The Raven, the Owl, and the Dove
As the leaders of each faction departed from Ashmark and returned to their lands, Aethyr found himself walking alongside Eliziah, the former queen of Lumar, after their warm breakfast together. The two strolled through the grand hallways of the college, heading toward her horse-drawn cart and escort. The sight of them together, their easy conversation, and the gentle smiles they exchanged made them appear as if they were mother and son. It was a scene of perfect harmony, a moment of peace amidst the turbulence that surrounded them.
However, as they neared the cart, a cold voice shattered the tranquility.
"Why are you acting all lovey-dovey with the boy? Mind your age, my lady," sneered Vargath, his tone dripping with disdain. His piercing gaze bore into Eliziah, but his words were meant to wound both of them.
Eliziah, ever graceful, ignored the venom in his words, her composure unshaken. She met his disrespect with silence, refusing to be baited into an argument. But Aethyr, ever polite, felt the need to explain, though his tone remained innocent and genuine.
"My lord," Aethyr began, "Her Majesty introduced me to the delightful cuisine of Lumar, and we shared a conversation about our hobbies. Nothing more."
Vargath’s eyes narrowed as he studied them, lingering on Eliziah for a moment before turning his sharp gaze to Aethyr. He seemed to see something in Aethyr’s features—the strong jaw, the intensity of his eyes—that made him pause. For a fleeting second, Vargath’s thoughts twisted. There’s something in those eyes... and his face... it reminds me of King Thorrig. But it can’t be... her husband and son died long ago.
With a dismissive snort, Vargath pushed his suspicion aside, shaking his head. His lips curled into a cruel smirk as he addressed Aethyr again.
"Boy, if I were you, I’d stay away from her," Vargath said, his voice low and menacing. "All she can offer you is some fleeting warmth—nothing more. But if you stand by my side, you could have the world trembling before you. Honor, power, and glory—all yours."
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Aethyr met Vargath’s gaze calmly, his expression unreadable. He nodded with measured politeness. "I will reconsider, my lord, and seek your guidance when the time is right."
Vargath scoffed, clearly unimpressed, but said nothing further. He turned on his heel, walking away with the cold air of a man used to commanding fear and obedience.
Eliziah, watching the exchange with quiet dignity, placed a gentle hand on Aethyr’s shoulder. "Aethyr," she said softly, her smile returning, "Lumar will always welcome you. You may call it your home one day, should you decide to move on."
Her words were warm, carrying the weight of an unspoken promise. Aethyr nodded, grateful but still deep in thought as he watched her step into her carriage. The servants bowed, and with the crack of the reins, the cart pulled away, leaving the college courtyard quieter than before.
As the leaders disappeared into the horizon, only the mercenary remained behind, his eyes quietly observing the scene as if weighing the balance of power yet to come.
The Trials of Mana Deficiency
Aethyr entered the inner chamber, his steps cautious but steady. The grand hall was shrouded in an eerie, palpable tension, one that made the hair on his neck stand on end. He had come here for advanced training, but what awaited him was far beyond anything he could have prepared for.
Suddenly, out of the shadows, Master Alious appeared, his face stern and his eyes gleaming with urgency.
“No time! No time to waste—come quick!” Alious said sharply, grabbing Aethyr by the arm and pulling him toward the training chamber.
Before Aethyr could fully grasp what was happening, Alious raised his hand and began casting a spell. A sickly green light filled the room, and Aethyr’s body jolted as an invisible force took hold of him. He could feel it—his mana, his very life essence, being ripped from his core. His knees buckled, and within moments, Aethyr collapsed to the ground, his body devoid of energy.
“GET UP! GET UP, BOY!” Alious roared, his voice harsh and unforgiving. “You’re stronger than this! Use your spirit! Do you want to live?”
But Aethyr’s limbs felt like lead, his mind foggy and unresponsive. It was as though he had become a hollow shell, his body detached from his will. The sensation of mana deficiency was agonizing—a suffocating emptiness where his strength once was. He tried to stand but crumbled, the world around him fading as he lost consciousness.