

“I will,” Marek said, locking eyes with Marast, who stared at him insistently. “I promise.”

Marast relaxed and smiled. “Good,” he said. “Very good.”

The Archmage rose to his feet and inclined his head to Marek. “I would say good day but given that it’s night, I’ll simply wish you farewell,” he said, extending a hand.

Marek placed the pendant gently on the table, rose from his chair, took the offered hand, and shook it. “Until we meet again, Marast,” he said, bowing low, still stunned at the events of the evening.

“Until we meet again,” Marast said.