The note left by professor Cynna provided instructions to a designated location to meet the following night. With about a day’s worth of travel ahead of them, the pair elected to rest another night in the inn and proceed in the morning. After eating breakfast, Syma checked out on behalf of the pair and Mirus took the reins of the carriage again to take the specified road to the south. They shared various theories on why the professor agreed to help them under such surreptitious circumstances. The court mage thought her high status in the university prevented any direct intervention in their illicit affairs. His apprentice agreed but considered the possibility of the invitation being a trap. Based on their meeting, Cynna currently only held suspicion of his intentions. Agreeing to meet would remove all doubt and provide ample evidence of his crime. Regardless of the risk, they pressed forward.
Morning gave away its time to afternoon and afternoon eroded to evening as the carriage progressed upon the road. Neat cobblestone initially welcomed the wooden wheels but as the hours passed, fewer bricks paved the road until nothing more than dirt and gravel marked their path. Per the note, they discovered an inn with a stable and checked in for the night, but they declined to stay within their rooms. Instead, the instructions pressed them to continue their journey through the countryside on foot. Stepping into the tall grass of the rolling hills of Rodannia, they navigated by the description of various landmarks. Once they arrived at a creek, for example, they needed to follow it for a number of strides before crossing at a narrow point. A dead tree once struck by lightning denoted a left. The ruins of an old farmhouse meant they strayed too far from their path. They continued this charade for several hours continuing even past the sunset.
In the latest breaches of night where the sun didn’t dare encroach the corners of the horizon, they approached a wild field whose grasses tickled their waists. The waves of gentle hills rode the sea of fields, but a knoll mentioned in the note rose above its fellow mounds. The pair paused and looked for a signal. Atop the knoll, a single flash which burned so quickly, the mind could mind convince they eye it made a mistake, burned, and died away. They understood its meaning and began their ascent. The dew upon the grass drenched their robes and caused them to slip on the steeper parts of the knoll, but they held on to each other to keep their balance and reached the minor summit. A shadowy figure greeted them, standing perfectly still, and refusing any sound.
Mirus summoned a ball of light to confirm his suspicions. The artificial illumination unveiled the darkness around Professor Cynna who surrendered her traditional garb in favor of a black robe whose depths swept around her imposing figure and whose gold trim depicted faint images of daegons playing with the souls of mortals. A grimoire hung from her hip whose leatherbound cover revealed a symbol typically used in abyssal script. Her countenance struck a nerve of intimidation as her gray eyes shined with an unnatural zeal for his endeavors. The image she wore relieved all the uncertainty from the court mage. She no longer dressed as an academic assuming her position at a top university. Instead, she displayed the tradition of worshippers of The abyss and all therein.
Behind her, a clearing revealed an altar built from ancient, black stone which carried four gray candles and a collection of books. Unlike the journals Mirus kept, these books appeared older than their owner, passed through generations of madmen who eagerly clawed their pages to reach the unreachable abyssal truth. While they instructed followers of breaching their realities, they also detailed the violent histories of the abyssal inhabitants in gruesome, glorifying details. Involuntarily, the court mage extended his arm in front of Syma to impose his protection.
If Cynna wished to entrap Mirus for practicing forbidden magic, she presented an authentic façade. The court mage no longer feared betrayal to authorities; however, abyssal worshippers often posed their own treachery. Despite a decade spent in research, he never delved into the esoteric practices of these religious fanatics. Unlike academics who usually wrote about the true and objective, as far as such concepts exist, abyssal worshippers tended to exaggerate the powers of their beloved realm. Besides, collaboration remained an uncertain option since their loyalty stood steadfast by their preferred Abyssal Monarch rather than any mortal. As much as the court mage despised the thought working with a daegon, cooperating with their worshippers were only a marginally better option. Given the circumstances, however, the elf had no other choice.
“I apologize for the cloak and dagger,” Cynna spoke. “Sensitive ears listen for any piece of gossip within the university. Giving them any word would spread as loudly and as unpleasantly as screams from an abattoir.”
“Certainly understandable,” Mirus replied. “I didn’t take you as one to worship the deagon. On the contrary, I thought you wouldn’t pledge yourself to any god.”
“And why shouldn’t I? The daegon are immensely powerful beings who can manipulate the very essence of existence beyond the touch and influence of any mortal.”
“You made a deal with them, didn’t you?”
“And you haven’t?”
“Never.”
“Ah, how embarrassing. I invited you to my ritual because I thought you celebrated the lowest reaches of the realm with me,” she answered with a tinge of shock in her voice. “Why do you revile in what I find beautiful?”
“They destroy everything they touch.”
“And with destruction comes birth. Like a field of rotten crops, they burn entire worlds to usher new life. They are the paragons of innovation and creation. They are the shepherds of revolution and change. They are the knights of reincarnation.”
She spoke with such passion, Mirus permitted a sympathetic thought for a moment, but soon extinguished the notion before it consumed any more than a silver of his mind. He failed to give a reply in retaliation, which she took as acceptance. A silence punctuated the two.
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“Do you still wish to travel to The Abyss?” she asked.
“Yes,” he supplied. She looked at him curiously.
“Why? Do you wish to carry out your own crusade with your self-righteousness?”
“The reasons are mine alone. Will you still help me?”
“Yes, I suppose I will, but my aid is conditional.”
“Conditional?”
“Yes. Nothing in this realm or the next is free. The only accounts of those who’ve left terra firma are shrouded in myth and age. The countless years changed their words to match their storytellers and plenty of doubt remains of their authenticity. Despite my religious leanings, I am a researcher interwoven in the perpetual pursuit of knowledge and truth. Take notes, Mirus, of your expedition. Include every moment and every detail. Nothing is too irrelevant for your travel. Crawl through the dirt and describe its taste in excruciating detail. Breathe the atmosphere and give account of how it gently lulled your nostrils into repulsion. Feel the statues and tell of how the rough textures tore into your flesh. If you survive this encounter, your name will echo through the halls of forbidden magic for time immemorial.”
“I’ll take your notes but exclude my name.”
“You need not fear. Even if the King Justinian II himself uncovers your treason, we can protect you.”
“I appreciate the offer, but, again, I decline your infamy. I would rather maintain my elven heritage as pure within the highest office of the land. It will act as a beacon for other elves who will see the heights our race may climb in these lands.”
“You give away too much to your race under the guise of moral rectitude, but I suppose debate will not convince you. Shall we proceed?”
“Yes.”
“Will you travel alone, or will you apprentice join you?”
“I will go alone.”
“Hold on,” Syma protested. “You’re planning to delve into the depths of The Abyss alone?”
“Yes,” the court mage spoke resolutely. “I never planned for you to join me. I only packed enough provisions for myself. Besides, the journey is far too dangerous, and you are far too inexperienced. From your own description, you barely passed the trial from the university. Traveling to this other realm, beset by daegon and only the gods know what other terrors will kill you.”
“I can’t allow you to do this by yourself.”
“You don’t allow me to do anything. I am your master, and you are my apprentice. You have too many years ahead of you and too much potential to gamble in such a high stakes game. You will remain here and wait for my return. My word on this is final,” He answered commandingly, which Syma knew better than to dispute, although she remained stubbornly unconvinced. The elf then turned to the professor, “Please, continue.”
Mirus escorted Syma to the outer edge of the clearing as the professor prepared the spell. She handed the elf a ring, which she explained held an enchantment capable of transporting him back to terra firma when he completed his journey. A series of abyssal runes lined its golden exterior, but beyond its curious engraving, nothing seemed inherently sinister about the ring. Apparently obtained through a daegon visiting their world, she traded some arcane artefact for the piece of jewelry. The court mage accepted it and slid it on his finger.
Professor Cynna repositioned herself in front of the altar. She carefully arranged her books into a geometric pattern, permitting the pages of different tomes to interlock. Mirus watched the ritual curiously, dubious that the arrangement of grimoires would inherently impact the nature of the spell so long as they all remained in contact, but he held his tongue. Instead, he observed as the professor placed her hands on their leather covers and began a chant in the abyssal language, which, when spoken aloud, sears into the ears like hot metal. Even though her decidedly human voice didn’t carry the proper intonation, the very combination of sounds and constrictions of the throat created an inhuman din. Despite his apparently incomplete fluency with the language, the court mage could only manage to translate pieces of incantation, which swore that anyone who spoke those vile words would taint their souls with the ash of The Abyss.
Electricity crackled in the air. Those attuned to the ebb and flow of magic across the world could feel seismic shift in its flow creating whirls of unchecked energy. Those ignorant of magic could feel the faint omen of something cataclysmic approaching. The air swept up in rapids, sending the folds of the professor’s robes in violently waving streams. The black of her garb appeared as a storming cloud and the gold trim became her flashes of lightning that dazzled the eye against its dark velvet billows. The candles she arranged spewed thin columns of flame which lit the clearing in an unnatural red. In the center of everything, a swarm of blackness formed along the seams of their plane. Bits of embers and sparks ignited along a vertical line. The final verse in her odious spell tore along this line and opened a portal to The Abyss.
The same image appeared as his first attempt. Terrible pyramids built from obsidian stone dominated the vista. A black sun absorbed any traces of hope and light. No hint of greenery or lush vegetation dared to touch the endless sea of hardened rock. Daegons of every shape bent their wicked limbs to scurry across the wasteland they considered paradise. The smell of Sulphur and ash flooded the clearing and watered their eyes. To Mirus, he peered into the very essence of death and decay. To Cynna, she saw the beauty found in desolation. The court mage made eye contact with the professor to inquire about the spell. She answered with her eyes and the elf prepared to make his descent.
He stood before the portal to another realm. Although a determination and steadfastness burnt in his heart, a reluctance of uncertainty burdened his feet. As he pushed any thoughts of doubt aside, he felt the leather of his rucksack, ensuring it carried his vital supplies. Rubbing his hands together, he felt the golden ring on his finger, sure it would usher his return. He looked back to Syma, who represented a future he could never guarantee. He looked ahead to the portal, which represented a past he knew he needed to rest. Lighting two balls of flame upon his palms to ready himself for whatever try to claim him on the other side, he made his first steps to the cosmic tear. With his heart pounding against his ribs, he stepped into terra abyssa.
Syma watched her master depart, expecting the portal to close behind him, but it remained opened. She looked to Cynna who returned a smirk. She approached the center of the clearing, where she felt the energy intensify. She turned to the professor.
“He’s not coming back, is he?” the youth asked.
“Not without his apprentice,” she answered.
Syma nodded her head and turned back to the portal. Its strange, almost tangible light flickered across the far reaches of the fields. Wandering insects attracted to the illumination flew towards it, but simply crisped to embers and ashes midflight. She stared into the portal, enamored by the strange and terrible possibilities that it promised. The luminosity burnt into her corneas as she made involuntary steps forward. Like the very same moths she watched burn, she crossed her foot into the threshold of the portal and passed through the other side.