Part 1: The Burden of Power

The final Glutton fell and the freedom fighters cheered. Cosette cracked a smile, almost tempted to join them. The Rostradt boy still had a fight left in him, but the heart of the conjurer was beating fast. She didn't have much strength left, and with the boy preoccupied, no one could get in the fighters' way. The senseless bloodshed could stop. The false-living forms could find life anew. She would even be willing to let her two foes live if everything could stop right here. They put up a good fight. She was sure they had allies that did the same. At this point, it was time to cut their losses; no one had to die. Behind her, the fighters charged up the stairs. Around her, liquid balls took to the air. There were three of them, rising where the Gluttons fell. They flew and splashed together, a figure forming in the cascade, blocking the advance. The fighters stopped. As if they drowned it out, Cosette could hear the conjurer’s heart. Everything was calm. Despite the stress a moment ago, her heart was calmer than it had ever been. Almost as if she could finally let go. Ignoring the boy, Cosette turned, feeling the words as they slipped down the stairs.

“The Gluttons were never the truest threat. They were preamble—a test—meant to weed out the weakest of the bunch. They weren’t even things of command, just hungry for the wake of what they followed. It stood before the entrance with a halberd in its hand. It stood there patiently, hopefully, desperate for the lucky few to make it out alive. With a strong body dark like night, covered in a bear’s pelt, it filled their way and smiled with glee. The world got lighter as it lifted its weapon. Six moonlight eyes opened, and the weapon began to glow…” A new conjuration held its weapon low. Cosette grimaced—she had to get in the way. The dome, however, kept her contained.

“It’s called a Conditional Conjuring.” Marco said. “We were waiting for you, don’t you think we had a plan?” She turned back, grateful for the distraction. Behind her, five hearts stopped at once. Three thuds hit the floor. Three more quickly followed, and even her heart skipped a beat. She looked again and saw the five bisected, their upper halves beside their legs. The Conjuration roared, jumping into the others, and she turned back to the boy, anguish in her eyes.

“Stop this!” She pleaded, but he shook his head.

“The only way this stops is when one force loses.” He was going to hold his ground until she pulled the blood out of him. More hearts stopped, and the thought did occur. So many people would die when she turned her mind away, but at least some of them could get out alive. She looked at the boy, the plea still painted fresh on her face, and saw no acquiescence. She exhaled heavily, and more bodies fell.

"Magic Radiance." She said, and his eyes went planet-wide. It was too late though, for him and so many others. "Blood for the Queen." A blood mist rose, weaving a cocoon around her...

Part 2: The Boredom of Power

Danson's path took him to the doors of a library. They creaked as they opened, spilling the hallway light into a two-leveled room. The first one offered a nook. Worn red carpet sitting at the edge of hardwood; bag chairs atop it, an audience to a throne. A staircase on the right led to the second. Up the weathered wood, a classroom sat? Desks made a crescent with eyes toward a podium. He stepped inside and books filled his peripheries, stacked to the ceiling, ladders leaning in eternal place. He slowed his breath, lest he disturbed the settled dust. The room still looked untouched. Abandoned even, and for countless years. He wondered if he was in the right place. His target should’ve been lurking inside. Suddenly, a shadow moved above.

“Yahoo!” A boy appeared over the banister, arms in the air as he jumped below. “I was really, really hoping someone would come!” He bounced, and Danson almost left the room.

“You’re really just a kid.” He said, and the boy’s head listed to the right.

“I’m not that much younger than you!”

“I’ll be eighteen later this year.”

“In that case, I’ll be older. I would’ve been fifteen 300 years ago!”

“Would have been, but not, you’re still a kid.”

“Wow! You’re a lot meaner than I thought, Danson!” The elf found that alarming. Bounty hunters weren’t even that familiar after tracking you for months.

“You know me?”

“I know you!” He nodded emphatically. “You’re one of Nina Blue’s favorite encounters. You survived the Dual Aura Procedure, and went on to be kinda great!”

Kinda? That didn’t add up. Wait, it wasn’t the time for that.

“So you’re not like the rest of them, you’re actually with Nina Blue?” Danson took a good look at the boy. He was a bit shorter than Keigo, with skin a shade lighter. Blue clothes fit his slim frame well, four gilded ribbons dangling at his hips. A dark cowlick pushed back a hood, baring a soft face, and entrancing strange eyes. Holding Danson the longest, they were gray, with rectangular pupils—vertical, glowing like lightning. Despite their arcane state, Danson couldn't feel any power. Not even whispers, lingering in the air.

“Yep!” The boy nodded again. “My name’s Arseal! Nina Blue found my soul shard in a jar! They grew it, and gave me a new body too!” He looked at his hands as if they were still new. “It’s great! It can withstand my immense power!” He threw them in the air, and Danson almost jumped.

“Why does Nina Blue want Pialla so bad?”

Arseal shrugged. “Why does Nina Blue want anything? Why do they do anything? Why did they do the procedure? Why didn’t they kidnap her themselves? Why are they pretty good bounty hunters? Why does Blue get really mad when his coffee isn’t steaming hot? Why does Nina do that thing where she stares at you, looking into your soul?”

“You’re basically their kid, you tell me.”

“If it was me, probably for fun! Pialla can do some interesting things!”

“Well, if you know that much, I hope there won’t be any hard feelings.”

Arseal grinned. “None! I’ve been waiting for this for days. I get to fight someone! I get to fight someone! He’s Dual Aura too! It’s Danson! Nina Blue is gonna be jealous!” He roared the last bit. “But be strong Danson! I wanna have a lot of fun!”

“You want to tell me what your magic is then?”

Arseal tilted his head again. “Really good!” His smile was proud. Dust stirred lightly as if something went across the room. “Cucumber and Cosette are strong! But, if they weren’t older, I could beat them!” He beamed. “Remember! No holding back!”

“I’ll be honest,” Danson said, despite the chill. “Holding back isn’t really my thing.” Aen sif Sisos. He reflected Arseal’s smile in the blade.

“Spectral Refrain!” A plasmic pulse rippled out—bright, sapphire, clinging to the air. It touched something inside as it rolled over Danson; charging unseen things in the room. At least, unseen at first. Sparks ignited, spewing threads, filling invisible anatomy. Phantom silk solidified with liquid pops, lighting the room with silver shine. Featureless phantasms had him surrounded: will o’ wisp eyes lost in the clouds. As Arseal pointed, fires turned elven ways. “This is your last chance to take the easy way out!” The boy warned.

Danson shrugged. “I abandoned that chance when I decided to help Pialla.” He brandished his sword and skated for the kill.

Slicing across the ice, he stabbed for the heart. A specter blocked, hand raising between them. It stopped him with a gentle touch; a firm push making everything go wrong. The law of gravity got upset. The wall was the floor and his body fell towards it. He chucked his sword before he hit it; magic expanding to make a slide. Up it, he skated, and the boy raised his hand.

“Spectral Bounce!” The phantoms went flat.

With elastic riposte they took off, rupturing books as the elf slid on. Danson held his finger down as he soared from the ramp. Aen sif Efda. He veered toward Arseal, letting them loose. Hands waved through the blast, knocking it aside. As if that didn’t shock him, he still came down swinging. A sigh reached him through rushing winds.

“Spectral Pow.” Boredom crept into the spell. It didn’t creep into the impact though—fist against Danson’s cheek, his body against the shelves. Arseal was frowning as he stood up. His mouth moved before he could think.

“Why are you upset? I’m the one who hit the bookshelf.” And hit it hard, the drop popping his shoulder back in place.

“Because this isn’t right! I read your file. The flick. The sword. None of this matches up! Why are you doing this? Show me the reason they call you the Diamond!”

Danson chuckled. “You answered your question with your last statement.” Arseal’s head tilted. “I became the Diamond because I didn’t know how to use my power. I didn’t intend to freeze that town.”

“But you did! So you’re stronger than this!”

“Yeah, but what is power without control? Did my file say where I’m from?”

“White Hat, that arctic place up the East Wing strait.”

“Yup, White Hat. A specific village, though. Did you know that only a few Avadyn live up there? Long ago, some of the non-elves sailed down, coming to the Elven Kingdoms for help. Since they were so far north, they never heard the stories. They just wanted help with the Frost Folk, and a group of Avadyn complied.”

“Avadyn weren’t like that before my jar.” The boy pepped up.

“Yeah. Most still aren’t. My grandparents were though. That’s where my parents grew up, and I was born. It gave me a pretty interesting life. I didn’t learn magic like any other Avadyn, or even other elves.”

“And that’s why you use magic the wrong way!”

Danson’s eyes narrowed. “If you want to interrupt the story, we could just go back to fighting.” The boy was tempted, but curiosity had the lead. “My parents were too busy to train me like their parents did. My father guarded our town against Winter Terrors. My mother worked with The Order to fortify each settlement’s defenses. When one wasn’t available, the other taught me. One a Spell Sword, the other a caster.” He checked Arseal again. He remained intrigued. “Being a Spell Sword was about speed over power. They cut things down with honed magic. Casters you’ve probably seen plenty of before—Big spells with a lot of power.”

“Mana study!” Arseal exclaimed, and Danson almost laughed. Mana. He hadn’t heard that word in a long time; had even forgotten it. The boy was right, but he was jumping ahead.

“I learned to use magic in a very specific way, and then the procedure happened, and drew way more mana than I could control.” He liked the taste of that word. It made him nostalgic. “I cast a spell to stop one person, and woke up to find an entire town frozen. I knew I didn’t do that all at once, either. Just one mistake repeated itself with no control. Being knocked unconscious didn’t stop my second aura.”

“So you went back to your Mana studies so you could learn to use magic all over again!” The boy’s eye’s brightened with excitement.

Danson grinned, a visible puff leaving his mouth. “And I’ve been waiting for the chance to see how far I’ve come.”

“Yeah!?”

“When we heard Rebels were gathering in the Calm Lands, we figured the Brigade might too. Unfortunately, we arrived too late. It’s been a while since I got the chance to seriously test myself. So, thanks, Arseal.”

Arseal grinned. “You’ve been waiting to tell that story, huh?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about. That’s something Keigo and Diana would do.”

“Are they strong too?”

“Easily." He said and remembered two distinct memories.

“Can I fight them when we’re done?”

“Obviously not. How are you going to get past this room?”

“I guess I gotta win then!”

“Then, let me give you a hint. The Fae Spell Words for ‘Soul’ and ‘Winter’ are Wys and Nevas.” Danson lifted his hands, holding his fingers toward each other.

“How is that a hint?”

“Wys eoda Nevas.” Crystal snowflakes traced upon the backs and palms of his hands. Another traced across his chest. As his arms moved, frost followed them through the air. He touched his left palm, filling it with an ice-glass bow. “Aen sif Presi.” He plucked; an arrow-swarm flying.

The light went bright as the missiles flew; the haunted boy bouncing away. The shelves were iced as the arrows followed, dying as he disappeared above. Danson unraveled their mana with a reach. “Aen sif Tanaes Sadant.” And blue jays pursued, Arseal launching upward. Out of sight, but not of sense—Danson felt it when the magic hit him. His mind on the threads, he pulled it apart. “Aen sif Espet.” A sword pulled in. It punctured the boy, freezing his chest, anchoring him back below. When he hit the ground, his body would shatter. Except, instead, he stopped in the air. Sapphire lightning-sparked to his fingers, the sword dropping like nothing was there. He flipped up with a grin on his face, ecstatic for the look in Danson's eyes. Horror and Disbelief. Did the boy just rebirth himself? He wasn’t going to get his answer, as Arseal pushed.

“Spectral Parade!” A stampede came rumbling forward. Danson put an ice wall in the way. He thought better as the first pushed through. He got away before others followed, watching his wall come apart. Behind it Arseal lifted his hands; a specter ball pulsing. “Spectral Bomb!” He threw a tumbling fastpitch. Danson's mind went to the sword. He built a new one skyward; Arseal tumbling away. "No!" Yes. It flew up and turned below.

“Aen sif Efda!” A blast, not a flick, fired from the sword. Arseal's body froze against the floor. Danson reached out, touching the wind. "Aen sif Sisos." An ice sculpture came together, Arseal evading as he rolled and ran away. He laughed as phantoms followed, pushing them to the wall.

“Spectral Bounce!” They squished and sprang—a cannon bombardment. Danson escaped on a rising platform. Arseal cheered. “Where did you learn something like that!?” From Diana—she made him realize you could use your feet. It spun into a slope, and he channeled Keigo; sliding in. His bow came back and the string was plucked.

“Aen sif Presi.” The storm came again, firing from the right. Show people what they want to think. Arseal listed sideways, and the ice blade sliced.

“Spectral bomb!” The boy exclaimed; exploding as Danson got close. It blasted the elf into the nook; shards of ice falling from his skin. Arseal pointed as the arrows fell free. “Let’s try this! Spectral Swords!” He armed new phantoms with will o’ wisp blades. Danson kicked a chair between them; down flying as it came apart. He forged blades in his escape, blocking swift and desperate swings. He slid from the nook with the swords on his tail, watching Arseal, stopping on the wooden floor. The boy’s eyes were wide as Danson survived, letting new horrors free. “Spectral Parade!” He pushed and they came, Danson escaping on platform stairs. Ghosts piled high when they hit the wall, spilling over with deceptive weight. Their tidal wave splashed down, taking the elf with them. As he hit the ground, he got to his feet. He could almost foresee the next spell. "Spectral Fire!" The timeline diverged; torture was present in each. Sapphire flames whirled into a twister, boiling the ice off Danson’s skin. As he went red, he accepted a thought. Conjure. Protect. Transmute. Manipulate. Restore. Destroy. Manifest. He could see the seven Laws of Sorcery in one or another spell. Protect might have been the weakest of the bunch, but it couldn’t change the signs. Arseal might be a Warlock in training. He might have already been there; now tracing his steps back. This fight was good practice, and he was learning fast.

“I’m going to do it this time!” He roared. “I’m going to use master’s Spectral Nova!” It didn’t even sound nice—Danson wouldn’t have that. “Come on, Danson!” The elf had better ideas.

He stirred his finger and the wall shards jumped. As they surrounded Arseal, he pulled them apart. “Rota eoda Nevas.” Frost explosions brought winter to the room. The Spectral Swords arrived, blades flashing. Danson pushed away. Ice coated his skin, and the blades melted it, leaving him open to the fury. They cut and burned, sewing new fires in him. They leaped and stabbed, burning through his chest. Arseal fed plasma into a new spark, and Danson shifted his feet. That was still against the rules.

“Aen sif Ydagyo." A dragon caught the boy in its teeth. Its jaw tightened as they crashed into the shelf.

“Spectral Feast!” Arseal cried with glee; phantoms covering Danson. They bit down and he wailed. Their teeth broke skin while Arseal healed. “Spectral Bomb!” Insult to injury. The rupture dug into the wounds. Through the anguish, Danson got his lick.

“Aen sif Espet!" From the dragon, stabbing through. Arseal toppled but never hit the floor. His healing might be getting faster. It was more than time to wrap this up. "Arseal!" He called out.

“Yeah!?”

“You want me to show you why they call me the Diamond?”

“You better do it before I finish the Spectral Nova!”

“If you can still survive, take this advice: start building that spell when the battle starts.” The snowflake on his left hand glowed. “Sisos eoda Nevas.” He pointed and it stamped on the boy’s chest. Plasma crackled, but the touch remained.

“That’s new!” Arseal gasped.

“Rebirth won’t help, I didn’t put that on your skin.” It wasn’t even on his aura—it wasn’t something to remove. The right snowflake began to glow. He lifted his finger and Arseal lifted his brow. “Liwo eoda Nevas.” The snowflake broke.

Suddenly, Arseal became a statue of ice, frozen and immobile. Danson could feel it cracking, but it’d do the boy no good. He would remain frozen until all the mana in the room was consumed.

“This Winter Storm has no end in sight.”