Teleportation, at least according to certain texts, used to be a rather common mode of transport. Wizards of great power conjured glyphs that could transport entire armies from one side of the continent to the other, or that’s what is told. In truth, I doubted that even the combined might of every court sorcerer of Vorresh would likely die from the strain it would take to even move a thousand people from one side of a courtyard to the other.

Still, the practice had certainly been used far more often when elves entrusted others with their strengthening enchantments. But since they’ve decided to recluse themselves once more, very few were powerful or brave enough to attempt it.

I’ve heard tales of young magic users believing they possessed some hidden strength in transportation spells, leading them to attempt teleportation. Malgor, I think the boy’s name was. A story I had learned about from overhearing some tavern bard’s song. How did it go again?

‘A glyph in his palm and that book under arm,

Young Malgor the Bold,

The rift opened up like the teachings foretold.

He commanded the folk

To watch and behold,

Then stepped through

And broke.

His arm landed here,

His head over there,

Burnt to sut

Despite his old book.

So do not forget,

Or this mess you’ll become,

Just like Malgor,

The rended one.’

From how they laughed afterward, one could almost forget that in the real story, not much of Malgor was ever found, only his arm that still clutched an old spellbook the boy had stolen. He was barely fifteen, convinced by his high birth that he had some ability to control magic that was not controllable. But in honesty, this outcome was likely the best out of all the options.

When one cannot give a spell room within oneself, the spell lashes out like a captured beast in too small a cage. And with something as powerful as teleportation, no matter if he wanted to jump a few meters or travel to Gurn, it could have easily ripped him apart before he made his proclamation and then pulled the entire city of Azir into a pocket dimension. And judging by the charred remains of Malgor, none would have lived to laugh about it.

Though it makes me think, if that boy had waited and trained, he may very well have become a powerful mage. Simply the fact that he was able to cast it without imploding betrays that he was indeed magically gifted. Simply not invulnerable and untrained. Perhaps that is the joke that I’m missing.

“Ready, then?” The voice of Alebstra carried me from my contemplation.

Just opposite his tower was the ritual center of the city of Silver, a comparatively tiny building with a round-shaped roof and thick walls. The inside was spacious with different sections for different uses. Some for the summoning of spirits, others for enchantment, and the largest part reserved for the court wizard’s private rituals. While the building itself was constructed far enough away from most other buildings, the walls of the Silver wizard’s circle were lined with protecting and dampening glyphs, just in case a spell should go wrong.

The half-draconic had set up an intricate star-shaped pattern on the floor, each line being a mixture of elvish and arcane script. Not being well-versed in the latter, I only recognized the elvish words for safety, binding, and empowerment. The middle was left blank, a circle large enough for two people to stand shoulder to shoulder. He had already stepped in, finishing up some final checks of his work.

“I appreciate you shortening my journey, I don’t know how many more times I could have used my royal letter,” I chuckled, finally able to discard the torn, dirty parchment in my pocket.

“I’ve personal business in the capital anyway. And I would much rather do that before half of Vorresh is there for that idiotic festival.”

I stepped over the glowing blue and gold writing and pressed myself as close into the circle as I could without pushing my wizard friend out. “Here,” he handed me a pouch. It was filled with some gem dust, perhaps an amethyst or a diamond.

Some might call it superstition, others caution. As I was of the persuasion that when dealing with arcane and elvish mixtures, one could never be too careful, I clutched it tightly in my hand. The only fact that was truly known about carrying a bag of powdered gems when teleporting was that it vanished into the nothingness one moved through. And while I personally didn’t believe in ethereal entities that would be appeased by this, I could not doubt that it drastically increased the chances of success.

My green-scaled companion gave me another look to make sure I was ready, then held his bag of gem dust above his head. I followed his gesture, stretching my hand open and displaying it when he began chanting.

“Allùr Askar, Ô’ Ubru Skätta,” sourceless winds began tearing at his cloak and my clothes, pushing them upward. “Ô Tríshk Carlů,” I inhaled as deeply as I could, knowing what was next. I felt the weight of my gear lessen more and more until I felt completely weightless as if swimming in air. “Ô Príkklor Kartô!”

A blinding flash of light emitted from beneath me, forcing my eyes closed. Like a feather in the wind, I felt myself being tossed up by a gust so powerful it could have leveled a castle, shooting me high into the sky where I knew I couldn’t have taken in a breath. Next, I felt myself shifting sideways as if laying on a bed in the middle of nothingness. Stil, I held out my hand unwaveringly.

Though my sense of up and down was likely not to be trusted, it felt all too similar to being thrown by that wyrm, only a hundred times faster and without the resistance of air. At that moment, the satchel was lifted from my hand, or perhaps it just flew out of it.

I clenched my teeth when the journey accelerated again. Faster and faster, going through space without light or air or any sensation other than unmatchable speed.

My muscles began to tense, feeling something akin to hands made from cold steel fingers grasping at my limbs, trying to move me from my position, but I held steadfast.

Then something happened I hadn’t expected. I slowed down. The incredible speed at which I was being launched seized, though not entirely. I felt part of my essence being stretched into the layline I was traveling on. But something was trapping me in place, forcing part of my untouchable body to be in one place for more than a blink.

And then I saw orange light from beneath my eyelids and felt heat that would have burned my skin were it not for the constant radiating heat within my chest. And I did what my brain commanded me to and opened my eyes.

What I saw had to have been an illusion, at least that was the only explanation I could accept at the time. But now I know that what I saw was true and real as anything.

I floated in the air, being shot through a burning, ash-filled space. Brightly glowing lava flowed freely about a hundred meters below me, moving as one mass of molten rock. I managed to look up for just a moment and found a single point of sunlight above, barely peeking through a tapering hole in an otherwise unbroken, rocky surface.

But a moment after, I felt something only comparable to a dagger to the chest, forcing me to face downward. And what I found was incomprehensible.

Red scales the size of tables, wings that if unfurled would block the sun over an entire city, and a body so massive that the walls of the Silver city would have bowed in shame. And although I recognized the shape, my mind refused to make sense of what I was seeing. It was far too large, too massive to exist in a world of logic and rules.

Despite the fact that I was flying a hundred meters above the lava, the dragon was right in front of me. Standing on its hind legs, which were submerged to the first joint in magma, it stretched its head up to be directly in my path. Its eye alone was double the size of my outstretched body, its maw could have devoured that tiny wyrm in two bites, and when it opened the jaws which were lined with hundreds of ballista-sized teeth, a glow as bright as the sun emerged from within its throat.

Liquid fire, almost indistinguishable from the magma it was standing in, poured forth, followed by a tornado of flame so massive that the beast itself vanished within. Lucky for me, I was still ethereal, allowing the heat to pass through me. Still, I had to shield my eyes out of fear of going blind.

Finally, the teleportation spell started again, pulling me through the walls of whatever mountain I was trapped in. The rest of my body was shunted forward to catch up with the rest of my essence.

Like being in two places at once, part of my vision was already above a massive forest while the left-behind aspect of my body struggled to keep up, shooting over a lake, past a coastline, through another range of mountains, and finally through the towers of a ruined castle.

When the two halves reunited, it only allowed me a moment of settling into that feeling of wholeness before I saw the city of Blackspire in the distance.

Towers made from shaped blackstone winded into the air like a living rock, conjured by powerful mages. They could even overlook the settlements at the edges of the city, bordering the forest. Formed in five distinct circles, all marked by looming walls. At the very center was a castle. A palace housing many families and their servants, with a connection to the adjacent mage’s tower, the structure was magnificent to behold. From the seamlessly connected rock to more obviously architected parts around stained glass windows. The long stretch of stairs leading into the gate of the castle was guarded by men and women in royally adorned black armor.

Moving further down into the districts revealed things that royals didn’t have to deal with personally. The second and third districts were still admirable and certainly made by talented masons, though they lacked the magically shaped blackstone in their housing. Only stores and other public buildings reached above a second story, standing out in the otherwise very similar low-built structure of the tightly grouped houses. The streets here were made of fairly smooth cobblestone, though even that had begun to fall into disrepair. Still, these parts of the city were pleasant to look at, especially if one were to compare them to what lay at the outer circles.

Those who could not afford housing in the third district had to settle for the fourth. Here, the buildings were square blocks all made of the same, cheap, important stone. The road was barely even a suggestion, whatever structure had been present was buried a long time ago, beneath all the mud that piled high under everyone’s boots. Under the thatch roofs of most houses lived one or more families, though not many worked within the district.

And those who didn’t wish to live so close to the capital building, whether it was for the anonymity the location offered or the simplicity of their existence, built wooden huts at the edge of town. Some considered it a separate settlement even, though the king declared it part of the city some time ago – likely in order to collect more tax. Built with only a wall of wooden pillars acting as their defense, the fifth district would have to retreat into the first fortified walls of the city in the event of an attack.

With the volcanically charged ground, crops and plant life grew at extraordinary rates, some even theorize it is part of an ancient enchantment. Thanks to this, export and import were the day-by-day. Merchants with their carts rode through the gates in a steady flow, the value of their wares determining how far into the city they were allowed to travel.

When I was growing up, every now and then I managed to sneak to the edge of the forest to catch a glimpse at the massive walls and towering mountain behind the keep. But, as my father said, it represented danger. Now I understand what he meant, it was dangerous because the people living there expected something of him and me.

However, the view that I now had was incomparable to anything my childish self could have imagined. Floating above even the volcano upon which it rested, I could overlook the bustle and chatter of the thousands below. My velocity eventually slowed, once I passed over the wall of the second district. The clear destination of the courtyard came rushing toward me, triggering my instinct to brace for a fast landing, despite knowing I would arrive still ethereal.

My body turned on its own, feet forward. But the impact never came, at least not the feeling of hitting the ground. Instead, I simply floated above the smoothed cobblestone. While I couldn’t see Alebstra, I figured he was already there, given the fact that I had somehow been intercepted on the way.

“Allùr Askar, Ô Pishkt,” the Silver’s voice echoed in the muffled, distant air, simultaneously directly next to me and hundreds of meters away.

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Slowly, I felt the sensations of my body and the physical world returning, the weight of my gear and the hot core in my chest arriving last.

From an outsider’s view, which were numerous, both a two-and-a-half meter tall draconic and my heavily cloaked form formed from nothingness in the center of the courtyard. Guards and the various lords and ladies paused in their affairs to whisper and gawk at the display of magic.

I released the last of my held air and took in the scents of wine and bread coming from the nearby bakery. The light here was also different, unlike the sunny coast, the sun was blocked by grey clouds and a howling wind chased through the streets.

“Able, what happened?” Alebstra got my attention while I was still adjusting to being corporeal.

I just stared back confused, unsure of what exactly he meant. “I… something stopped me?” I tried to rationalize the situation in my own head still.

“I sensed you diverge from the layline…” I saw concern in his emerald-like eyes. “I thought I had lost you,” he said more quietly, noticing also that a group of guards had begun approaching.

I nodded toward the men in their black and red armor, “I’ll try to explain later when I figure it out myself.”

He looked unhappy about my answer but settled on the fact that this was not the time or place to have such a discussion.

Before the guards could utter their signature inquiries, Alebstar proclaimed, “I am Alebstra of the silver coast. I have been summoned by his Grace and his court wizard. If you’d kindly inform the King of my and Able Midgar’s arrival,” he motioned to me as if presenting a gift. “I will be waiting in the keep in the meanwhile,” he said like it was already a decided choice.

The guard’s commander, an elf with a long red cloak and golden sigil noting him as some sort of superior, looked downright shaken. Likely, the man was not used to being ordered around by someone he hadn’t met before. But Alebstra had already turned away from him, the draconic’s tail swaying in his fast walk.

He looked at me as if I had some explanation that would clarify, but I just raised my shoulders and followed my wizard companion, already lost in thought again.

But just as I was mid-step, a piercing screech filled my ears and mind, causing me to shut my eyes in pain and grab at my temple. It got louder and louder, like a stake being driven through the side of my head. I collapsed to my knees, clutching my head and probably screaming like a stuck pig, not that I could even hear myself through the noise drilling into my skull.

Then the screeching turned dull and deep, the pain formed a visual image before my eyes, that of a massive, red eye. A black slit in the middle drew me in like the abyss at the bottom of the sea. I felt like I was falling into darkness, unable to see anything but that moving iris in front of me.

“Gorrua Fìnu!”

I inhaled air like a man that had been drowning for weeks, greedily trying to fill my lungs beyond their capacity. When the eye vanished, so did the noise. It was replaced by murmuring men, then Alesbtra’s voice. “By the Gods, Able. If you felt backlash, why didn’t you say something? You could have split your head open on the pavement, and then what?” He lectured, his hand on my forehead. His palm alone was large enough to wrap around my head almost entirely. From it, I felt a cooling, calming pulse, indicating he had cast some spell on me.

I must have looked like an animal in survival mode, not that I particularly objected to that view – for every muscle in my body was pulsing with adrenaline and the warmth in my chest urged to escape in a burst of flame.

But upon seeing the faces of the guards, their skeptical and judgmental eyes, I pushed myself off the ground and stood, though my legs felt like liquid. “I’m fine. You’re right, must have been backlash,” I concluded. But in reality, certain things began to form in my head.

That was the same creature that had intercepted me. It must have been. That meant it was real, that meant it had the power to influence a spell as advanced as teleportation. This was a message, directed at me.

And there was that word again. Even the heat in my chest couldn`t stop an icicle from forming in my heart.

I began walking, for it was all I could do now. ‘Just keep walking,’ I told myself.

The massive deep wood doors, as indicated by their black-brown color, were pushed open by the two guards whose entire job was to open and close these oversized gates. Alebstra stayed close behind me, clearly expecting to catch me should I fall over again. If he knew what had actually happened, I doubt he would have stayed so controlled.

Still, he caught up to me once were entered the massive main hall and were out of earshot of the guardsmen outside. “Able, that wasn’t backlash, was it?” When I didn’t make any notion of replying, he insisted, “you screamed bloody murder. That’s not a normal reaction to a spell.” Of course, the wizard knew better than anyone what was and wasn’t normal for magical backlash.

“You said we are here to meet with someone about draconics, right? Then I’ll tell you when we get there. You know just as well that anything said in the capital is said to the Cirst as well,” I motioned to one of the servants who was clearly only pretending to read a scroll, her ears perked to spy on us.

My wizard friend glanced at her and gave me an insistent look, solidifying my words as a promise.

It didn’t take long for the castle to stir. Doors flew open and out poured humans, elves, and dwarves, guided by castle guards and squires. The room filled from the sides, long benches allowing most to sit while others were forced to stand in the upper areas. From winding balconies descended more noble-looking persons, some choosing to mingle with the ones below while most of the women stayed in the rafters to overlook the hall and have their whispering chats.

I felt all of their eyes, heard all of their whispers, hundreds of them were focused on Alebstra and me. We stood exposed in the middle, flanked by a group of guards with shields and spears. Others, more heavily plated men stood in a line in front of the stairs leading to the throne, which looked as if it had grown out of the wall and floor.

Finally, from a door next to the throne, emerged a tall man in black, flowing robes. Golden stitching marking him as the ruling royalty, alongside the black obsidian crown, adorned the King. His broad shoulders painted a picture that his posture didn’t match. While his cloak and clothing obscured most of his features, his hands were barely thick enough to hold the many rings and his face looked downright skeletal even from this distance.

He sat upon his throne like he would have collapsed a moment after. He slouched forward and leaned onto the armrests, eyeing Alebstra for only a moment before his attention turned to me.

The burn across his neck and mouth made him strange to look at. Not necessarily intimidating, though the stare he gave from his high position certainly tried its hardest to strike some sense of awe into me.

But all I saw was someone who looked at my father instead of me. The disdain in his eyes was unhidden and laid out into the court. I couldn’t blame him, my father could have killed him that day. I remember each and every time I was face to face with death, recalled the feelings when I believed my life would be over, it must have been the same for him.

Then I felt a sting in the back of my head. Something small and barely noticeable, but it grabbed my attention enough for me to turn my head. And I looked upon a man about my age, silver-white hair dressed in fine clothing and followed by his guards. And immediately upon spotting him, the constant, radiant warmth in my chest roared out like a dragon.

My exhale carried the taste of smoke and before I knew what was happening a string of red flames leaked from my fingers and palm. I only noticed when he returned a look that I was beginning to make a fist.

Using all of my willpower, I opened my palm again and swallowed down the inferno within me. Normally, keeping it down was just a matter of calming whatever emotion caused it to rise up, but this time it fought back. It pushed against my mental defenses and threw itself into any corner of my body to find a way out and into the physical world.

But I couldn’t just torch the fucking room. So I gritted my teeth and tried my best to look anywhere else. But upon finding the King’s eyes instead, the flames seemed only to pull me back to that Prince.

Something was off here, something about that man was triggering every instinct of my fight or flight reflex. The way that the Blackspire son looked was filled with settling panic as if he had just been in a fight to the death. His pupils were wider than anyone else’s and any time he focused on me he looked square in my eyes.

Meanwhile, the King had been speaking to Alebstra, or maybe he had addressed me a few times. I couldn’t have noticed, my thoughts were too occupied with keeping my core away from the outside.

“...dragon killer!” I was ripped from my thoughts by the King shouting.

Taking my cue, I stepped forward and managed to compose myself in a manner that wouldn’t seem too disrespectful. “I have slain the quarry, my King, the beast won’t bother the finger mountains anymore.”

But as soon as I was done speaking, I felt forced to look back at the Prince. He scowled down at me like people born into royalty so often did.

The King brought me back, appearing to ignore that I was having a staring contest with his son. He asked about where the body of the wyrm was and I had to suppress an eye roll. I explained as plainly as I could that the body parts I could collect were Alebstra’s by right and that I could hardly be expected to carry a fifteen-meter-long wyrm with me.

“A wyrm? I believe I set a bounty for a wyvern, did I not?” I bit my lower lip at the man’s insistence.

Again, as simply as I could phrase it, I explained that a wyrm was easily confused as a wyvern by someone untrained. This appeared to be enough for him to settle, joking about the common folk and their intelligence. But then he addressed both me and Alebstra, “but I do not see it fit those materials collected are not distributed to your King. I hereby enforce a tax on draconic leftovers, to be delivered to the Black wizard of my court.”

I saw Alebstra tense for a moment and I understood why. Wizards were certainly not enemies but at the rank that court sorcerers operated, there was always a hint of competitiveness in their interactions. The Silver wizard was the one to dispatch me and brought the information of the wyrm to the King’s attention. He was the only person besides me or the guild of the Claw deserving of these materials. While I was not nearly knowledgable enough in arcana to know what, I knew that Alebstra had plans for each and every piece that I had given him.

Despite the visible frustration in his posture, the draconic sorcerer composed himself and said “Then that is what I shall do. I will share whatever your sorceress might require.” Perhaps he would work something out privately, or he just lied to the King’s face and his entire court, but he kept it cordial enough to convince the Blackspire King.

I only caught the preliminary “Grace be,” before the court began rustling.

Alebstra started walking and I followed quickly after, noting that the Prince was conversing with his father in a way that didn’t seem too friendly.

“Where are we going?” I asked.

“Their wizard’s tower. It’s the best place to talk privately.”

Our pathway was mostly unblocked by the moving mass of people, as only some had business on the upper floors of the spires. The stairs in this keep were particularly narrow, allowing only one or two people to travel side by side. Alebstra, however, was wider than any human and taller by a large margin. He was forced to keep his head low, bowing through every doorway.

The King would like to have us here for a while longer. But I don’t intend to stay for the harvest end festival. Also, let me introduce you before you speak, Siesta can be a little… extravagant.” When he arrived at the top of the stairs, he paused.

I managed to peek past him and spotted the source of our stop, that Prince again. He pushed off of the wall to confront the wizard, then his eyes fell on me. The panic I had seen before seemed to have calmed, but there was still something about him that made the fire in my chest rise up.

“Haden,” my wizard companion called out to greet the Prince, whose gaze turned far more friendly.

The man greeted back, then scowled at me, saying that he wished to be alone. I didn’t know what in particular he was wanting to discuss, but Alebstra seemed to be disinterested in following that spoiled royal. Instead, he simply explained that they would talk in the Black wizard’s tower. I was more than happy to ignore the neatly-dressed boy and began following Alebstra.

“Who do you think you are?” His voice carried imagined authority, just like his father.

“My name is Able,” I replied quickly, giving him a glare that spoke of my lack of reverence for his position.

I saw a twitch on his face, something that spoke of his failure to understand how he could be treated like just another person. Too many of these royals forgot that they were still the same kind of bag made of flesh and blood. And as long as he wasn’t king, he held no more authority than a regular lord.

But instead of inciting more conflict, despite the fire in my core urging me to do so, I stepped through the door to the wizard’s tower.

This one was far more aesthetically pleasing if one cared for such a thing. The light was warm, the floor covered in a soft, velvet carpet, and couches and leather seats littered the room. The ceilings, except for the middle which spiraled into the stretched space with rotating staircases and bookshelves, were mostly low and made from light oak wood. Paintings and tapestries showed landscapes, coasts, and forests mostly, and a large wooden table stretched along the center.

My vision blurred upon stepping over the threshold, causing me to stumble in my step for a second before I found my balance again. When I glanced over my shoulder, I saw Haden follow us through.

The woman dressed in a silk-smooth robe, adorned with weaving lines of gold and red descended from a staircase in the middle. She made a gesture with her hand and the door shut behind us with a thud, the seems at the edges vanished into the frame, sealing the room. Her features were fair and certainly elvish, but a little rough around the eyes and lips, indicating some human heritage. What caught me off-guard, however, were her golden eyes.

“Ah, Haden, you are joining us?” She said once she was on the ground. He stayed silent, brooding in the corner behind me. A kettle of tea floated by on its own, Alebstra grabbing a cup in two fingers to let the animated object pour him some. I declined, it took me long enough to trust Alebstra with my food, this woman wouldn’t have that easy a time.

The two sorcerers sat at the long table while I walked around it. I chose to wait for Haden to sit, both because I was once again distracted with the containment of my fire and also as a habit I had acquired in my travels. But the Prince took offense, of course. “Is there a problem? Something on my face?”

I glanced at Alebstra, he rolled his eyes and motioned me to sit. I sat down and placed my elbows on the table. Haden confronted the room, asking why I was a part of this meeting. I could have inquired about the exact same thing. But my draconic friend spoke for me, vouching for my expertise that I was certain that this boy couldn’t even imagine. This seemed to appease the King’s son, given that he sat down opposite of me.

The Silver wizard put his hand into the air, tracing a half-crescent shape into the air and speaking a spell. Soon after, a sense as if being underwater filled the air, swallowing the sound of Haden’s fingers tapping on the table.

I was asked to report what I had learned about the wyrm. And while I was skeptical about the Prince’s presence, I did as was requested of me. But once I got to the detail of how wyrms were born, I stopped. This was the point of no return, venturing from fact to speculation and biological theory.

Alebstra noticed my apprehension and mediated between me and the Prince. “Haden here has requested certain insights into my draconic research. Everyone in this room reports to no one what they hear here. Haden, that goes for you, too.”

“As some of you are aware,” I looked at Haden again, “wyrms are what happens when a male wyvern and a female dragon copulate. It has happened in the past century maybe three or four times. The problem being that this wasn’t a juvenile that some villagers managed to slay and cut apart. This was almost fully grown and able to use its parent’s breath multiple times without consequence.”

Haden had a visible reaction, his eyes jumping from corner to corner. He looked downright terrified.

But I ignored his reaction and continued, he clearly wasn’t the one that needed to be informed about this. The Black wizard, however, was much more valuable as an ally. And from her confused series of questions about how such a thing was even possible, she seemed to have some knowledge of draconics, at least more than most.

“They are like animals given the intelligence of something so far above what it could understand that their mind breaks at birth. Something like this, a wyrm that managed to live for more than a decade, would be disturbing enough,” I paused, noticing that the entire room seemed to grow a little colder.

“But it spoke.”