Osric reached up to the flaming meteors that barreled down upon his planet, and closed his fingers as if to hold it in his grasp. The approach was summarily halted, and Morana’s face blanched with first shock then terror. She swore in a long dead tongue as the magic within her slowly dissipated, returning her form to normal. Osric closed his hand into a fist, and with it, the meteor was blinked out of existence. The sky returned to its previous overcast grey, the winds subsided and left only silence in their wake.

The song of birds rang out as if the world had not been at the brink of annihilation mere moments earlier. His eyes remained locked upon hers, his arm still outstretched as he dug his nails into his palms. The fear that emanated from her was gone, before him stood a scared child, a stubborn teen at a loss but still unable to concede defeat. A drop of blood hit the pavement, but he did not flinch, did not unlock his gaze from her own. He saw in the blue pools the entirety of her life.

Within her was a woman scorned, chased from her home when the world was still in ruin, forced to do anything and everything to survive. Blessed with the gift of sight, she was cursed by the disbelieving masses, poisoned by the delusions of another grief-stricken woman, a woman whose delusions would grow to the insurmountable dogma that was The Order of Dawn. He saw a slow death alone in the snow, the temptation of war and malice taken man’s form, a short rebellion followed by an eternity of torment. He also saw the stars upon a field of black infinity. His focus turned to the queer winter star, the forth sister, always scored , from whose presence the others flee.

Osric closed his eyes, relaxed his grip, and lowered his hand. In an instant Morana was once more at his throat, breathing sickly cold breath that smelled of the grave over his face. Osric exhaled, steeling his nerves, and opened his eyes again. Morana halted mid step, her hand raised overhead, holding a pale blue glowing spell as a dagger of ice hovered nearby, poised to strike. Morana frowned as she looked at the staff. Osric held out his arm, and his staff appeared from a cloud of black smoke. He spun it and struck the stone before him, his gaze was patient as they engaged in the pointless standoff, for she could no more kill him than he could her.

Several tense moments passed as he continued to stare her down, not conceding an inch despite the terror that cried out and thrashed about inside him. His newfound power had since left him, she could kill him easily now, but if he was to die he would take her with him.

“Hmph. Fine then.” She waved her hand and dismissed the dagger. “If I take you on as a student, you won’t be required to take one as your own.”

Osric discarded his staff, it returned to smoke before it even hit the ground. He could not be sure if he could trust her, he had glimpsed at her very essence, and she was no longer a woman. She was a vessel; forcefully imbued with all of the hate and rage of The Great Demon, she owed him no loyalties. He could feel her fear and frustration, she was the demon's tool, and she knew that his plan offered no salvation. The weight of such revelations fell hard upon him; she knew that he would fail. Yet, there was something else, something ancient and greater than anything before or after. Whatever she was, she was using him, and he knew without a doubt that the best course of action would be to rid himself of the woman at the first opportunity. He took a deep breath and attempted to muster his mettle, but could not shake the feeling of futility. They were irrevocably bound in one way or another, and his disastrous course was already charted.

“It would be better to be rid of this cursed rite.” He croaked hoarsely.

“Why are you complaining?” She huffed, flicking her hair. “You’re the one who wanted to become a teacher. No one forced your hand to sign your soul away.”

Osric took a deep breath again, feeling sickness rising in his throat. She spoke as if the previous incident had not even occurred. She had nearly destroyed all of humanity and he stopped it, literally single-handed.

He swallowed hard. “And why would you agree to this?”

Morana paused and deliberated over her next words. “…I’ve no choice. You’ve set out on this quest for damnation, I must see it to the end; I must make sure you see it through to the end.”

He paced around the pond, eager to be away from her oppressive aura, and contemplated what such a pact may entail. The bond between teacher and student of the dark arts was far more binding than that of other arts. The dark arts require an oath written in blood, a release of liability and a contract binding the students to complete the arduous training. Both mentally and physically challenging, many had died being consumed by the very darkness they sought to tame.

Osric himself had gone for elementals, but it was found he was more aligned with dark than any of the natural elements. After four years learning the art of curses and potions, master Drogo approached him from the southern swamps. Less than a week later he was in a cave surrounded by the masters of the blackest black magic’s and necromancy, the initiations into his current hell, a knowledge he sometimes wished he had never have gained. Despite his knowledge of life and death, he held no control over it whatsoever, any attempt to avert death or return life ended in greater suffering or sorrow. This had become even more painstakingly obvious after he attempted to resurrect his mother…

“I need an answer Ozzy.” Morana crossed her arms over her chest and tapped her fingers impatiently.

“What is it that I want…?” He said to his reflection in the still black water. “Why even bother…”

Morana appeared behind him. He jumped away and tried to push her back, but she had him in her arms. She leaned in close and traced his jaw delicately with her finger, turning him about to gaze seductively into his eyes filled with terror.

“Is that rhetorical?” She whispered on a breath of melancholy and lust.

Morana allowed him to break freak of her grasp. An image of his mother began to form in the still waters before him, and Osric felt his heart catch in his throat. He tore at the water with both hands, obsessively splashing at the water until he was certain the image was gone. Osric swatted her away and ran his fingers through his hair as he tried to calm down. His heart was pounding and he found that, paradoxically, he had an erection.

“Yes,” Osric said quickly, hoping Morana’s proximity had triggered his arousal, dreading it as well. “ and I will accept your, offer…”

“Why do you say it so enthusiastically?” She said with a pout.

He shot her a look of disgust as she twirled her hair around her fingers. She was playing with him; all of his training and sacrifices had rendered him nothing more than a plaything. He swore under his breath and lamented his rash decision to free the woman from her mental prison.

“…Teach me the secrets that condemned you.” He conceded.

If she was going to kill him, she would do it. If she were able to so easily shrug off a forbidden spell, there was nothing he could do to stop her. He looked to his hands, and wondered what power he had manifested earlier, and whether or not he could replicate it.

“It is something I have sought to ask,” He said at length “yet your character has been less than, expected.”

“And you’re far too uptight.” She chastised. “I was like you, and then I went mad. Perhaps another tour in the swamps should fix that?”

She took a seat upon a large stone on the edge of pond and gazed longingly at her reflection in the black water. A gust of wind blew a leaf from its branch; it fell gracefully, gently rocked to and fro by the air current as it descended. She watched it fall and come to rest on the water, sending light ripples over her reflection. She snapped her fingers, and the leaf was engulfed in blue flames. With a flip of her hair, she shed her adornment of snowflakes and frost to float in the air around her.

“Not that it matters, but what is your opinion of me?”

Snow and ice fluttered to the ground around her, he raised an eyebrow in suspicion of her sudden change in demeanor. Her eyes were downcast and her expression melancholic. She was beautiful; he had caught himself on several occasions looking upon her with a lustful eye. Her aura was oppressive and he still could not discern whether it was due to tremendous power, some enchantment, her time spent in the realm of Dusk, or some combination of the three. There were times when he saw her as the greatest Sage to have ever lived, and others he saw her as nothing more than an annoying child.

In all cases she was fickle and her motives impossible to discern. Still other times he saw immense sadness and a glimpse of himself in her, evoking pity and regret. This was one of those times, and he did not know how or if he should express it. He averted his eyes as he recalled the lifetime he had seen, he wondered if it was she who transmitted it to him, or even if it were real at all.

“If it does not matter what is the purpose in asking?”

“Humor me.” she ran her fingers through her hair, replacing the flakes of ice and snow.

Osric thought over his reply. “You terrify me, yet you also irk me at times. Your whimsical nature is absurd and most unbefitting of your character, at least from what I’ve read of you. It is a shock that I have yet to acclimate myself to.”

“Right. I should have expected as much from you…”

He felt his heart sink at the sound of disappointment in her voice. He mentally cursed himself several times, his face placid. He had always had difficulty expressing his true feelings; there was always some fear of losing power, or giving some advantage to the opposite party. What were his true feelings? He had been candid with her, yet somehow, he had still lied, or at least withheld something. He found his gaze lingering on her chest as she stared at him, her eyes emotionless. It was as if she was looking through him, able to peer past the flesh and blood to something deeper. He felt his cheeks flush as he attempted to look away, his thoughts raced and his mind polluted with carnal desires.

“What are you thinking about Ozzy?” she asked drolly.

“When do we begin?” he stiffly replied.

She grinned and leaned forward with her arms crossed before her. “We shall start… tomorrow. But we need to go…somewhere else.”

He wiped the perspiration from his brow on the back of his sleeve. “In case you are unaware, the world is at war with me, I cannot very well go where I please. At least not until I have found the secret to crossing into Alfheim.”

“No Osric, not here.” she giggled. “No, we’re going to my former place of residence, and your new home.”

The garden blurred and twisted around them before erupting into a cloud of black flames and ash. The trees contorted and shed all foliage as the sky turned black overhead. The castle walls shot off into the distance to become craggy peaks against a desolate horizon as a blood red sun sank into the craggy soil, coming to rest just above the barren wastelands.

Osric was once again amazed at Morana’s skills. He adjusted his scarf against chill, fetid wind that whistled past. As far as he knew, the only way to enter The Realm of Dusk was through the Black Gate, and none who ever lived upon the world knew the means to activate it. The colors were far more brilliant than what he had expected of The Dusk, even if the palate was limited to browns, greys, and oranges.

“What could possibly be accomplished here that could not be done on Silex?”

She shook her head and smiled. “My dear boy, not all prisoners of this realm were released when you broke the seal on that wretched gate. Though not for trying, the opening was just not large enough.” she giggled. “Forgive the double entendre.”

“Forgiven. Though crude and lacking humor.”

It was blatantly obvious that she was purposefully being flirtatious, as if she was aware of his desire for her. He briefly wondered if she had the ability to read his thoughts, though quickly dismissed such nonsense. Even for her, reading the mind of another was an impossible feat. To predict and influence the mind of another, with training, such a task was possible, but to read the inner thoughts of another like a book; that was something strictly for the realm of fiction.

She summoned a stone chest and bookcase from the soil, jarring him back from his paranoia. The chest was full of scrolls and jars of black magic ingredients. A deep roar echoed off in the distance and the ground began to rumble. He shuddered as the realization of where he was truly dawned upon him. There could only be one source for such a sound, and he did not wish to dwell on it further.

“Oh yes, this shall be quite enlightening won’t it Ozzy?”

She levitated the contents of the chest onto a stone slab; and unrolled several scrolls as hundreds of candles manifested themselves from nothing on rocks and stalagmites. She waved her arms, and lit each candle at once as four walls of black wood erected themselves. She shot a flare of light from her fingertip into the heavens; it exploded and created the illusion of a pale white moon and twinkling stars. She clapped her hands once, and a thatch roof fell into place, leaving silence in its wake.

Osric glanced around the room with mild annoyance. “Surely this expedition was unnecessary.”

“It is necessary; this was merely my coping strategy.” Morana cast a playful smirk his way. “Old habits die hard.”

He shook his head. “You are such a child.”

“What? You saw what it looks like out there!”

He examined the various jars full of viscous fluids, plants, and the floating limbs and appendages of various unknown creatures. Her shelves were stacked with every herb and root from both Silex and the realm of Dusk, including several extinct species from the Hinterlands and Death Marsh. He bit his lip, conceding to himself that he may have been too hasty in passing judgement. Many of the ingredients here he’d only seen before in books.

“Impressive, where do we begin? If I may offer a suggestion, I believe that Alfheim conundrum is a priority…”

Morana set up an experiment on the table as she rotated between one floating scroll and the next. “Ugh, that is precisely why teachers cannot be students. Now take a seat.”

A chair appeared behind Osric and nudged the back of his knee so he fell onto it. “This relationship needs to be legitimate.”

He sighed and removed his scarf. “What, do I sign my name in blood on some fell contract?”

“Not exactly.” She tugged at a strand in her gown and the whole of it fell to the floor as a pile of black rags.

Osric stared with a slack jaw and wide eyes as she stood before him in all her glory. Her flesh was supple and inviting, her curves both youthfully taut and mature in scale. He felt a stirring within himself he had not felt since his teenage years. By all accounts, while beautiful, she was still just a woman. He had seen countless examples of the female form, yet hers was captivating in its mundanity.

“Now drop your drawers and let’s get this over with.”