Windham stood outside of his grandparents’ house. His house. The only home he’d ever known. It was a relatively simple place, it’s aged worn walls still holding firm. The roof was blanketed in thatch, the windows providing a glimpse into what had always been a safe place for Windham. A garden of flowers, always carefully tended by his grandmother, almost completely surrounded the exterior. Like her, always vibrant and alive. Now slowly wilting and dying.

She’d spent so much time taking care of those flowers. Yet he had barely noticed. He noticed now.

Sometimes you don’t appreciate how good your life is until it’s been irrevocably changed. A lesson Windham, like many of his peers, were about to learn.

He had attached his new pouch to his belt, had never left it untended for a second since Gran Gran had handed it over. The temptation to open it was nearly overwhelming. “You’ll know,” she had said. What did that mean? What did any of this mean?

He’d been obsessing about it the whole day. He’d set the pouch down on the kitchen table and sat staring at it. Fighting the urge to open it, the need to know what was inside. He’d fidgeted with it, tilting it sideways, holding it upside down. Even shaking it. Rather violently, actually. Nothing moved inside, as far as he could tell. It had weight to it, but only the weight of the leather and bindings. Other than that, the thing just felt… empty.

Staring at the thing had gotten him nowhere. It was only making it harder to resist the pull to open it. So he’d gotten up to go outside… but found he couldn’t just leave it there, alone, on the table. So he had gone back and fastened it to his belt.

His home was in the tiny village of Willowfield, just an hour’s walk to Safehaven. It was comfortable enough, he supposed. But like everything else that had been his life up until now, he felt like he deserved more. And finally, that “more” was happening.

There was no certainty in his future, he knew. But he couldn’t help but feel invigorated. Everything was about to change. He’d known that for some time, had been preparing for it. The addition of this mysterious pouch and the knowledge Gran Gran had imparted only made everything feel grander.

Greatness awaited.

He noticed a faint buzzing in the back of his ear. He scratched at it, irritated. The buzzing only grew, and after a moment, he realized the connection: the “buzzing” wasn’t in his ear at all. It was in his mind.

He was being summoned.

Windham had dealt with psychics before. Like service mages, there were service psychics performing various tasks throughout Brightholme. But also like service mages, their abilities were severely limited.

Savina Frost, the woman reaching out to him now, was not so limited. He’d never met her in person, only ever “spoken” to her psychically. But there was something different about her, about what it felt like having her in his mind. Brightholme’s service psychics were capable only of reading surface thoughts, unable to dig any deeper than that. You could “feel” their presence, almost in the same way you could hear someone standing right next to you.

Frost could go deeper. Could hide her presence, if she wanted to. Dig out whatever secret she wanted, anytime she wanted. Windham knew this from experience. Early on in their dealings, he had tried to manipulate her, to control the conversation. She had made it painfully clear how fruitless such actions were.

He’d had a headache for a week.

She’d gone easier on him since then, her point having been made. The summoning was uncomfortable, perhaps needlessly so. But painless.

He knew not to stall or keep her waiting. Or, worse, try to prevent her from entering his mind at all. She would simply force her way in and take what she wanted anyway.

He hurried inside, not wanting to be distracted by a friendly neighbor asking about the weather. He returned to his seat at the kitchen table and braced himself.

‘Windham,’ he “heard” in his mind.

“I’m here,” he said out loud. She snickered at him, a sound that sent gooseflesh up and down his arms and across the back of his neck.

‘I’m here,’ he thought.

‘Good,’ Savina thought back. ‘Have there been any changes?’

‘He didn’t show up for Adjudication the other day. That’s new.’

She made a ‘hmm’ sound. Sounded pleased. ‘Anything else?’

He shrugged and shook his head. ‘No,’ he thought at her.

‘What was that?’ she asked.

‘What was what?’ he thought.

‘Gran Gran,’ she thought.

‘Gran Gran? I didn’t say anything about Gran Gran.’

‘You don’t have to “say” anything, Windham, remember?’

‘Right.’ He hadn’t been thinking about his grandmother in that moment, which suggested she was prying deeper into his mind then he would have liked. What else did she know?

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Regardless, there was no point in lying to her. She’d know whatever she wanted to know, and there wasn’t a thing he could do about it. Might as well “speak” his mind. ‘My grandmother. Is there any way we can make sure she doesn’t get hurt?’

There was no reply. But he could sense her annoyance.

‘She’s old, though,’ he thought, as if in answer to his own concerns. ‘And I don’t think she wants to go anywhere anyway. But…’

‘But what?’ Savina ‘sounded’ exasperated with him. It was fascinating how much or how little came across when communicating telepathically. Information, emotions. Ultimately it was probably all up to her how that went, being the actual psychic. He was nothing more than a passenger.

‘Do people have to get hurt?’ he thought. ‘I mean, is there any other way?’

Her “tone” shifted, became more gentle and reassuring. ‘We’re not animals or monsters, Windham. Or murderers. But some things are going to happen that can’t be avoided. You understand that, right?’

‘Yes. Of course.’

‘Besides, none of this would be happening if it wasn’t for you.’

That stung. And was meant to sting. He hadn’t meant for this to happen. Things had just taken on a life of their own and spiraled out of control. But it had happened. And now there would be no denying his culpability.

But they’d made promises, as well. Promises that had tempted him at first, then, ultimately, seduced him.

Savina’s “tone” returned to being friendly and reassuring, and Windham felt, not for the first time, that it took her tremendous effort to come across that way.

‘Look, the information you initially provided—that there was something wrong with him—has turned out to be accurate. Our mystic would never have been able to penetrate his mind otherwise. Wouldn’t even have tried, lest he be alerted to our existence. And while she’s been able to maintain that connection for the most part, it’s also been helpful having your actual eyes on him day in and day out.’

‘But are you sure he’s as weak as you say?’ Windham asked. ‘Everything I’ve seen has been subtle, even that first night. He still looks pretty strong to me.’

‘We’re sure,’ she thought, a little impatiently.

Windham rubbed at his temples. He’d long ago committed to this course of action. But as the actual moment grew rapidly closer, he was feeling unexpectedly trepidatious.

A series of images suddenly appeared in Windham’s mind. Of a group of people, smiling, happy, laughing. Of them running towards him, lifting him on their shoulders, parading him around as others cheered and chanted his name.

‘There’s no need to worry, Windham,’ she thought to him. ‘You’ll be a hero.’

He felt a swelling of pride, and just like that, his doubts and worries disappeared. I am a hero, he thought.

‘Remember,’ she continued. ‘You need to be outside of Safehaven when the attack comes. We can’t protect you if you’re still in the city.’

‘How will you find me?’

‘“I” won’t,’ she thought. ‘Wear a red sash around your waist. Get anywhere outside of the city and wait. One way or another, troops will eventually find you. Drop to your knees—do not delay—and hold up your left hand, palm out. If you do that, you will be unharmed.’

‘Red sash,’ he repeated. ‘Got it.’

A thought occurred to him, a question he couldn’t wait to be answered. ‘I’ve heard things. About what it’s like out there. Is there really more powerful forms of magic than what I can do?’

She couldn’t—or wouldn’t—hide her amusement. He got a sense of her laughing hysterically, mocking him. It made him want to curl up in a ball and hide in a corner.

‘Yes, Windham. There is stronger magic than your precious Elders have told you about. But nothing that can compare to the Order’s Sigils, and the path you will soon start down.’

He’d learned about the sigils early on. Not much; only that they provided power and abilities far beyond anything he could ever achieve in Brightholme. That power was the driving force behind what he was doing now. Were the sigils tied into the wild magic Gran Gran had told him about? Or were they a different thing entirely?

He quickly realized his mistake of letting his mind wander towards wild magic while a powerful psychic was inside his head. He forced the image of the cheering crowds chanting his name back to the forefront of his thoughts, hoping Savina hadn’t been paying attention.

‘If there’s nothing else?’ she thought. She sounded distracted, as if she were already tired of this interaction.

‘Actually,’ Windham thought. ‘There is one other thing.’

She said nothing, but he could feel she was still “there,” waiting impatiently for him to just get to the point. He took a deep breath and continued.

‘I want to bring someone with me.’

‘That was not part of the deal,’ she thought coldly.

‘But she’s important to me.’

‘It’s out of the question.’

Windham steeled himself, worked hard to project an air of confidence. ‘If she can’t come, then neither will I.’

‘Fine,’ she thought. ‘Don’t come.’

He could feel her sincerity and disinterest. She was on the verge of severing the conversation.

‘Wait!’ he thought. ‘She’s the daughter of an Elder.’

‘Really?’ she thought at him. The idea seemed to have intrigued her.

‘The High Elder’s daughter!’ he thought.

There was another long pause. ‘Lilliana Centes. Very well. Bring her. But keep her close to you. And if you can’t convince her to kneel and raise her left palm, as you will, they will kill her without hesitation.’

‘I understand,’ Windham thought. How he was going to convince her to come with him, let alone kneel to strangers invading her homeland, was a problem to solve later. For now, he was just happy to have saved her life. He didn’t want to push his luck.

‘Do they suspect?’ Savina asked. ‘Any of them? Do they suspect anything?’

His thoughts flashed briefly to Lilly, and about her suspicions of a possible attack on Brightholme. But the invasion was only days away now; there was no way she’d be able to piece it all together in so short of time. He squashed it from his mind, trying to hide as much as he could from the psychic.

‘No,’ he thought. ‘They don’t suspect a thing.’

‘Good. Then they’ll get what they deserve.’