The council chamber of Lorthraine’s Mage Academy buzzed with anxious anticipation. Its walls, lined with shelves of dusty tomes and glowing crystals, seemed to breathe with the energy of magic itself, a low hum that underscored every word, every breath.
Ellie hovered at the room's edge, her back pressed against a cold marble pillar. Her knees still ached from the strain of the battle with the devil king, and though her bruises were hidden beneath her borrowed ceremonial robes, she could feel them like a map of pain across her body. She kept her expression carefully composed, trying to mask the unease that churned in her chest.
Master Kolvin, his voice brittle with ceremony, addressed the assembly. “We have all seen her strength and courage—her mastery of the ancient magic that sealed away the devil king. It is only right that Ellie Liddell of Greymire be named our next Archmage.”
Murmurs swept through the council chamber, hushed and urgent. Several of the younger mages—those who had fought alongside Ellie—nodded fervently, their faces alight with admiration.
Others, older and more weathered, watched her with guarded expressions, suspicion lingering behind their eyes. They clung to their skepticism like a shield, as if wary of the storm that Ellie’s appointment might bring.
Master Kolvin raised his staff, the crystal at its tip flaring with a bright, clear light. “We call upon Ellie Liddell of Greymire to step forward, to accept the mantle of Archmage, and—”
The chamber doors banged open with a crack like a thunderclap, and a gust of cold air swept through the room, snuffing out half the torches in a single breath. Mages flinched and turned, hands twitching toward spells and wards, but Ellie’s heart leapt into her throat as she saw the figure standing in the doorway.
A woman in a cloak stained with travel dust, strolled in as if she owned the place. Her hair, golden like newly harvested wheat, fell in a loose braid over one shoulder—so strikingly similar to Ellie’s that it caught her breath.
The shape of her face, the arch of her brow, even the set of her shoulders—they mirrored Ellie’s own with uncanny precision. The resemblance was more than familial; it was like staring at a more confident, successful version of herself.
“Elladora,” Kolvin breathed, his face paling. He stepped back, his staff lowered. “You... you’ve returned?”
Elladora swept her gaze across the assembled mages, her smile widening into something almost wickedly amused. “Yes, I suppose I have,” she said, her voice light and rich, a lilt of humor dancing in it. “I do hope I’m not interrupting anything too important. Wouldn’t want to steal the spotlight, now would I?”
For a moment, the room was silent, the mages staring at her as if they had seen a ghost. Then the whispers started, rippling through the chamber like the rush of wind through autumn leaves.
“Elladora—alive—after all this time?”
“She vanished decades ago—how—?”
“Did she know about Achron’s plot?”
Elladora moved through the crowd with a catlike grace, pausing to nod indulgently at those who stared at her in shock, as if this were all a minor inconvenience. She reached the center of the room, her cloak swirling around her like the edge of a storm, and came to a halt in front of Kolvin.
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“Well, Master Kolvin,” she said, a sly edge to her tone, “it seems I’ve returned just in time to watch you appoint my successor. I must say, I’m flattered that you kept the seat warm for me.” Her smile sharpened, eyes flicking briefly to Ellie. “Though I didn’t expect to be replaced quite so quickly.”
Kolvin swallowed hard, his face struggling to maintain its composure. “You... you disappeared, Archmage. We had no word of your fate, no explanation for your absence. We thought you might have... perished.”
Elladora’s laughter was a low, melodic sound, warm and cutting at once. “Perished? My dear Kolvin, I have far too many debts to settle before I’m ready for that particular fate.”
She reached up, tugging her cloak loose and letting it fall in a careless heap on the floor, revealing the worn, travel-stained robes beneath. “No, I simply decided to take a vacation. You know, away from the weighty responsibilities of the Academy, the tedious council meetings, the endless questions. After all, who doesn’t deserve a little rest after a few lifetimes of babysitting mages?”
A murmur of disbelief swept through the chamber. Elladora paid it no mind. She folded her arms, turning a bemused smile on Ellie, who found herself wilting under that sharp, assessing gaze. It was as if Elladora could see right through her, past the titles and accolades, down to the uncertainty that curled like a knot in Ellie’s chest.
“And who is this?” Elladora asked, though her eyes already held the answer. “The famous Ellie Liddell, I presume? Slayer of dragons, restorer of ancient seals... and, it seems, a contender for my rather dusty old chair.”
Ellie’s mouth opened, then shut. She felt like a rabbit caught in a wolf’s gaze, her mind scrambling for words that would neither insult nor defer. “I—yes, that’s me,” she managed, her voice stumbling over itself. “But I didn’t ask to be—”
“Oh, don’t be modest,” Elladora cut in, her tone teasing, but there was a thread of steel beneath it. “It suits you. Or at least, it suits the story they’ve made of you, doesn’t it?”
Kolvin’s face darkened, and he stepped forward, attempting to reclaim his authority. “Elladora, if you knew of Achron’s plot, why did you not warn us? Why disappear when we needed you most?”
Elladora’s expression softened, almost pitying, but her smile never lost its edge. “Oh, Kolvin. Always so earnest.”
She sighed, glancing around the chamber, as if expecting to find the answer written on the walls. “I discovered Achron’s little schemes some time ago, yes. And frankly, I wasn’t in the mood to play cat and mouse with him. So I left. To observe from a distance. And to wait.”
“To wait for what?” Kolvin demanded, frustration bleeding into his voice.
Elladora’s smile deepened, but it never reached her eyes. “To see if the rest of you could manage without me for once.” She glanced pointedly at Ellie. “And it seems you managed quite spectacularly. The devil king is sealed, the Academy is intact, and you even found yourselves a new hero to rally around. Why, I’d say I did you all a favor.”
Silence fell, heavy and uncertain. Ellie could feel the tension crackling in the air, the dissonance between Elladora’s casual dismissal and the weight of her words. It was as if the room itself held its breath, waiting to see who would make the next move.
Elladora turned to Ellie, her gaze sharpening. “Tell me, Ellie Liddell,” she said softly, almost sweetly, “do you want to be Archmage?”
The question caught Ellie off guard. She stared at the other woman, at the glint of amusement that danced behind her eyes, and found herself answering without thinking. “No. I don’t.”
A flicker of surprise crossed Elladora’s face, quickly masked. She nodded, as if she’d just confirmed a private theory. “Honest, at least. Good. It’s a rare quality in these halls.”
Kolvin stiffened, his expression wounded. “Elladora, she—”
“Oh, hush, Kolvin.” Elladora waved a hand as if brushing away a bothersome fly. “I’ll take my old position back, if that’s all right with you. It seems I still have a few loose ends to tie up.”
And with that, she turned her back on him, striding toward the empty archmage’s chair at the head of the chamber. She swept her cloak off the seat and sank into it with a satisfied sigh, as though she had never left.