A lightly stubbled mage in flowing robes of rich crimson and grey strode along the stone halls of a distant manor. He was accompanied by an elder astronomer by the name of Edos. The pair were closely trailed by a familiar of miniscule stature. The first mage was carrying an assortment of scrolls and leather-bound books. The familiar was dragging a hefty sack overflowing with tomes at the mage’s request.
“Do we have any more editions of the Draconian Alkantae?” The mage was examining the spines of his hoard of literature.
“I believe that you have collected our final copies, Velor.” The first mage nodded slowly, satisfied with his take. “Might I inquire why the sudden interest in wyvern behavior?”
“You might,” Velor glanced over his shoulder to the familiar, “Piq, careful with those tomes.” The familiar grumbled quietly and hoisted the sack into a better position over his shoulder. “The interest in wyverns is neither sudden nor is it exclusively a scholarly pursuit.” Velor rounded a bend into an expansive study.
"Have you forgotten that travel is restricted for the time being?”
“There are ways of travel beyond a stroll out of the front portcullis, my friend.” Velor dropped the books with a heavy thud onto a lectern. Piq followed his lead and released the sack of tomes beside it. “The Yjagtari may have brushed past our doorstep more times than not, but it does not mean that we need to lock ourselves away in this fortress. We are a powerful society with talented wizards and scholars-“ Edos raised an open palm to silence the boy.
“Scholars. Scholars that have not seen battle in their lifetimes.” The imposing astronomer circled the lectern and placed both hands over Velor’s stash of knowledge. “You will stay in this study and read to your heart’s content. But you will stay in this study above all else. If the sentries catch you in the courtyard, then you can count yourself an exile twice.”
“Thrice.” Velor mumbled beneath his breath. Edos waved him off in frustration before dismissing himself. Once the astronomer had exited the study, Velor kneeled low to speak with his familiar.
“Now, Piq, I know that Edos said he had given us all the literature on wyverns, but we both know that man is a chronic liar through and through.” Piq let an annoyed sigh loose.
"You wish me to find the hidden copies?” The words entered Velor’s mind without the creature making a sound.
“Precisely!” Velor formed the word in his mind with such force that his familiar winced at the impact.
“I’ll begin searching the high shelves, sire.” Piq hunched over and dragged his gnarled knuckles against the wooden floor.
“Spectacular.” Velor turned to the lectern and patted his palms together. “And now, to begin the day’s studies.”
Velor flipped open the cover of the first book and placed his palm onto the frayed parchment. Vibrant strings of purple ether bobbed from the pages just out of Velor’s reach. The mage concentrated intently on the strings and imagined himself reaching out to grasp them. Despite his best efforts, the fog alluded him and slipped away with each clenched fist. “It isn’t here.”
Velor shut the book and gently set it beside the lectern. The next book in the stack sat silently as Velor ran his fingertips along it. The string of ether began to emerge, this time a pale lilac, from a book lower in the stack. Velor kneeled down to examine the spine of the book. “The Manor Aelano.” Velor pulled the book free from the stack and examined its cover. A chiseled face of marble adorned the front with a single life-like eye on the left side staring forward at the reader. The eye pulsed softly and appeared damp the more Velor squinted at it. He ran his forefinger against the face and felt chilled to the touch. The strings softly bobbing from the book faded away and Velor set the book aside. “I am looking in the right place.” Velor muttered to himself. A knock against the wall of the study broke Velor’s focus.
“We need to discuss our earlier interaction, Velor.”
“Edos, my friend, as you can see I haven’t left the-“ Velor turned to find the man at the door was unfamiliar to him. “I don’t believe we’ve met.” The man’s face was concealed by a thin veil and his robes of deep purple covered the remainder of his figure.
“You must make contact with Diamat. Seek council where all trails meet and thread shut the wound of this world. They wish to align the stars and the earth. A collision destined to occur.” The figure turned its back to Velor and stepped forward into an unending chasm.
"Who are you?” Velor called out to the rapidly fading figure.
"Beg pardon, sire?” Piq leaned over the lip of the shelf he had been scuttling across.
“There was a strange man in the hall just now. I think it’s nearly time for me to go again.” Velor returned to the stack of books and found the faint scent of lavender. The smell was faint but drifted from the collection of books. Velor focused on the late summer breeze that brushed over the hairs on his hands. “Piq, continue my research for the time being. I will have need of you again soon.” The scent of lavender grew more potent and tufts of grass emerged from between the floor boards below the mage. Books fell from the shelves and stacked into towering oak trees. The bookshelves rearranged into a dense forest on the outskirts of the meadow building itself around Velor. The flowers bloomed and swayed as a refreshing wind washed over the mage’s face and tickled the hairs of his chin. A pair of silver eyes dotted a dense patch of grass and whispered incomprehensibly to the mage. The whispering grew in intensity from a soft mummer to an orchestra crescendoing to a peak. The noise sustained and the swaying foliage began to shake violently. The ferocity of the plants caused them to shed their coats and knock loose their seeds. The steady beating of a taut drum reverberated against the cage of the mage’s skull and rattled his teeth. The beady eyes in the brush began to water and trickle into the soil below. A sprout emerged from the ground beneath the brush and methodically climbed the surrounding stalks of other plants. As the newborn plant grew and grasped out at its siblings, the tight grip of the vines snapped the sturdy backbones of the lavender crop. The whispering voice cried out as the sound of tears hitting soil pounded to the beat of the drum. Velor collapsed to his knees and gripped the sides of his head. The sprout’s vines slithered towards the crumpled mage and the lavender plants toppled over in its path. As the verdant assailant rampaged towards the mage, the melody of anguish came crashing down. The sobbing eyes melted into the shadows of the brush and the sprout withered away into ash as it latched onto the tip of the mage’s boot.
Velor released his head from the vise-like grip and observed the meadow around him. The field of lavender lay slumped over in despair and where the thicket in the distance once resided, a small cabin beckoned the mage. The window pulsed a soft orange glow from a crackling fireplace within. The gentle breeze on Velor’s skin became a harsh gust of snow that cracked away at his skin. The mage moved towards the cabin. With each step, a gust of wind pressed against his face and a layer of snow built up around his ankles. Upon reaching the knob of the door, the snow was biting at the mage’s knees and sending icy chills up his thighs. Velor attempted to turn the knob but found it firmly resistant to his efforts. He glanced into the window, but the glass had misted over save for the inviting glow of the fireplace. The heat against the glass begged Velor to enter the cabin and the mage felt the irresistible urge to smash open the window and crawl his way inside. The snow had risen over his hips and nipped at his stomach. The desire to warm himself at the fire overcame Velor and try as he might to fight back the thought of shattering glass, the window erupted into a sea of glittering orange shards. As the shards of glass fluttered to the snow below, the mage was greeted not by the warmth of a roaring fire but a room charred to its bones with toppled support structures and singed linens. A body lay beside the fireplace in a fetal position. The muscles were grey and melted firm to the bone. The corpse was unmoving and stone cold. Segments of the arm had been chipped away as though gnawed free by a rabid animal.
The snow outside had reached Velor’s neck and the mage let out a final gasp for air as the snow submerged him. The world became devoid of light and Velor found his remaining sense wanting. As the mage adjusted to the emptiness around him, he noticed a subtle fluttering in the nothingness. The edges of his vision appeared to crease and fold over itself. The fluttering slowed to a steady ripple and a skull emerged from the center of his vision. The visage was that of a raven or crow with hollow eye sockets that pierced the very essence of the mage. No sound entered Velor’s ears and yet the voice that he heard seemed to surround him.
“You’ve made it at last, but you’ve come too soon. You’ve followed mere fragments of the grand vision and I will grant you this one mistake before you incite my wrath. You see me now as I see you, but a test of your resolve is not yet just. Not yet, but soon.” Before words could leave the mage’s mouth, a force pushed him tumbling backwards like a celestial hand flicking away a gnat from its face. Velor hurtled past battlefields in ages long past and not yet arrived. His figure crashed against the brick roads of a sprawling city and landed in a scorched valley of raised banners. With the final crashing wave of force, Velor awoke buried beneath a pillow of snow in a freezing cavern.