Galen, initially a mage of modest skill, found his wind magic lacking in precision. His spells often swept through the city like uncontrolled gusts, disrupting rather than aiding. However, his clandestine meetings with Eldora became his practice ground. He started with simple spells, using the wind to dry her wares or to cool the air around them.
One evening, as the market was closing, Eldora caught Galen practicing minor spells to keep the air around the stalls cool. "You could teach me some of that magic," she suggested, half-joking, half-serious.
Galen, seeing an opportunity to bridge worlds, agreed. "Meet me here after dark," he whispered, a hint of excitement in his voice, "away from the crowd."
That night, under the cover of darkness, they met in a secluded part of the market where the light was dim and the magic seemed less oppressive. Here, Galen showed Eldora small tricks, like how to use the natural breeze to dry herbs or to cool water.
Eldora, in turn, shared stories of the commoners' resilience, of secret gatherings where tales of freedom were whispered, of how they managed to survive under the yoke of mage rule. These stories opened Galen's eyes to a world he had never truly seen, where magic was not just a gift but a chain.
As weeks passed, their meetings became a routine. They would spend time after the market closed, sometimes under the stars or in hidden corners. Eldora would tell Galen to sense the flow of magic in the air, while speaking of the city's undercurrents.
Under Eldora's encouragement, Galen learned to listen to the wind, to feel its patterns. He practiced day and night, focusing on controlling the wind's whispers rather than its roars. His spells evolved from broad, sweeping motions to delicate, precise manipulations, allowing him to cloak sounds, guide air currents, and even manipulate small objects with air currents.
***
Beneath the gleaming spires of Arcano, where magic was both a wonder and a chain, whispers had begun to spread like a dark fog. Commoners, the lifeblood of the city, were disappearing. At first, it was one or two, then it became a grim tally: a baker vanished from his shop, a young mother from the marketplace, an old man from his doorstep.
Whispers of missing commoners had begun to circulate, stories of men and women vanishing without a trace, their last known location often near the Mage's Tower.
Later, the reports came in waves, scrawled in hurried notes passed among friends, or spoken in hushed tones at the communal wells. Families, friends, and neighbors held vigils, their candles flickering like the hope that was slowly dying with each new disappearance. The commoners' quarters bore the weight of fear even more, each empty chair at the dinner table a silent accusation against the night.
Love this story? Find the genuine version on the author's preferred platform and support their work!
Eldora, whose parents had vanished years ago, had always felt the pain of their loss like a void in her heart. She had heard the whispers, the stories of those who disappeared, each tale adding to her suspicion.
Her search for answers led her to a forgotten part of the city, where old, disused buildings leaned against each other, their shadows cloaking potential secrets. Here, she found an entrance so cleverly disguised amongst the cobblestones that it seemed more like a trick of the light than a door.
It was a grate, hidden beneath a decayed market stall, which when moved revealed stone steps leading down into darkness. Eldora, with a heart that both feared and craved the truth, descended into what felt like the city's underbelly. The air grew colder, the silence oppressive, broken only by the drip of unseen water or the scuttle of rats.
She navigated through a maze of tunnels, the walls damp and echoing with the history of Arcano's darker deeds. Following a faint, eerie glow, she stumbled upon a hidden mechanism, a stone carved with runes that, when pressed, slid away to reveal the entrance to a secret lab.
The lab was a stark contrast to the world above; where Arcano was all light and magic, this place was darkness and death. The room was lit by torches that flickered with an unnatural green flame, casting long shadows that seemed to move with a life of their own.
Jars of preserved organs were held on the shelves, each one labeled with names of the commoners, a grotesque library of human parts. She scanned the labels, each name a story of a life stolen, until her heart stopped at the sight of two names she knew all too well—her parents' names were written in precise, cruel handwriting, each letter seeming to echo with their final cries.
The sight was a visceral blow; the organs, once the life force of her parents, now floated in a sickly, yellow liquid. Next to the jars, she found a ledger, its pages stained with blood, chronicling each experiment. There, among the notes on necromancy and the transformation of living flesh into undead servitude, were the records of her parents' last days. The entries detailed how their life force was drained, how their bodies were prepared for mummification, all in the cold, clinical language of a scientist devoid of humanity.
In one corner, she saw them—rows of what once were human beings, now mummies with their skin desiccated and stretched tight over their bones, their mouths open in eternal silent screams. Some still bore the remnants of their clothes, a cruel reminder of their once-living selves.
Eldora's stomach churned at the sight; these were not just bodies but people, neighbors, friends, perhaps even her parents.
Her eyes then fell upon a table where fresh blood was still pooling, evidence of the latest victim of Alaric's experiments. The blood was cold, dripping down to the floor in slow, thick drops. Tools of torture and dark magic lay scattered around, each implement stained with the life force of the innocent.
In her rage and grief, she moved deeper into the lab, where she stumbled upon a pit, a mass grave of sorts, where those who couldn't be turned into mummies were discarded. The pit was filled with bodies in various states of decomposition, some still fresh, others skeletal, all twisted in the throes of their final moments. The smell was overwhelming, a mix of decay and the metallic tang of blood.
However, her investigation was cut short when she triggered a silent alarm. The floor beneath her gave way, and she fell into a pit, landing hard on a cold, stone floor, the impact knocking the breath from her lungs. Before she could recover, magical shackles materialized from the walls, binding her wrists and ankles, chaining her to the dungeon beneath the lab.