Jordan Feryah paused outside the door, hearing his student whimper inside. The cries came deep from the soul, past simple homesickness or anxiety. These were tears of hopelessness, shed by those who truly despised their lives.

Einvig had not taken well to her awakening. Mages rarely did.

Jordan wasn’t surprised to hear her cry. Most students considered him evil during his kindest years, when he was still a sworn devotee of Goddess Akona. He never intended Einvig to see him as a saint.

Still, the cries hurt more than Jordan liked to admit. As cruel of a teacher as he was, a part of him wished Einvig had enjoyed her journey as a mage, while she still had a sliver of freedom left.

Jordan ignored his countless doubts and worries and knocked on the door.

The whimpers stopped with a gasp. A silent panic filled the room. Jordan waited, allowing time for preparations. He wasn’t supposed to bother her at this time, and he usually kept to the schedule. A private break was as necessary as any lesson. Oftentimes, the thread holding a student’s sanity was their hour spent in tears.

The door creaked ajar. A timid brown-haired head peeked out. “Teacher?” Einvig asked.

Jordan offered a weak smile. “I’m sorry, Vig.” He pulled the door open. “Spare time is canceled tonight. Important matters have shown up.”

Einvig stepped out of the way, letting Jordan into the sad little bedchambers. A mattress with no pillow lay where the king-sized bed used to. Noble blackwood furniture had been stripped, replaced with prickly chairs and an unstable writing table. All that remained of luxury was patterned wallpaper and a single oil lamp to compensate for the boarded window.

Unjust punishments for a young mage battling the corruption of her body and mind. It seemed the cult had gone slightly overboard.

“Um,” Einvig said. Her reddened eyes pointed toward Jordan’s feet. “I need to write home. Grandma expects to hear from me today.”

“No need,” Jordan said. “You’ll meet your family soon enough. Your stay at the mansion is over.”

Einvig’s head slowly rose. “What?”

“You’re a qualified mage now,” Jordan said. “You’ve proven that the Corruption won’t take the better of you. You’ve graduated.”

“Graduated?” Einvig asked.

“Indeed,” Jordan said. He patted her head and smiled, though the expression was hard to form. “You’ve done well. It’s time to see home.”

She stared at him, dumbfounded. The happy news was blinded by shock and apprehension. Einvig remained on guard, doubtful of her teacher’s schemes.

Oh, how I would have loved to perfect you, Jordan thought. Einvig was a curious little rat, always found where she shouldn’t be. A quality from which most great mages thrived. In the case of this troublesome young lady, keeping Einvig away from the cult’s business had been quite the hassle.

“I know you’ve waited for this,” Jordan said. “The battle is over now. All you have left is one final test. Grab your gear. The others are waiting below.”

“Yes, teacher,” Einvig said. She snuck into her oversized blue silk robe—an outfit more expensive than all the clothes in her village combined. She picked up her crooked staff and witch's hat.

“Leave the staff,” Jordan said. “You won’t need it.”

Einvig paused, then laid the staff next to her mattress. “But… I need the staff to cast spells?”

“We’re testing your channeling only,” Jordan said. “Come, now. Let’s not waste the Founder’s time.”

“Okay…” Einvig said. She put on her hat with nervous movements, then followed Jordan to the hallway.

Jordan kept his head high as he strolled through the vacant, moonlit hallways. Ornaments and paintings had once decorated the mansion’s pristine walls, but everything mysteriously disappeared overnight. Nothing but ripped carpets had been left behind, broken by the slavemaster's clawed Gorthorns.

The cult was a nasty bunch, one that Jordan wasn’t proud to call his allies. Followers didn’t mind a mess, and they certainly didn’t care about cleaning another man’s mansion. This temporary hideout would be fully relocated by the end of the night before the royals questioned why the city of Volés had been without power for the past five days.

Luckily, the royals weren’t as quick at catching lies as Einvig was. The common-born girl wasn’t nearly stupid enough to believe that noble mansions normally came with barred windows and a raging protest outside the estate’s fences.

“You’re a good girl, Vig,” Jordan said. “Truly one of the best students I’ve had. I’m sorry for being so harsh on you.”

“Thank you, teacher,” she said in a near whisper.

“You must hate me for my lessons,” Jordan said. “Know that I do not blame you. The truth is the opposite. I am proud of you. You will never have to see me again.”

She gave no response, keeping her eyes on Jordan’s feet.

They walked through the mess of a mansion until Jordan stopped beside double doors. He knelt to Einvig’s level. “This is it. Your final lesson.”

“Was I supposed to study?” Einvig asked.

“You’ve already studied,” Jordan said. “I’m sure the Azetoth will be satisfied with your progress.”

“Azetoth…?” Einvig asked.

Jordan opened the double doors. He lifted Einvig from the collar of her robe and tossed her in. She fell against the floor with a squeal, her hat topping off her head. She stood up in haste but fumbled on the hemline of her robe. By the time she was in fighting shape, Jordan had closed the doors, locking him and Einvig in the hall together.

“Teacher?” Einvig stepped backwards. Her arms shook. Without her staff, she was defenseless.

“We’ve come!” Jordan called into the abandoned ballroom. The air was musty. Flakes of dust floated where moonlight reached; two full moons glimmered through rooftop windows. A grand indoor balcony covered the left half of the room in shade. The roses decorating tables had dried. Uncleaned platters were left behind for flies to enjoy.

“Azetoth!” Jordan called. “I brought her, as promised. Show yourself!”

“Perfect,” a man’s voice said from behind the opening curtains. “I knew you’d make the right decision.”

The robed figure stepped down from the performers’ stage. Azetoth, whatever his real name was, appeared like any regular mage of middle age. He wore an informal red robe with a cowl to cover his overgrowing hair. The first hints of wrinkles showed on his forehead.

Einvig, by some instinct, trembled at the sight of him. “Teacher? What is this test for?”

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“Oh, my poor child,” Azetoth said, stepping towards Jordan’s student. “You’ve learned well. I can sense it. The control of your magic, the mastery of basics. Your work is phenomenal. I am eternally grateful.”

Einvig slid back. Through her ragged breaths, she sent glances at her teacher. Desperation showed on her face.

Moons forgive me, Jordan thought by old habit. He knew the prayer was useless. His god, Goddess Akona, left her devotees to rot and her prayers unread. Following her principles was useless.

“Your teacher has proven himself a master at his craft,” Azetoth said. “A month you two were together. Barely enough time to grasp theory, let alone casting. You, my child, defeated the Corruption faster than a wife learns to cook. For this, I commend you both.”

“Teacher? What is happening?” Einvig asked in tears.

Jordan looked away. This had to be done. There was no turning back now.

“There is one lesson your teacher forgot to teach you,” Azetoth said. From the inner pocket of his robe, he pulled out a needle the size of a dagger. Sharp on one end, an orc’s heart pierced through the other. This little invention was possibly the vilest contraption to graze the land of Kroses Sol.

“That lesson…” Azetoth continued. He stepped forward, now only a few steps from Einvig. “Mages of your talent rarely live to see a day of free will.”

“Teacher!” Einvig screamed. Mana surged from her heart; her chords filled to the brim with power struggling to escape. Had she brought her staff, a sizable burst of rogue magic would have blasted Azetoth and his needle. Instead, only wails for help resulted from Einvig’s month of practice. She backed into a corner, screaming for dear life.

Jordan could hardly watch. His chords, too, filled with mana. Power that his instincts as a teacher commanded be directed at Azetoth. Einvig was his student. One that was in dire need of assistance. Jordan fought his instincts. He stood still like the coward he was.

Azetoth thrust the needle into Einvig’s heart. The girl screamed; screeched with all her remaining life before collapsing into Azetoth’s arms. Life drained from her limbs.

“Good.” Azetoth looked focused. He held Einvig’s body. The orc’s heart, now connected to Einvig’s through the needle, began beating.

A heart, in anything related to magic, was the core of a wielder’s mana. The heart of a magical being was directly responsible for controlling mana chords. Mages pulled power through their hearts like ordinary humans pulled energy from the food in their stomachs.

When two hearts were connected, however… In theory, odd reactions were bound to happen.

Einvig’s lifeless eyes continued crying.

“Very good,” Azetoth said, grinning at the beating orc’s heart. “Her chords are filling. The heart lives.”

Jordan resisted the urge to throw up. “Is she breathing?”

“No,” Azetoth said. “The body is dead. It’s a miracle if senses register in her head. For the sake of our consciences, we hope she doesn’t feel a thing.”

You pretend as if this was any old assassination? Jordan thought. He didn’t dare speak it out loud. “Are we successful, then?”

Azetoth held the body from the throat. The needle had solidified inside Einvig’s vitals. It wouldn’t budge without effort. Azetoth placed his hand on the orc’s heart. Like a mother caressing a newborn’s head, Azetoth put far more care into the second part of the experiment than he had in killing Jordan’s student.

Mana surged from Einvig’s core. It traveled through the needle and into the orc’s heart. Excess mana lit the orc’s heart from the inside. Even the naked eye could see a faint glow. Then, the glow transferred into Azetoth’s arms, into his mana chords, and to his own core. Einvig’s mana was now his own.

Azetoth grinned. “The hypothesis holds true.”

Jordan licked his dry lips. He held his staff ready to shoot in case things went wrong. This was out of Azetoth’s instructions, though Jordan knew he had little chance of winning a fight. “Any signs of madness?” Jordan asked. “How does her mana feel?”

“It feels amazing,” Azetoth said. He pointed his palm toward the double doors. The glow of his mana chords translated into physical form as lightning shot from his palm and into the locking mechanism of the doors. Azetoth, through mastery of the craft, required no staff to shoot lightning more precisely than any archer’s bolt.

“Her mana is effortless. Smoother than I could have imagined,” Azetoth said. “The girl’s mana controls as my own.”

Jordan frowned. “In that case, I have fulfilled my end of the agreement. It’s your turn to heal Alyce, as promised.”

“Jord, my dear ally,” Azetoth said, and Jordan immediately knew life wouldn’t be so easy. “The experiment was a success. I am grateful for your contribution. But we both know that the mana of an adolescent girl is not nearly enough to be of substantial help in healing this particular curse.”

Jordan stared at Azetoth. A deep breath was all that kept him sane. He valued his life far too much to say what was on his mind. So, he chose polite wording. “This is not what you promised.”

Azetoth placed Einvig on a dinner table. He turned to Jord and stepped forward. “Jordan Feryah. You are still far too young. Far too innocent. Contrary to what followers of the Moons may believe, one sinful act does not turn a man into a manic God. Our work is tedious, just as any legitimate mana scientists’ of history.”

Jordan squeezed his staff. “What are you implying? Was the sacrifice of my student simply an experiment to you?”

“Today’s sacrifice brings us one step closer to our respective goals,” Azetoth said. “This young girl has proven the theory correct. Magical transfer—the control of foreign power—is indeed possible. The girl’s body has created a fantastic mana bank. A weapon, and a proof of concept.” He stared Jordan directly in the eye. “We have solved one problem off our lists. The second remains. If we truly wish to achieve godhood, a lot more needs to be sacrificed.”

Jordan glanced at Einvig’s body. He swore he could see tears, as if Einvig’s soul still clung to life, unable to escape the torment placed on her heart. Jordan knew he was undeserving of the breaths that kept him alive. He spoke with little emotion. “What’s next?”

A subtle smile crept onto Azetoth’s face. “We will capture a mage with Hallowed mana chords. Someone with access to the spells of Divinations. I doubt even this will be enough to complete our goal, but Hallowed chords might just lead us to the real secrets we wish to untie.”

“You expect to find Hallowed chords to simply sacrifice?” Jordan asked. “Not ten wielders are written alive. Those ten are among the few mages influential enough to threaten the country as a whole.”

“We’ll snatch ourselves a queen, then,” Azetoth said. “Small hurdles are not to set us back from the real difficulty of our research.”

This man is crazy, Jordan thought, as if Azetoth hadn’t proven the point enough times already. “And Einvig?” Jordan asked. “I will not allow you to drag her body along. I can’t stand looking at it.”

“We will leave her as a trap,” Azetoth said. “A test, if you will. I will order Averia to protect the mansion with her life. She is mad enough as is; the excess mana of your student will likely drive her rogue. When the royals eventually storm the mansion, we will bear witness to the true power of our creation.”

The Moons help us, Jordan thought. Some years ago, in a time he barely remembered, Jordan was associated with the royals. He was devoted to God, teaching honest students. He recalled those times fondly. Good men filled royal ranks. People that Jordan certainly didn’t want to see dead.

Can I turn back now? Jordan thought. One sacrifice hurt this much, what more could he offer? Blast Azetoth in the head when he isn’t looking. Blast myself as a punishment for my crimes?

No. Jordan couldn’t go back. The option of an honest life collapsed the second he tossed Einvig to her death. Jordan certainly wouldn’t kill himself for his crimes. Not before he had achieved what he wanted. It was only polite not to let Einvig’s death go to waste.

Jordan Feryah was no longer a devoted man. And he would do anything to heal Alyce of her curse.

***

Two days later,

“Please, you are adventurers!” The wailing grandma tugged at the ripped leather of Ry’s harness. At the rip that Ry certainly didn’t want to grow. “My granddaughter. She’s a mage! She was taken by the Count! Please, you—”

“Calm down, Lady!” Ry called, pushing the hand off. “Mages get snatched. That’s just how it goes.”

Members seated at the lounge of the adventurer’s guild paid no heed to the commotion at the doors. The occurrence wasn’t anything out of the ordinary. Beggars often performed to gain discounts through sympathy. Where was the guild master to kick her out?

“Einvig never misses her letters,” the grandma said. “The Count did something to her, and I know it! Please, I just need word that she’s alive.”

“The Count is dealing with one hell of a protest outside his estate,” Ry said. “I’d be surprised if Darko himself dared deliver letters through that mess. The estate is a battleground.”

The grandma didn’t look convinced. “Please, at least memorize her description. I have her picture, matching every line of her smile. Akona help her see happiness again.”

Ry was about to sigh when another arm tucked at him from the opposite side. Em, his companion, gave him that look.

“Ry, she’s not trying to scam us,” Em said. “Don’t reject her out of spite.”

Faced with his companion’s disapproval, Ry knew he didn’t have much of a choice. He let out the sigh he had held. “We’ll pass the word if we spot her. But don’t rely on us.”

Em nodded. Ry really didn’t like that look. It seemed they weren’t hunting cultists after all. When Em set her mind on something, she’d spent every scroll and every penny finding what she was looking for.

Em and her specialty in these damn search missions.