MEMORY FRAGMENT
Mage Academy Learning Hall, 83 years ago
There was an inexplicable fascination that came with otherworldly items. They were far better crafted than anything Adzorg had ever seen, even compared to artifacts from previous ages of the world. The materials were foreign, as was the function, and above all there was a deep aura of confidence that emanated from them, as if the items were looking down on their current surroundings.
Of course, there were some oddities as well. Human world items never had guardians. What was more, unlike other hollow artifacts, they appeared to be incapable of obtaining such. Adzorg had made dozens of attempts and all of them ended in utter failure.
“Are you still messing with the junk?” Eliac entered the large room.
In theory, this was supposed to be his lab, but he had given it to his apprentices. Initially, the four had divided it into areas of dominance, but as their interests diverged, many of them focused on different things. The most prolific had expressed a desire to join the battle mages, leaving half a year after the group’s expedition to the south. Another had become a full mage one year later. At present, only Adzorg and Rivette shared the space, although the girl spent more time in one library or another.
“It’s not junk,” Adzorg said without even looking back.
“It’s complete junk,” the man grumbled. “I should know.”
The way he walked made it more than clear that something was on his mind.
“The discussions with the archmage went poorly?” Adzorg asked.
“Nope.” Eliac summoned an obscenely large cushioned chair, then relaxed into it. “That windbag didn’t bother to show up.”
“He’s very dedicated to doing nothing.”
The mage snorted.
“It’s not healthy to be so cynical at such a young age.” The smile quickly faded away. “The emperor called me,” he said. “He doesn’t think it would be a good idea if I were to become the next archmage.”
“What?” Adzorg turned around, forgetting the allure of the otherworldly items for a moment. “Why? You’ve the most capable mage the Academy has.” The most capable one actually wanting the position, that was.
“Apparently not. The emperor is of the view that putting an otherworlder in charge might not be the best strategy in the current situation… Whatever that means.”
Adzorg stood there, as if hit by lightning. Spending part of his childhood and all his adult life at the Academy, he was familiar with the particular blend of political betrayal and backstabbery. Still, he didn’t imagine it could come from the emperor himself. The current Emperor Tamin was the strongest awakened there was, and a direct descendant of the first ruler who had established the empire. He rarely meddled in the affairs of the Academy. As far as everyone was aware, he showed remarkably little interest, despite being a mage himself.
“If you ask me, it’s because of those.” He glanced at the items. “The Order doesn’t like them, and with tensions starting in the west, the emperor has to play nice.” He leaned back, closing his eyes. “It was just a matter of time, I guess. Showing too much interest in the technology of the Star wasn’t the best idea.”
“But… If they knew what this could accomplish—”
“Oh, they know,” Eliac interrupted. “They know very well. That’s why they want me to stop. And that’s why you should stop as well.”
“Me?” Adzorg felt as if he’d been hit in the stomach.
“For the moment they are focusing on me. If you continue to show interest, their attacks will affect you as well. Why do you think all of the others rushed to get away from me as quickly as possible?”
“They just wanted to become a mage faster.”
“And you don’t?” Eliac laughed.
There was no denying it. Every apprentice wanted to become a mage, even more than a novice wanted to become an apprentice. Adzorg knew he had the skills to avoid the pit trap of mediocrity, though he also had to admit that his recent interests had rendered him less significant in the eyes of the Academy. If he had stuck to writing boring theories of questionable significance, yet in a very verbose fashion—like one of his fellow apprentices had—there was every chance he would have advanced by now.
“Rivette has already been approved,” the mage added. “They’re delaying the announcement until the emperor has decided what to do with me.”
“Weren’t you punished already?”
“No. That was just to make it clear that I would be. The real punishment will come soon enough, you’ll see. I suggest you use that time to focus on something—” he opened an eye, glancing in the direction of the items “—that isn’t that. Theory, realm transformation, vortex research,” he waved a hand. “Any will do.”
The warning was clear. Adzorg didn’t particularly like being told what to do, but at the same time he was smart enough to know what would happen if he didn’t. The very next day he left Eliac’s lab to focus on realm modification at the Academy’s research cloister.
Several months later, as the otherwolderly mage had predicted, the punishment was announced. By decree of the emperor, all mages from other worlds were to leave the Academy, focusing on threads on the empire’s borders. There wasn’t a soul alive that didn’t see that for what it was—banishment—but they knew better than to defy the absolute ruler of the land.
Within weeks, around fifty mages left, likely never to be seen again; Eliac was among them. Coincidentally, or not so much, the same day Rivette was made a full mage, leaving the Learning Hall for her own laboratory which was generously provided by the archmage himself.
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Also, rather coincidentally, the archmage stepped down from his position a week later, taking on the role of imperial court mage. The title was entirely ceremonious, but ensured a comfortable life. Thus, discussions regarding a new archmage quickly began.
“Who do you think it’ll be?” one of Adzorg’s fellow apprentices asked.
The boy was half his age, and perfectly aware that he’d remain at his current rank for the rest of his life. It wasn’t that he was incompetent per se, but his magic trait had reached its limit, blocking his development in the only area that mattered. Thus, he had been buried in one of the least notable areas of research—realm modification.
“What does it matter?” Adzorg grumbled.
His personal research was progressing remarkably well. When he initially requested to change fields, many thought it was as punishment for his mentor. That couldn’t be further from the truth. While realm modification held little significance for mages, Adzorg could clearly see how sought it would be outside of the Academy. Prison items were a perfect means for nobles to punish friends and enemies and see instant results. In addition, any item that could help train awakened, especially in times of war, would be highly sought after. If the archmage or any of the senior mages were forward-thinking, they would have realized this and forbidden Adzorg from doing his research unsupervised. By his estimates, in less than a decade, when the internal squabbles had ended, they would realize their mistake, but by then it would be too late; he’d already be an established expert.
“Well, yeah,” his friend replied. “If it’s the right person, the Academy could—”
“There’s no right person. Whoever it is, they won’t be sympathetic towards us. Besides, none of the competent ones want to get involved.”
“Come on. You must at least be curious. There’s talk that Grand Mage Whidico might have a go. As an active battle mage—”
“She has no chance. The emperor wouldn’t allow it. More than likely, no one will. If you’re asking my thoughts about the betting pool, put your money on the most boring person there is.” Adzorg paused for a few minutes. “Also the youngest.”
“Why the youngest?”
“Appearances. Changing old blood with new and all that. The last archmage held on for five decades. The next one will be someone who could keep an eye on this place for just as long.” Though changed in a few years, he added to himself.
“You’re sure about this?”
“Without a doubt.”
Pleased, the apprentice rushed off to place his bet, leaving Adzorg to continue with his work. His latest theory, if proven correct, had the possibility of creating a virtually inescapable prison item with uneven time dilation properties. However, even while thinking about it, his mind was focused on the otherworldly items. Before abruptly stopping his research on those, he had managed to see indirect proof of threads that weren’t magic or even from this world. If that proved correct, there could be a way to follow them all the way to their world of origin. The possibility had been mentioned in a few ancient scrolls Adzorg had access to, but dismissed as improbable. Yet, if it wasn’t, he could make the greatest discovery the Academy and even the world had ever known.
The archmage selection was brief and unsurprising. The new person to take on the post was competent, though unremarkable, and not part of any major faction. Naturally, he also received the backing from the Imperial House, quickly ending even rumors of disagreement among mages. From there on, things proceeded as normal.
Within a few years, Adzorg’s efforts were noticed to the point that he was even considered for becoming a mage. The only obstacle was his low magic trait, though steps were made to remedy that. Between arranged duels, artifact gifts from nobles willing to acquire some of his works, and the occasional wild vortex, he had managed to raise his magic level to the forties. At that point, the most unexpected thing happened.
One day, with little warning, it was announced that the emperor himself would visit the Academy. This was a rare occasion, making everyone of importance scramble to bring their respecting areas into shape. Unfortunately, for them, the emperor did not visit the archmage’s domain or any of the other prominent building clusters. Instead, the first and only place he went to was the Learning Hall, or rather a very specific part of it.
“Add some runes,” an academy mage hissed at the apprentices.
Adzorg didn’t see the point. Being a mage, the emperor would be easily able to see beyond any simple illusion an apprentice could muster. Still, he did as was asked, then straightened up, expecting the visit. Truth be told, part of him was looking forward to it. Seeing the emperor in person was always a big deal, especially up close.
“He’s here,” someone whispered.
The mages in the room turned pale, then rushed to the only door, ready to welcome their ruler. Normally, one of the emperor’s guards was supposed to enter and make sure everything was in order. When the door opened, everyone’s heart skipped a beat as the seven-foot figure of Emperor Tamin stepped in.
Moons… Adzorg thought.
If there was someone who could claim to be beyond awakening, this one was it. Every item and piece of clothing worn by the man contained so much magic that it glowed brighter than a purple flame. Yet, compared to the body of the emperor himself, they were like candles to the sun. The light coming from the man’s face was so intense that Adzorg was forced to wince. No wonder that he always wore a mask when addressing the public.
A quick gesture towards the mages stopped them from making a sound just as they were about to welcome him. Several seconds later, the ruler was joined by the archmage and the rest of the small procession.
“This is your item research?” he asked in a voice heavy with power.
“Yes, Emperor,” the archmage quickly replied. “One of the lesser research areas,” he added as an excuse.
The emperor walked in, examining the space. It was impossible to say to what degree he was disappointed.
“You’re one of Eliac’s, aren’t you?” The ruler’s head turned in Adzorg’s direction.
“Yes, Emperor.” Adzorg instinctively bowed down.
“A shame what happened to him,” he said almost dismissively. “At least he was very good at finding talent. I hear you’re a prodigy when it comes to item realm modifications.”
“Yes, Emperor.” Modesty wasn’t a quality that awakened respected.
“Show me.”
Adzorg felt as if he were struck by lightning. In his mind, he had often imagined wowing his superiors with one of his creations. However, presenting something to the emperor was different. There was no way that a training item would be remotely impressive. The only thing that would approach a masterpiece would be something he didn’t dare bring anywhere near a noble of such stature.
“Apprentice,” the archmage said in a sharp tone. “Do you have anything to show to the emperor?”
This was it. It was now or never. Adzorg knew he’d never get another opportunity such as this, so decided to risk it.
“I constructed a prison item,” he said. “One that could keep someone inside for as long as one of the ancient artifacts. Maybe longer.”
Even with the emperor present, a few whispers escaped his entourage.
“Are you suggesting—” the archmage began, but a quick flick of the hand on the part of the emperor made him stop.
“Bring it,” the emperor ordered.
His pulse doubling, Adzorg went to his personal cabinet from where he took a small crystal sphere. Holding it with his own hands already caused some commotion. Usually, prison items were handled with gloves to make sure they wouldn’t affect the person wanting to use them.
“I’ve integrated a few spells to protect the owner from getting affected, and can easily make anyone’s magic threads to be exempt of—”
Before he could finish, the emperor cast a spell, causing the sphere to fly out of Adzorg’s hands and into his grip. Everyone froze. The mere thought of having the emperor locked in a prison item was equivalent to rebellion. Even if Adzorg were to rush and release him, years, probably decades, would have passed.
“Rather impressive,” the emperor said, tossing the sphere back to Adzorg. “Elegant, self-sustaining defenses, with the ability to be produced. I want a few dozen of these toys.”
Adzorg blinked.
“Yes, Emperor,” he said with a slight delay.
“You’ll be in charge of making them. The archmage will provide enough resources and apprentices to have it done quickly.”
“Emperor, I’m not a mage,” Adzorg almost stuttered. “I can’t—”
“You are now,” the emperor declared. “Don’t let me down.”