Talia watched as the large stone bathtub drained. A whirlpool of black water swirled in the centre, clumps of hair floating in the pitch, twisting about the drain like the malevolent tides of change. She continued staring into the pit even after the last burble of dyed water had disappeared. Her mind was still reeling from the past few hours’ revelations.

She and the elven magister had sat at the kitchen table for hours after the mage-hunters had left. At first, questions had spilled from the young mage like sand from a leaky sieve. As answers turned into ever more questions, Talia had grown pensive and withdrawn, simply absorbing the font of information that Elidé had offered freely and—for the most part—without reserve. The elf had eventually understood that the heavy subject of magecraft and the omnipresent subtextual threat of madness was getting to the young woman, and switched tacks, and focusing instead on what Talia’s next steps should be.

To Talia’s surprise, Elidé had offered her a place on an expedition out into the Deep, to plumb the ruins of Karzgorad’s fallen sister cities. The elf had made it clear that it was Talia’s choice, though she hadn’t shied away from implying that the newly Gifted woman didn’t have many others. The magister had left her to consider it, promising to return with books on magic the next day, so that no matter what her choice ended up being, Talia would be able to gain control of her powers. After all, her Gift would grow stronger, whether she wanted it or not. Even if the mage chose to take her chances in the city, control would be paramount to remaining undetected, and —if the magister was to be believed—sane.

One of the few questions Evincrest had been cagey about was her relation to the deceased Eric and Ylena Vestal, Talia’s parents. The young woman was certain that therein lay the answer to why one of the most powerful people in Karzgorad was helping a mage that she should instead be imprisoning. However, when pressed, the ancient elf had been vague, saying only that: “Sometimes, what is law and what is right differ. Think of this as a step towards making things right.”

Talia didn’t dwell on the cryptic non-answer however, focusing on the options before her. She had a choice to make, and little time to make it.

The expedition would leave Karzgorad in two days, with or without her.

She was torn. Thinking back to the teachings from her apprenticeship years, she decided to list out the pros and cons for each option.

Option three: turning myself in is off the table. I'm no one's slave.

Staying in Karzgorad was a gamble, no matter what Quarter she decided to hide out in. The mage-hunters strongly suspected that she had survived the fall into the Maw, and it would take weeks or even months for the search to die down. In the city though, she would have the advantage of familiarity, people she trusted and the certainty that at the very least, the danger to her person was a known quantity. The true issue was her Gift. Last time it had manifested, it had been in response to strong emotion. In both cases, fear. She’d had no control over how it had done so, it had just billowed out of her in an unfocused wave. To avoid a repeat occurrence, she would need to practice. The issue was finding a place to do it. There was too much risk of discovery in a cramped city of over two hundred thousand. It would only take one unfortunate coincidence to put the mage-hunters back on her scent, and Talia wasn’t feeling confident about escaping a second time around.

She sighed, getting up and walking over to the mirror. Newly short, newly black, hair sat in a wet mess on her head. At least with the dye, she would be able to pass somewhat unnoticed.

If she decided to stay.

Talia was becoming less and less sure that it was a good idea. Yes, she knew the city’s streets, yes, she might be able to lean on friends she could trust, even learn to control her magic, but…what would happen when she finally lost her mind? Would she even recognize her father, or Reggie, or his daughter, sweet innocent Isabel? Cautionary tales abounded of Gifted who kept their power hidden, supported by their lovers or their family. Inevitably, those stories ended in tragedy. A terrible realization that in their selfishness and hubris, the mage had led those they loved to ruin.

Leaving the city meant heading into the unknown, surrounded by strangers. Sure, Elidé had implied that some of her associates in charge of the mission were…sympathetic to the plight of Gifted, but Talia was sceptical of how far that sympathy would stretch.

At least if I go, then when—if I do…slip, then I don’t have to worry about hurting Orvall or Reggie or gods know how many people I’d be around.

There was comfort in that, in knowing that if she lost her mind, she would be surrounded by armed caravan guards who could…put her down if necessary.

That got morbid fast. Damn Tals.

Then there was the other possibility, the one that had niggled at the young woman’s mind since her earlier conversation with the elven magister. The expedition was meant to explore the ruins of the Dead Cities. It would be dangerous, certainly—dark and unknown places of the Under were not short of aggressive and deadly creatures—but maybe, just maybe, it represented an opportunity. If Elidé’s second theory on the origins of mage-madness was right, then what better place to find lost knowledge than the bones of long forsaken cities?

She would—hopefully—be able to practice secretly on the journey, and once they arrived, she could plumb the libraries or whatever she could find for the secrets of long dead mages. If Evincrest was right, something had changed in magic. Even if the knowledge of what that had been wasn’t there explicitly, it might give Talia an inroad to further research.

If she were lucky enough, Talia might return from the year long round trip to find the mage-hunters had given up the search, with the key to mage-madness in hand. It was a stretch, but the idea excited her in way that she hadn’t felt since beginning her apprenticeship as an arcanist.

Studying artefacts new and old was fascinating, with the potential for improving the lives of everyone in Karzgorad as a tangible bonus. The only difference now was that instead of depending on what Reggie’s workshop received from the Magesterium, she would have the opportunity to find the artefacts herself. Leftovers of ages past gone untouched for centuries. If she could find a library of some kind…the possibilities were endless.

Who knows? Maybe I’ll even learn to craft artifacts myself!

Talia fingered the rapidly scarifying cut on her face, yellow eyes shining in the dark. The dangers were numerous, and mostly unknown. But the potential payoffs... Perhaps she was getting ahead of herself. There was no evidence that any of what she imagined actually lay in the Dead Cities. Only supposition and vague hope. Either way, leaving was just as much a gamble as staying. The only difference was the number of variables in play.

This book's true home is on another platform. Check it out there for the real experience.

Her thoughts were interrupted by her father’s voice from the door to the bathing chamber.

“Talia? Are ye decent?” he asked.

“Just a second!” she replied, hurriedly pulling on the simple undershirt she had discarded to avoid staining it.

“Come in!”

The door creaked open, and Orvall stepped into the pitch-black room. Talia saw him perfectly clearly. The tired droop of his shoulders, the tension in his neck, the way he flinched in surprise as he glimpsed the glowing yellow pinpricks in the darkness.

“Is that you, poppet? Why ‘avent ye lit the candles fer gods’ sake, I cannae see a thing!”

Talia shrugged. Then realized that the gesture was pointless in the dark.

“I can see just fine. New talent, it seems.”

“Aye I can see tha’ at least. Nearly ‘nough to give an old dwarf heartburn. Thankfully yer friend Reginald had just the thing ter fix it. Rare little bit of arcano-tech that ‘e was willin’ to give me once I told ‘im it was fer you. I got it fer yer eyes, but it should help ter mask the glow, if it works like yer master told me.”

Her father fumbled his way to the washbasin and lit the candles there with a click of his trinket. The flame bloomed viciously in Talia’s sight, blinding her for less than a second before her eyes adjusted.

“You spoke to Reggie? Er—what did you tell him…?” the woman asked, joining the dwarf at the granite countertop.

“Well as I told ye earlier, the mage-hunters are swarmin’ the Mid and Low Quarters and when they’re askin’ around about a short girl with gem coloured hair…combined with the fact tha’ I told ‘im just last week ye were sick. Then add that ter me askin fer help…well it don’t take a man as intelligent as Reginald ter put two ‘n’ two together,” Orvall replied.

“Oh,” Talia said, unsure why she was surprised.

I guess I just thought… Who am I kidding, if even a gnome as myopic to current events as Reggie knows, then maybe—maybe it’s for the best that I leave.

“So he knows I’m the runaway mage. How did that go?”

Orvall nodded equivocatingly, waving a hand back and forth in the universal gesture for ‘so so’.

“Aye, if he don’t then definitely suspects. But—! He helped us anyway, so don’t go feeling like yer all alone ye hear? Honestly, I don’t think he cares beyond cursing th’ fact tha’ he’s missin’ a capable junior arcanist. He wishes ye well, whatever may come.”

Yea— that sounds like Reggie. Hope I didn’t cause him any trouble.

Talia squared herself, coming to a decision right then and there. She looked at her adoptive father as he tinkered with a small oblong metal case about as long as her palm and wide as two fingers.

“Orvall?”

“Jus’ a second, almost got it. Real odd little artefact this,” he grunted.

The box clicked open, revealing two small wells containing a gray shimmering fluid that undulated sluggishly. When Orvall stuck his index fingers into the box, the substance agglomerated into two little balls, clinging to the digits.

“Odd little bugger,” he muttered as he beckoned her closer. “Now hold still. Reginald said it shouldna’ hurt, jus’ feel a little strange. Whatever tha’ means.”

Talia peered at the rippling drops.

“That stuff goes in my eye?”

“Aye, I watched yer Master test em out meself. Perfectly safe. Now bend yerself down.”

Talia shrugged, complying.

If both Orvall and Reggie think it’s safe, then I guess here goes nothing.

Her vision went grey for a moment and her eyes prickled slightly. The fluid swarmed across her eyes, thinning out gradually until the room fuzzed into being around her, becoming clearer over span of ten seconds until finally it appeared no different than before.

For second Talia thought she saw the same purple characters from her dream in the corner of her eye, but when she focused nothing was there. She shook her head.

“Ach, with the hair and the eyes I barely recognise ye’! They’re perfect,” Orvall crowed.

“I see what Reggie meant; it did feel strange. Feels like nothing’s there now though,” she replied. Talia rubbed her experimentally but felt nothing unusual.

“Come over an’ hazard a look,” he said as he ushered her to the mirror.

Talia starred at the person in the mirror. She was unrecognizable from the person she’d been just a week ago. Her hair was in a short shag and deep black. The burgeoning scar on her cheek gave her face a rougher sort of character that didn’t match her age. But her eyes…Talia gasped.

How by all the gods did they do that?

Her citrine irises had been replaced by flinty grey. A perfect replacement. In fact, if she hadn’t known better, she would have assumed they were entirely natural. The grey was flecked with light blue around the pupil, radiating outwards in thin striations. It was incredibly lifelike. If she leaned in close enough, she thought she could spot a subtle yellow glow at the line between the pupil and the iris, but it would be unnoticeable unless someone had their nose pressed up against hers.

Theories on how the arcano-tech worked jumped to the forefront of her mind immediately, excerpts from treatises on natural science and old enchanting manuals examined and then dismissed in rapid succession. She was left stumped at how the magic accomplished what it did. They knew so little…

“This is amazing! I wonder what use the Ancients had for such an artefact. I’d call it a simple trinket, but the sophistication alone disqualifies it. It’s moments like these where I truly wonder what the society before Tidefall was like. To create something so clearly complex for such a simple purpose it’s…”

“Aye, I dinnae know about all that, but I’m glad ye like it. With the dye and the… eye illusions… ye should at least be less memorable. At the very least, no one should recognize ye that weren’t there durin’ the chase.” Orvall put a hand on his adoptive daughter’s shoulder, his expression fond.

The moment was so pure it wrenched Talia’s heart, but the feeling only reaffirmed her decision to leave.

So why can’t I look him in the eye?

She stared at her unfamiliar face in the mirror.

“Orvall?” she asked.

The hand on her shoulder squeezed. From the corner of her eye, she saw a sad smile adorn the old dwarf’s face in the mirror. She realized then that he knew. Had probably known before the magister had ever offered Talia the spot. She thought back to his frantic preparations. Returning home laden with bags of all shapes and sizes. Rummaging through his room muttering to himself while she and Elidé spoke in hushed tones.

Damn, I guess he knows me better than I know myself. Still have to say it though. Won’t be real unless I say it aloud.

“I’m going to join the expedition. I—”

He interrupted her justification with a shake of his head, gently turning her cheek so she was looking at him. The sad smile had turned bittersweet under his grey beard.

“Ye don’t need ter explain yerself, poppet. You just hang on ter yerself. Remember that yer of Clan Angrim, and tha’ I’m proud of ye. Yer parents wouldna believe their eyes at who their daughter ‘as become. I wish they were ‘ere ter see it,” he said, voice thick with emotion. “You just come back ter me you hear? Keep yer wits about ye and come back safe. We’ve got a few decades left in us yet, we do”

Tear pooled beneath Talia’s newly grey irises. She swept her adoptive father into a hug, squeezing his solid frame, his voluminous beard tickling her cheek.

“I will. I promise.”

The old dwarf thumped her on the back.

“Aye ye’d better,” he grunted into her shoulder. “Now come on, enough ‘o’ that sappy shit, let’s get ye well an’ ready. No daughter ‘o’ mine will be trekkin off into the Deep Ways without proper preparation.”

Talia chuckled. Hope and trepidation caught in her throat as she considered the journey she had decided to embark on. She wondered if she would return triumphant, as she’d imagined just moments ago, or if she would disappear like so many did, their tales lost to the ever hungry dark.

Only time would tell.

What she knew for certain, as her adoptive farther began sorting through the things he had acquired for her, was that whatever her fate might end up being, she wouldn’t be facing it unprepared.

Dear gods Orvall, this must have cost a fortune! Where have you been hiding all this money?!?