High in the boughs of the Heren’elen The Arcane Seer sat at his desk. The scratch of a quill against parchment filled the chamber. He scribbled away in a thick tome, his prophetic journal. He recorded every vision he’d ever had in the expansive volume, save for one. Some of his visions were vague whispers of the future that could be, while others were as clear as a reflection in a still pond. All his visions existed out here in the aether; waiting patiently for him to discover and interpret.

The Arcane Seer’s purpose was to guide his people to a better future using the gift of his sight. His eyes were closed as his hand wrote blindly across the page in perfect flowing elven script. He weaved through the complex stream of aether where his sight took him.

Over the centuries he had learned how to choose, relatively accurately, the space and time that he wished to see. And there was invariably something to see. A child playing with a ball, an insect building a nest, a tree decaying back into the soil. He could explore wherever his heart desired, forward or backward, potential or unfulfilled, sometimes losing himself for days in the never-ending expanse.

His latest vision opened with a clear picture; war, chaos, and loss. Sadly, these were not unique, but part of an ever-increasing trend. Then the vision became muddled and confused. There was a flash of the young man, Ian, and his visit to the Heren’elen. There were bursts of light, a door that could not be reached, and a creeping vine that forced him away. Then for the first time in a long time, there was nothing. The future, if there even was one, became a complete mystery. He opened his eyes.

It is time, then. The Seer replaced his quill in the inkwell with a sigh. Leaning back in his chair he silently prayed he had done enough. That his niece would succeed, and that it was not too late to prevent the impending chaos. He took a slow, meditative breath and allowed his thin frame to sink into the plush cushions of his intricately woven desk chair.

A figure concealed in the shadows appeared across the room. His outline was barely discernible from the inky blackness around him. The Seer could always see the eddies and tides of energies flowing around all things that possessed at least a spark of life or magic. When a being without that spark presented itself was usually cause for alarm. In this case, however, it had been expected. The only logical explanation for such a sight was death.

“He isn’t coming back. If that’s what you are waiting for,” The Seer said as he carried on with his business. He moved through the motions that he’d made thousands of times before. He opened a corked bottle of pounce. Meticulously sprinkled a thin layer over the damp ink in his journal. After tapping the edge of the page to test it he blew away the excess before closing the book.

Sitting up straight again, he lifted his arm towards the far wall and extended his fingers. His modest-looking staff shook itself off and meandered over to him in a nonchalant manner. Once it reached him, The Seer closed his grip around the worn imprint of his hand.

“Did you know this was the first vision I ever observed? Such is the burden of all who are gifted with the Arcane Sight. Perhaps a reminder from the gods that none of us can escape fate.” He hoisted himself out of his chair with a groan and canted his head towards the shadowed figure.

“Everything has a cost. Do not misplace your blame in the lap of fate simply because you have buyer’s remorse,” The shadow said. His words crept across the space between them, temporarily dimming the lights with their wave of malevolence, “You have shaped the very foundation of this world with your gift, yet still you have the audacity to want more.”

The figure finally stepped out from the shadowed corner to reveal himself. Despite the magical nature of the lights they could not, or would not, penetrate the shadows over his hooded face. The man wasn’t particularly tall or muscular, his slender shoulders and spider-like hands gave away the thin frame beneath his dusty brown cloak. In fact, he was average in every way imaginable. Except for his smile. The light revealed gleaming teeth and thin lips spread into a cheshire grin.

“I can no longer allow you to meddle in things that you do not understand,” The man said. Rather than coming off as the threat it was, he made it sound akin to old friends casually passing the time together.

But then something happened the elf had not expected, something that did not align with his visions of this moment. The intruder did not lower his hood. The Seer’s eyes flashed brightly for an instant, but he mastered himself. There was a chance, a sliver of hope and the elf seized onto it with an iron will. Things are already changing.

The venerable elf stepped around the table towards the runic circle, where only yesterday Ian had gazed at the projections of Earth and Paragore. The floating crystals of light around the room flickered and moved as though agitated. Pops and sizzles of erratic energy showered down from the lights as arcane power surged around The Seer.

“We will stop you. I will not allow you to ruin this world. And while I know what I have seen,” the room filled with brilliant light as raw power rippled out from The Seer, “that does not mean it cannot be changed!”

The light coalesced into a beam that cut through the air toward the cloaked figure.

The intruder moved, dipping low to the ground to avoid the searing beam. Flames erupted and quickly faded leaving a deep blackened gouge in the beam’s wake as it pursued him. He rolled across the floor with stunning agility, evading the relentless attack. When he had enough of a lead, he stood firm and pressed his wrists together, palms extended up and out.

Power gathered between his palms as he curled his fingers inward like bony claws. An orb of darkness erupted in the space between his fingers, swirling rapidly with white sparks of energy dripping off. The focused light beam drew dangerously near until, without warning, the orb shot forward to intercept. The two forces erupted into a blinding glare.

Wind screamed through the room knocking books and artifacts from shelves. Vials shattered releasing their assorted sweet, acrid, and burning scents into the air. The stranger’s brown cloak whipped about him as he brought his arms up to defend against the resulting explosion. When the smoke cleared, neither party had won an advantage. The forces of the beam and sphere had canceled each other out in a spectacular crescendo of noise and an intense wave of heat.

Even from fifty feet away The Seer had been wise enough to raise a defensive barrier against the blast and had remained unscathed. He whipped the tip of his staff towards the growing cloud of poisonous vapors the shattered vials had created. Gathering the cloud he sent the roiling mass towards his would-be assassin. Snake-like tendrils whipped and danced through the air. They struck his opponent, constricting around his wrists and ankles. The Seer was already conjuring another spell while the smoke stuck fast and ate through his cloak.

The balcony overlooking the forest became engulfed by ominous clouds. They rumbled in, blotting out every trace of the setting sun. Lightning skittered across the sky and wind ripped through the trees.

“Fulgium Ventari!” The Seer roared, crashing the end of his staff to the ground.

A deafening crack of thunder responded. The clouds released a cluster of lightning bolts directly into the chamber. He raised his hand in a halting gesture and the chaotic bolts froze in midair. The room became awash in an eerie blue-white light as the bolts hung motionless, awaiting his command. The Seer glanced as his suspended assassin and snapped his hand into a tight fist. The bolts jerked into motion, colliding and merging with a thunderous bellow.

A marble-sized hoop formed as the bolts fed into one another, the clouds shot more and more lightning to be consumed by the swelling ring. The circle of lightning widened, now an arm’s length across and swirling madly in the center of the room. Arcs of electricity shot out and zapped the floor and walls, igniting several books in the process with its barely contained power. The Seer left the circle to grow and threw his staff up into the air.

The staff sailed out of his grasp and snapped into position hovering in the air as if stuck to an unseen magnet. He made a sweeping motion with his left hand. The gesture aimed at the many lights that dotted the canopy ceiling rousing them to action. The toxic cloud that held the dark figure ate away at the fabric at his wrists. Angry red boils welled up where the vapor touched exposed flesh, yet his piercing grin endured.

“Centuries,” The Seer spoke while managing the energies of his spell, “I have had centuries to prepare for this moment. Did you think I would not have taken precautions?”

Like a conductor leading a symphony, he directed each light to pulse in steady flashes. The flashing itself was of little consequence, he sought the dormant energy within. As he moved down the line of crystals each one fired a beam of power into the staff. The outer shell of wood melted away, revealing a shimmering core of brilliant purple crystal.

The hoop of lightning coalesced into the form of a massive bear that let out a bestial roar. As the thunder rolled through the room, so came the attack. Without provocation, the lightning-bear charged towards its target. Lightning burst from the impact of its feet, rending cracks through the roof and floor with every step. Still, the restrained man did not attempt to free himself. The giant creature collided headfirst into his chest and engulfed him in crackling arcs of electricity.

The Seer continued to gather energy to his staff. He would burn away every trace of his assassin, down to the very ashes.

The dark figure had other plans. As the smoke cleared away he stood unmoved, looking no worse for wear than when he had first entered the Seer’s chambers. The poisonous bindings were gone and the burns on his wrists had healed. His cloak regenerated itself as he brushed some grit from his chest. A matter of seconds ticked by, and all signs of The Seer’s attack vanished. In the assassin’s left hand, he held a lone spark of blue-white light, the same shade as the attack that he’d just absorbed.

“Yes,” The persistent grin faded and the man spoke with a more dismissive tone, “You’ve had quite a long time to prepare. And yet you will still fall today.”

The tiny spark reformed into lightning and swelled, engulfing his upraised fist. His other hand erupted with a ball of orange flame. He held the two forces of nature with ease as his grin returned. Chaotic winds flew up around him as his fists collided with a deafening crash, forcing the flame and lightning together. Orange lightning raged and swirled while white fire lashed out, shaping into a new element of awesome destruction. He catapulted himself into the air, lances of orange-red lightning encircling him as he rose. He hung above the ruined canopy like a feather on the wind, before rushing towards The Seer with the speed of a comet.

With a determined frown, the tiring elf refused to dwell on the shock of his opponent’s unscathed state. The beams of light faltered, one by one. The inert crystals falling and shattering against the floor. Their dormant power, at last, transferred to the staff.

As the final crystal fell, the elf had seconds to react to the diving lances of storm-fire. He fell to his knees and clapped his hand to the floor. The runic circle emerged beneath him, blossoming into a red pod-shaped barrier. The barrier closed as the lances struck. The force of the impact against the shield was enough to tear apart the entire chamber in a whirlwind of flames and electricity. Smoking furniture, books, and magical items went pouring out over the balcony or crumbled to ash.

The Seer sucked in a deep breath, filling his tired lungs with every ounce of air they could hold. When he reached the breaking point, he blasted the air back out in a quaking shout. “Genifor Tenibri!”

He slammed the floor with both fists. The red barrier expanded sending his assassin skyward. As the intruder rose, The Seer’s staff fell. At the last second The Seer released his barrier and seized his crystallized staff. He rose to his feet and aimed the staff in one fluid motion.

“Consumi Finnatae,” The Seer whispered, as though reluctant to cast such a spell.

The magical power of centuries unleashed in a kaleidoscope of colors and spells. Beams tore across the room. Spheres appeared and launched themselves away. Spikes of earth rose up and speared forward. Tendrils of smoke whipped and lashed. Each one freezing, incinerating, melting, and outright obliterating everything they touched.

For a moment the wild magic threatened to break free from his control. But a weary and burned hand stretched out, clenching into a fist he reigned the magic back for its singular purpose. His hand opened, and his fingers began moving as though he were a puppeteer, refocusing the onslaught towards his foe. The dark figure was dropping back down from his unplanned flight straight into the path of the chaos.

Then with a jerk, The Seer slumped over. The wild energy flickered and died out one element at a time. Not one tendril of it had landed a blow. A chained blade of fire and lightning ruptured from his chest. The crystalline staff cracked and splintered rolling from The Seer’s hand and landing with a clatter on the floor.

“Not good enough,” a voice whispered into his ear.

“Ellóte…” The Seer exhaled a final breath and sent with it his hope for stopping this madness.

The last sound The Seer heard before the void claimed him was a burst of odious laughter.