Nalos watched as Saris’ breathing steadied. She’d been even more chipper than usual, but no matter how many times he asked, she refused to say anything. He’d pry it out of her– eventually, anyway.

He pulled the covers over her shoulders before turning the glowstone off and stepping out. Ilen was curled up on the living room couch with a book opened on his knees. Nalos ruffled his hair while stepping past. “Don’t stay up too late.”

The evening had already stolen away much of the sunlight. The early dark brought a light breeze that carried winter’s chill; cold, but not enough to dissuade Nalos. He adjusted his posture as he stepped out, gripping a plain staff in one hand.

Carved from elderwood, only a few small gems decorated its head, and each was small– no larger than a fingernail. Its very existence was contrarian; a marriage of elven culture and human technology. Few would recognize it as such, though, and none would dare steal from a Spellweaver.

Nalos swung it once. The gems in its head hummed and glowed as it swept through the air. He rarely carried the staff. It was too valuable– emotionally, if not monetarily– but with Voja’s summons hanging over him, it was better to be prepared.

His arms burned as the interwoven spell ignited; amplified many times over by the small collection of gems. It cleared his mind and tempered his body, easing the cold. This has to be it. No matter how many times Nalos picked through the possible answers, that was the conclusion he reached.

A nighttime meeting was strange enough, but he didn’t recognize the location.

His steps led him to an older neighborhood. Not dirty or run-down, but noticeably more worn. I’m glad I picked normal clothing. Nalos wore a leather jerkin, lined pants, and a heavy cloak. It offered little protection, but secrecy was well worth the price.

Is this really the place? He stood in front of a small building tucked between two massive residential ones. From the outside, it looked more like a stone box than any sort of home. He tentatively raised one hand to knock on the wooden door, but it swung open just before his knuckle struck.

I guess that answers my question. Nalos stepped inside. The door clicked shut behind him. His assessment was correct: the building was hardly the size of a bedroom. The only furniture inside was a plain wooden chair– in which Voja sat, book in hand.

“You’re here.” His eyes seemed to follow Nalos’ staff.

Nalos nodded. “What is this place?” His eyes swept across the room, searching for something out of place. But no matter how closely he looked, there was nothing.

Voja stood. “A checkpoint.”

“What the hell is that supposed to mean?”

The Warden waved one hand and the wooden floorboards fell away, revealing a ring of stones set into the floor. Each bore a single glyph, carved in white against its dark surface.

Nalos’ throat constricted. Even if he didn’t recognize a single symbol, he knew what they represented. “Isn’t this illegal?” He asked.

Voja shook his head. “This,” he gestured to the stone ring, “is a benefit of my position. Our destination, however, would be reason enough for execution.”

Nalos held a hand to his head. “And you just leave it here. In the floor?” There were multiple things to unpack, but that was the most pressing.

“Sometimes it’s best to hide in plain sight.”

“Is this your way of warning me?”

A smile tugged at Voja’s lips. “In a way. I actually put quite a bit of thought into how I should introduce you to everything.” He paused. “You do still want to be a part of this, correct?”

“Yes.”

“Good.” The book in Voja’s hand vanished, replaced with another item that he tossed to Nalos. A Well. Nalos slipped it on.

“There’s one thing you need to understand above all else,” The Warden continued. “The stakes. I know you participated in the war. I won’t pretend to share in the horrors you saw on the battlefield, but you need to realize the difference in scale. That is my only goal here today.”

As he spoke, the glyphs sparked to life, emanating a soft blue glow. The light trickled towards the center of the ring, drawing a veneer of light that stretched from one side to the other.

“Last chance to back out,” Voja said before reaching out to touch the thin blue light. His form warped and vanished. Nalos knelt to follow suit. There was no reason to hesitate.

His vision blacked out as the spell seized him. It tore the Spellweaver down, dragging body and mind away from the small building. Less than a second passed before his mind slammed back into his body. He stiffened his body as his thoughts whirled, refusing to stumble for even a moment.

“Steady.” Voja’s voice was accompanied by a hand on Nalos’ shoulder. The feeling of something physical anchored him. As his vision cleared, another, smaller room came into view. This one had a desk instead of a chair, with a ball-sized crystal placed on top. An Anchor.

“Where are we?” Nalos asked, still somewhat dizzy.

“This is where I grew up,” Voja said.

“What?”

The room– it couldn’t be called a house, or even a building– was small. Nalos couldn’t imagine one person living there, never mind a family. He’d heard the rumors surrounding Voja’s upbringing, but never put any stock in them. Until now.

“Enough,” Voja said briskly. “Follow me.” He pulled his hood up before stepping out.

Nalos followed suit. The surrounding buildings were completely unfamiliar to him now. “What city is this?” He asked in a low voice.

“Sirin.”

The name meant nothing to Nalos, but Voja clearly knew the streets. Before long, the pair stood in front of one of the city gates. It looked newer than the rest of the wall, as if the massive door had been recently replaced.

The two guards standing watch on the ground straightened as Voja walked into sight. The taller snapped his fingers once, and they both stepped aside. Above, atop the city wall, Nalos saw two silhouettes duck behind the merlons. The massive gate opened a moment later.

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“How many people are involved in all this?” Nalos asked, taking care to commit the guard’s faces to memory.

“Truly involved? Only a handful. Tangentially? Too many to count.” Voja paused as they stepped through the gate. “In some ways, I trust those guards more than anyone. Human greed is an easier motive to understand than most others.”

Nalos followed in silence. The darkness crowded around them, pressing onto their bodies. He felt the pressure– much less than it had been during the mission, but present nonetheless. Voja seemed completely unbothered.

They reached a clearing after a few minutes. A lone figure sat cross-legged on the ground with their back turned to the two mages. “You’re late.” Their voice was distinctly masculine, but coarse and rough, as if his throat was filled with gravel.

Voja pulled his hood down before responding. “You could have waited more comfortably inside the city walls.”

“I don’t like your cities. The air is too thin for me.” The stranger stood as he spoke, turning to face the Warden. Nalos inadvertently stiffened. The man’s eyes were pure red. No white, no black, just red. Odd as they were, though, it was something else that cowed Nalos.

The world of essence stirred and swirled as the stranger moved. It flowed towards him as if drawn towards the center of the universe. “Is it done?”

Voja nodded. “As agreed.”

The stranger pointed in Nalos’ direction. “And him?”

“One of my subordinates.”

“Ah-ah-ah.” The red-eyed man stepped in front of Nalos. “No wonder I smell blood.” In a rush of movement, he seized one of Nalos’ hands. “Damaged by the imperfect magic you wield,” he sneered. “Typical.”

Unwilling to jeopardize anything, Nalos forced himself to remain perfectly still.

“Enough.” Voja’s voice was icy. “I’ve completed your request– as a sign of goodwill.” A soft blue glow shrouded the Warden’s body as he spoke. “Don’t make the mistake of viewing us as your lessers.”

The stranger’s sneer twisted further as he faced Voja. “Very well.” He released Nalos’ hand. “I’ll have a friend of my own during our next meeting.” Flames engulfed his figure as he stepped back. When they died, only embers remained.

The shroud of blue light around Voja died bit by bit. He turned to Nalos, one finger held in front of his lips. “I know you’ll have questions,” he said softly. “But wait until we return.”

Nalos’ thoughts whirled, and when they settled, he found himself back inside the city walls, slumped in the small room they’d teleported to. Voja was half-seated on the desk that housed the Anchor.

“You’re committing treason,” he said slowly. There were many more implications to the brief conversation he’d witnessed, but that was the most important. Voja accepted– and followed– orders from someone unassociated with the Court. That alone was reason enough for execution.

The Warden nodded silently, completely unbothered by the accusation– and his admission of guilt. “I told you. These are the stakes.”

Nalos nodded slowly. “So those are the stakes. What’s your goal?” He swept his staff across the room. “The crime explains the secrecy. Not the cause.” The Spellweaver paused, trying to find the right words. “So why? What’s so important that you’d risk everything? All for…” he trailed off. “Whatever that guy was.”

“Not quite right,” Voja started slowly. “It has nothing to do with them. It has to do with what they represent.”

“And what is that?”

“Opportunity.”

“What kind of opportunity?”

“...” Voja was silent for a moment before. “You were in the war,” he suddenly said. “You lived through it, correct?”

Caught off guard, Nalos took a second to respond. “I was,” he confirmed.

“Then you saw how much change it caused.”

“In more ways than one.”

“I grew up in the midst of it.”

Nalos’ head whipped around. The Warden’s voice was calm, but there was a steel behind it he’d never heard before.

Voja smiled thinly. “Yes, I’m aware of the rumors– I started quite a few of them myself. There’s a grain of truth in all of them, though most have been embellished over the years.”

“What does that have to do with anything?”

“You saw how things changed. I saw how they changed.”

Nalos blinked. “Is that what this is about?” He asked, somewhat incredulously. “Some play for power?”

“Do you think I would do something so pointless?”

“... No.”

Voja crossed his arms. “The system is broken,” he said bitterly. “The upper echelons of our society are given free rein, while those who work to keep the walls intact suffer under their gaze. You and I are just their jailkeepers.” He paused. “You’ve been subject to their whimsy before.”

Nalos’ heart hardened.

Voja nodded. “They deserved death.”

“That's why you had them executed?”

“Would you have preferred something else?”

Nalos shook his head. “No.” He hesitated, struggling to piece together everything he knew. “You’re trying to start another war,” he whispered.

Another nod. “Correct.”

“And you think you can pull it off?”

“I wouldn't attempt it otherwise.”

Nalos held his head in his hands. He'd expected… something. Not this. But he'd come this far– there was no point in backing out. And he trusted Voja's intellect.

“Alright”, the Spellweaver whispered. “If we're going to do this, let's see it through.”

“This is just the beginning,” said Voja.

image [https://i.imgur.com/T7fdvjj.png]

YEARS AGO

Nalos pushed through the ornate door, unsure what to expect. A new Warden being appointed was odd enough, and being directly summoned by them was hardly ever a good sign.

The room on the other side was the same as he remembered it. Pristine white walls decorated with gold, and a large wooden desk sitting at its center.

The figure behind that desk was new to him, however. The blonde-haired man was clearly younger than he, and his golden eyes shone more brilliantly than the gaudy decorations that surrounded them.

There was something regal about him, in both appearance and attitude, but what shocked Nalos most was the depths of his power. He could feel the essence writhe under his skin, practically begging to be given purpose.

“You're Nalos?” The Warden’s voice was flat.

“I am.”

“I assume you've been informed of my coronation?”

“We all have.”

The Warden leaned back in his chair with both arms crossed. “My predecessor informed me of your dispute with the Stirnglas family. He recommended I navigate the situation with the same delicacy as himself.” He paused, giving a moment for his words to sink in. “I am not my predecessor.”

Nalos’ heart sank as the Warden reached for a stack of papers. “Their claim has no merit,” he said flatly. His hand erupted with flames, and the documents turned to ash.

“As such, I've rescinded any and all disciplinary action and stripped them of their nobility.”

Nalos felt his jaw drop. “Seriously?” He asked.

The Warden raised an eyebrow. “Were you expecting another outcome?” He asked seriously. “Their misuse of privilege is a grave crime. Without their status to shield them, I expect those involved to be executed.” His voice never wavered.

“Seriously?” Nalos asked again.

The Warden nodded. “You are far from the only person who decided to start a family after the war– though you and your wife both may very well be the only ones who decided to start one with the enemy.”

Nalos’ face reddened at the implicit rebuke. “Thank you.”

The Warden picked up another handful of papers. “Don't. I was able to stop most of their ridiculous machinations, but I was unable to keep your wife from being sent away. And regardless of my standing, my influence ends at the city walls.”

Nalos’ heart dropped. “And our children?” He asked, fearing the answer.

“They're still here.”

The answer brought a mixture of relief and anguish. Relief that he would still see them– and anguish they'd been separated from their mother.

“With trade routes open again, your wife's passage will be as safe as possible, but I feared two young children might not survive such a journey. They'll be returned to your care shortly.”

“Thank you,” Nalos said again. “Is that it?”

The Warden nodded. “Unless you have any further questions.”

“Your name. What is it?

“Voja.”