Down the winding and dark corridors of Black Ice Bastion’s lower floors, a pair of guards passed by row after row of torches with flickering blue flames. They were leading Adria, who dragged a few steps behind them, uncomfortable in her student’s uniform: a black suit with every banner of the north on its sleeves, a gray skirt and leather boots going up to her knees. The closer they came to the Institute, the stranger the torch fire acted.

At the end of the corridors, the flames danced and shifted into humanoid figures and changed colors. It sickened Adria. Even when she had nothing against sorcery or the rule of the Liar, she couldn’t stomach the idea of the Institute. And being forced into joining it… She could spit at her own reflection for letting that happen.

When will this end?

Sighing, she followed the guards into the lobby of the Institute, a big chamber with slanted stone walls, which contained countless large black doors. Students in identical uniforms entered and exited the rooms. Bloody, dirty prisoners in rags were forced past certain doors. Caskets were carried out of others.

Adria frowned at her fellow students when she passed them. How could they live with themselves? How could they accept the order of such things? Adria knew the answer: it was the same way she put up with it. If she wanted out, the filthy alleys of Black Ice Mountain or the cold embrace of a grave awaited,

The massive doors to the Auditorium of Sorcery loomed over her.

Adria pushed all of her feelings deep into the back of her head, leaving a blank slate. Numbness. The doors opened and the guards shoved her inside, locking the entrance.

I’m a prisoner and noble at the same time, she thought, overlooking the familiar pillars with blue torches and inscribed sorcerer texts that held up this giant, round hall of gray walls. In its middle, sat a beaten down southerner. The poor folk must’ve been tortured for weeks. And despite the suffering he’d already endured, the tan, balding middle-aged gentlemen—a farmer, judging by his bulky build—would get the spectacular displeasure of meeting death through the hands of sorcery.

Adria went up to the man and hugged him.

“What is your name?” she whispered in his ear.

“Manfred.”

“I’m sorry, Manfred. If I can, I’ll get to your family and compensate them for you what you’ll go through.”

Adria kept the embrace for a minute then stood straight up.

Despite what this ritual meant to these poor folk and how it eased their minds, Adria did it with complete coldness. It was a daily tradition, which somehow made the whole process less painful. And she hoped it atoned for at least some of the sins of this place.

The Liar was here—the disgusting atmosphere in the air gave it away—but he had hidden. As always. He never made things easy.

Where are you? Adria thought, looking around. The quicker I find you, the faster we get over with the lesson and I get to get out of this place…

Adria closed her eyes and tuned into her surroundings.

She sensed something putrid, evil, and impure behind her.

Adria opened her eyes and glanced over her shoulder. A glowing white mask levitated beside the entrance to the Auditorium of Sorcery. She shuddered. The southern prisoner followed her gaze and gasped. That’s where you are.

The rest of the Liar emerged out of hiding. A black cloak covered his entirety and dragged for ten meters after him, like a trail of corruption and dishonesty that followed wherever he stepped. A finger, the length of a person, emerged from out of the cloak, pointing at Adria. It reminded her of a dead tree’s branch.

The white mask that hovered a few centimeters in front of the black cloak remained expressionless. But if it could shape and shift, it would’ve grinned.

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“Spectacular. You are learning quickly,” the Lair said in a ghastly voice. “In just two weeks, you went from searching for me for half an hour to doing it in moments. Tell me, again, how was I wrong in… enrolling you?”

Adria remained silent.

“Yes, you don’t have to answer that. In the end, we’re here for an entirely different reason,” the Liar continued. “Today you will learn one of my personal favorites. Frost Rally. A simple affair with immense potential.”

At the Liar’s words, disgust filled Adria. Like every lesson, she vowed to never use any of these spells outside of the Auditorium of Sorcery. Not that they were inherently evil, but the means she had been taught them… They forever ruined the spells.

The southern prisoner trembled and kept repeatedly blinking while the Liar paced around him, dragging fingers across his shoulders and cheeks.

“First, you make a fist with your right. Second, with your left, you grab the fist and make a pulling motion. Then, you say the words, ‘The cold of thy heart becomes my power.’”

Sweat broke out over the southern prisoner’s skin, which began to redden. After sitting for a moment, ignoring whatever was happening to him, he started yelling and trying to break free. But the ropes were tight.

“You see, this spell takes a person’s, any living being’s, for that matter, cold and hands it over to you, letting you do whatever you wish with it. Go ahead. Try it out. Not on me, though.”

The Liar cackled.

Adria stood still, shaking her head. She would have to do what the masked one ordered, but the will and strength to do so came to her reluctantly. After staring at her for a minute, the Liar lost his patience. He would have to encourage her. As he waved his fingers, a circle of flames erupted around the southern prisoner and crawled towards him.

Adria gasped, then covered her mouth. At the same time, Manfred screamed and shook, trying to break free of his ropes. Adria couldn’t bear the sight anymore: taking a deep breath, she followed the Liar’s instructions and uttered the words.

“The cold of thy heart becomes my power.”

The southern prisoner’s skin wrinkled up and the sweat dried off. He began nodding into unconsciousness. Adria shivered while cold seeped into her bones and her veins. She continued moving her arms around, preparing another spell.

“I devour the life of the spring with the death of winter, I fight heat with cold and extinguish flames with my heart!” she yelled.

The coldness, which Frost Rally had granted Adria, vanished. The circle of flames disappeared as well, leaving wisps of smoke behind.

The Liar laughed.

“It doesn’t matter what I say—oh, it’s an easy spell, oh it’s a hard one—you are still going to master it in one try. Spectacular. Truly spectacular. Even I, in the days when I took upon myself the art of sorcery, had more difficulties,” he spoke. “Adria, I cannot comprehend your reluctance to become a great master…”

“I don’t want to,” she answered.

“This is not a simple matter — becoming a master of sorcery. There are no simple yes or no answers. There are only complex reasons, which you are not telling me.”

“I don’t want to do this because every day, we hurt people, we sacrifice them for this!” Adria snapped. “Every spell that I’m taught is something that can either kill the most people at once or do the most damage!”

“Well, the price of mastery is sacrifice and the price of glory is bloodshed. These people are worthless, compared to what we’re doing, compared to your potential…”

“They have their lives, hopes and families and we’re destroying all of that to test out some goddamn spells! Spells that’ll cause even more harm!”

“Adria, you have never left Black Ice Bastion, have never seen the world and how these people live.” The Liar remained perfectly calm in the face of her hysteria. “If you would have that experience, you would understand that we’re making a fair trade. You would understand what kind of gift the mastery of sorcery is.”

“Maybe I would understand if I learned spells that could revive a dying crop or turn mud into drinking water,” Adria said. “Maybe I’ll understand when I’ll be free from this place when I’ll have seen the world and you will have no idea where I am.”

The Liar laughed once more, his long finger wiping at his cheek.

“Oh, I may not be powerful enough to track you to the ends of the world,” he muttered. “But I will, to the day I die, know where you are. I will simply ask a messenger to find the biggest catastrophe in the land. And that’s where you will be. See, people like you and me are on the other side of luck and until we possess the most power imaginable, the laws of the world will fight against us. And, dear Adria, my prodigy, when I find you and you will have seen the world, I will laugh again. Because I’ll hear, straight from your lips, that I was right all along.”

The Liar continued to cackle to himself. The laughter transformed into the chattering and squabbling of witless goblins. Adria awoke on the floor of Saint Goblin’s Inn’s dining hall, the sunlight of early morning bursting through the windows.

“Oh, Twenty Gods.” She felt her face. “I’m still without my Mask of Roguish Disguise!”