Prologue:

Monica watched as her last client walked out the door. The door’s old latch bolt got caught again and refused to release its newest victim. The client tried to close the door again, but to no avail.

“Pull harder,” Monica said, trying to disguise the tiredness in her voice.

The old man fiddled with the knob a few more times before finally giving up and listening to his therapist, and with all his remaining strength he slammed the door shut. Finally, the door closed in the o-so-terribly-familiar short forceful *thunk*. Monica sighed, at last, in blissful solitude. It had been a long and busy year, what with the economy and hardships of the city, and the war, of course, making everyone’s life far more difficult if not ending it all together. And now with rumors of strange monsters lurking in the borderlands, it was no wonder why her list of patients only continued to grow. Monica was glad to listen to and advise the nobility and other wealthy patrons on their dilemmas of life. But their problems seemed to be less and less about who wore the better dress at the ball, or if their spouse or spouses were cheating on them. No, no the problems Monica began to hear where closer to the lines of there weren’t sufficient mages at the front lines, supplies were running low at the eastern border, or that the king’s health was worsening. Things Monica wasn’t sure she was qualified to deal with. But she was a professional, and so she listened, questioned, and advised her clients, all the while gladly accepting their gold.

Monica looked at the newest installment to her office, a mechanical contraption that sat on her desk. The artificers called it a clock, it showed the time, similar to an hourglass, but far more accurate. It was truly a remarkable device and very expensive. It was a profitable year, even if busier. The clock showed that it was already six o’clock.  She was done with her patients for the day and simply had to do some paperwork, before heading home to her apartments. A knock on the door caused Monica to look up.

“Dr. Medens, I brought you your coffee.” Monica’s secretary, Elaine, spoke. She was holding a tray with an elegantly designed coffee cup, filled with Monica’s greatest addiction.

As Elaine placed the tray on Monica’s desk, the therapist smiled happily for the first time today, “Thank you, Elaine. You really are a lifesaver. I thought I was going to trudge through this paperwork on my waning energy.”

Elaine smiled and nodded, “I’m always glad to help. Call me if you need anything else, Dr. Medens.” Elaine left, deftly closing the old door with only two tries, and the familiar *thunk*.

“I really need to get that door replaced.” Monica said to herself. But she had been so occupied recently with her work that she hadn’t had the time. Normally she’d even be home by now, but there was too much paperwork to get through these days. Maybe she could ask Elaine to arrange for a carpenter to come and replace the door. But then Monica would have to find another room to work with her clients, or she could postpone her appointments for a day. No, that wouldn’t do, her clients would be angry, and it would not do well to anger people in power. Monica sighed. As she was deliberating with her dilemma the door opened. Two cloaked figures walked into the office.

“I’m sorry, did my secretary not speak with you? I’m not seeing any clients at this moment. You can see my secretary and make an appointment at a later date.” Monica stood from her desk and raised her hand, as a gesture of showing the two strangers out.

Monica was rarely surprised and even more rarely caught off guard. And yet within the next few moments she was both. The strangers lowered their hoods. The taller one by far, standing at about six feet and a half, was a woman, with soft yellow eyes, and golden locks of hair, her skin was the color of burnished bronze, and her face was that of an exotic beauty, the likes of which Monica had never seen. The shorter figure was a man. He was of average height, but standing next to the beautiful woman made him seem short, yet by no means small. If the woman’s appearance was startling, then the man’s was doubly so. He had a boyish handsomeness, with olive skin and a youthful face, and yet his hair was as white as snow. But his eyes were his most striking feature, one of his irises was a bright silver, while the other was colored a dark amethyst. The woman stood a foot in front of him as if trying to protect him from the unarmed therapist, but the man carried himself with a confidence not born of bolstering pride, as seen in many of the rich, but one of knowing things few did.

The exotic woman stared at Monica. The strange man glanced around the room as he addressed the therapist, “Dr. Monica Medens, I presume? I’ve heard you’re one of the best counselors in all of July. And looking around your office, it seems as if you profited quite nicely, no?”

The woman closed the office door in one quick snap. She turned and took off the young man’s cloak, all the while staring at Monica. Monica swallowed, this doesn’t bode well. She wondered how fast she could grab the dagger that was in her desk. She tried not to look at the desk and took a deep breath, “I am Dr. Medens, and I have been graced with a prosperous year. The city of July and her people have been very kind to me.” Monica casted a glance at her desk’s drawer, dammit.

Stolen from its rightful place, this narrative is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

The man turned his attention towards the desk and nonchalantly walked over. He looked at Monica and smiled. He grabbed her cup of coffee and took a sip, “I like your taste in drinks, Dr. Monica.” He turned his back, cup still in hand, and sat on a nearby chair, normally meant for the client.

“Thank you,” Monica said, relieved.

“Oh, and I suggest you don’t grab the little pin you somehow deem to call a weapon. Really, you could have gotten something better, an axe perhaps? No matter, Stella, here, will decapitate you before your hand reaches the handle of that drawer.” The man took a sip of coffee, “And I wouldn’t consider shouting either, I dislike needless shouting. Normally I do things differently, albeit more violently. But today is a day of change.”

“Thank you?”

Stella’s stare quickly became a glare.

Monica understood the message, “I mean thank you very much, my lord. Lord?”

“My name is Elric. Elric Insomnium. You may call me what you wish,” the man said, taking another sip. “Your secretary really does make a good brew of coffee.” Elric glanced at Monica’s worried face. “Not to worry she is fine, Luna has taken care of her.”

“Luna?”

“Yes, my familiar. Or as she’d prefer to be called, my sword. Although, I think scythe would be more befitting.”

Monica quickly tried to gather what information she could, while trying to keep her beating heart from coming out of her chest. “So, you’re a mage. From another city, looking for a therapist to listen to your problems?”

Elric leaned back on his chair and stared at Monica for a few painful moments of silence, “No. On all accounts.”

Monica struggled with his words.

“I came here for an answer to a question. I was advised by a friend that a doctor of philosophical troubles such as yourself, might be able to help. Besides, I was nearby, and you are one of the best or so I’ve heard.”

Monica was trying to connect the pieces, “Nearby? B-but you have a familiar.”

“Yes.” Elric said, cocking his head slightly to the side, and looked directly at Monica. As if studying an animal, wondering if it understood what one was saying.

“You’re not a mage, but you have a familiar, that’s impossible unless-” Monica stared at Elric as the blood drained from her face. “You’re a maestro,” she whispered in terror. This was him, this was the maestro of dusk, bane of the West, wyrm slayer, master of the Gemini.

“Yes.”

Monica looked at Stella, whose eyes had still not left her, “Then she is-”

“Yes.”

Monica slowly sunk into her chair. Her short black hair covered her face and the terrified look that was etched in her eyes. This was bad. Forget about fixing her door, her small adorned dagger, or her expensive clock. This was really bad. She could actually die here. Or worse.

Elric looked at young woman hunched over her desk. “Dr. Monica, I’ve heard great things about you. Were they false?”

Monica’s heart skipped a beat. She couldn’t die here. She had way too much to do. Too much to live for. She was a professional. She could do this. Monica took a deep breath, pushed her hair back, and looked at the maestro of myth. “You said you had a question?”

“Yes. Although that is for me to contemplate.”

Monica wanted to say so many things right now. Of why someone like him even wanted a therapy session. Was it even a therapy session? Or that sessions were supposed to be between a therapist and her client, not with a yellow eyed warrior staring her down, waiting for the chance Monica might make a mistake and take her head off. Or if Elaine was actually alright, let alone the guards posted outside the building. She wanted to complain about the loss of her stolen coffee, the abrupt intrusion; oh, there were so many things to say. But she kept her tongue, she was a professional. She would survive this night even if took all her focus, training, and luck.

And so, she simply asked, “Give me a hint?”

Elric smirked, “Tell me. Everyone has wishes, dreams. Some people wish for wealth, others for titles, lands, beauty, love, martial strength, magical strength, there is so much we wish for. But what if you had the ability to actually obtain those dreams. What if you had it in your power to achieve your dream, but to do so would be at the cost of others. Would you do it?”

“Are those others innocent?”

“Doesn’t matter.”

            Monica pondered over it for a moment, “Then no. I have several reasons why I wouldn’t.”

            Elric leaned over, “Is that so? Tell me one.”

Monica had to choose her next words very carefully. Did this being care about ethics? About right or wrong? She honestly wasn’t sure. She had to appeal to what little she did know about him, “How much would achieving my dreams cost me? What would I be losing?”

            Elric, leaned back and simply looked at Monica. Studied her. She tried look him in the eyes, but every time she saw the dissonance between his irises she found herself looking away.

Finally, Elric spoke, “A lot. It’d cost you more than most. Dr. Monica, you will clear your appointments for the next few days.”

Monica quietly sighed in relief. Her clients might grow angry at her, but she didn’t care, she was alive. “I understand.”

Elric nodded, “I suppose to find an answer to my question I should start at the beginning. Let’s see, where did it start? Ah, yes, I suppose it began when everyone I knew died.”

Monica swallowed and shakily picked up her quill and a clean sheet of paper, after all she was a professional.