I had demanded utmost secrecy.

The Temple of the Midnight Queen was wrapped in spells of illusion. No one in the city could see that thousands of elves were gathering inside: from the outside, it appeared as empty and quiet as it always did in the dark hours that preceded the first light of dawn.

My people came in small groups, all of them brought by mages who hid them with spells of invisibility, silence, and non-detection. They wore flowing gowns of white and red: White was our color of mourning and red was the color of rage.

We’d all been wearing those colors, lately.

Each group of elves would pass through an illusory set of doors behind me and then shed their invisibility. They would deposit a small, carefully weighed bundle of possessions with the soldiers who were organizing the packs, then be quietly ushered toward an elf of the clergy who would lead them through the process of signing away all their property and possessions. Once that was done, it was time to wait: they would move toward the center of the temple’s main chamber to join the others in hushed conversations, in the making of music, or in prayer.

There was no need for the elves inside the temple to be as quiet as they were: our spells would muffle any sounds from inside. Yet their conversations were hushed, and what music they made was gentle and subdued. The vastness of the temple, the secrecy of the occasion, the shadow of what we’d lost—these things worked in tandem to quiet them.

The main chamber of the temple was a great, round open area with a dome-shaped ceiling. Its walls, and ceiling were polished jet that was encased in clean, clear enchanted glass and studded with more than a million diamonds, each of them glowing with inner light and filling the room with a cascade of glittering color. The chamber had been cleared of almost all its furnishings, leaving a wide open area where the elves now gathered in the light.

A behemoth of an organ dominated one wall. High Priest Hassina sat at that organ, playing a song whose melody I’d never heard before: half-dirge, half-lullaby, I heard the fluttering and sighing of the pipes and felt a deep, distant longing.

I stood just inside the temple, centered before the statue that greeted worshippers when they arrived. Sabina, the goddess of night, magic, and beauty, looked down at me. She was my creator: I was one of the firstborn, the oldest elves, not made in the usual way but created with magic by the Midnight Queen herself.

“That’s almost all of them,” said a quiet voice at my side. I turned and saw that it was Seriana, our new archmage. “We should be finished with your bow soon after they’ve all arrived.”

“Thank you,” I said, nodding.

Soon enough I would be fighting tooth and nail for survival.

Soon enough all of us would be. Until then….

Where were you? I thought, gazing up at the blank, alabaster face of the statue.

A Doom had come to our home realm of Aranar. It had come in the form of a wall of smoke and fire that had stretched from the sea to the sky. I’d watched a city that had stood for centuries—my city, Tel Telana—blown away like dust in the wind.

The Doom had vaporized oceans and mountains alike, moving at miles per second. Our entire world had been annihilated in less than an hour. Of the three million elves who had made it their home, fewer than ten thousand had escaped. Counting the few elves scattered across other worlds, we’d been reduced to one percent our former numbers.

Where had our gods been, when the Doom had come to Aranar? What source could such obliterating power stem from, if not them?

They were questions that nobody had answers to. A panic had spread across the known cosmos when Aranar had been destroyed—everyone wanted to know what had happened because they were afraid it would happen to them. But no one had anything but theories. And even if they did learn what had happened, no-one could contend with power like that—except the gods.

I left the statue and crossed the glittering main chamber, ignoring the heads that turned toward me as I made my way to the organ. They’d come here on my word, trusting me with the entirety of their future. I was their [Primeval Champion]. In war, I led them to peace through victory. In times of crisis, I was a steady, forceful hand.

In this, our gravest time of crisis, I had banked on every bit of fame and idolatry I had and promised these elves that I would lead some of them away. I had promised that those who followed would not be returning for centuries and would face a difficult struggle for survival.

But I’d promised them something else: if they followed me, I would show them a miracle so profound that all of them would agree that the hardship and sacrifice were worth it.

I’d told them no more than this, keeping the whole of my plan a secret—and still they’d come.

I reached the organ and gently touched High Priest Hassina on the shoulder. She rose, signaled another elf to take her place, and then followed me. She was a small elf, almost frail-looking, with a long sweep of white hair and clever green eyes.

“I’ve never heard you play that before,” I said.

“It’s new.”

“For Aranar?”

Hassina shook her head. “I couldn’t,” she said. “I wouldn’t even know how to start. Not yet.” She shook her head again. “No, I’m saying goodbye to all this.” She looked around at the inside of the cathedral. “To the realms we’re leaving behind, and the people who live here. Today I gave away everything I owned and said goodbye to everything that still remains—and that loss, at least, I can quantify.”

“I’m glad you came, Hassina.”

“Of course I came,” said Hassina. She crossed her arms. “I can’t imagine how much it must inflate your ego, knowing that so many of us will give up what little we have left to follow you on nothing but vague promises. But here I am all the same. Now will you tell me what it is we’re doing?”

“No,” I said. “Not all of it. Not until you meet me on the other side.”

Hassina sighed. “And all of this secrecy is really necessary?”

“Yes,” I said. “Though I can’t tell you why until—”

“—you meet me on the other side,” she finished, her voice laced with tired amusement.

“Precisely.” I led her through the temple’s back rooms into a study that we’d converted into a makeshift armory. Zirilla, my head elementalist, met us there. She was one of the few remaining sea elves, with many scales and pearls set into a huge head of wild, curly brown hair.

“We almost ready?” she asked.

“Expecting a fight, Zirilla?” Hassina asked, looking over to where my armor and equipment were laid out on a nearby table.

“It’s for Aziriel,” said Zirilla. “And yes. Quite a few, actually.”

Hassina looked at me with surprise. “Since when did you wear armor?”

Zirilla laughed. “You didn’t tell her?”

“I was getting to it,” I said. I turned to Hassina. “A warp spell is about to bring us all to a new world,” I said. “And as it does that, it’s going to strip our gathered essence and aspect, setting us to level 0.”

Hassina face became a mask of shock. “What? Why?”

“The short answer is that warping someone across the cosmos is easier when they’re essence-light,” I said.

“And the long answer?” she asked.

“I’ll tell you on the other side,” I said.

“Fine—but I didn’t even know that was possible.”

“It’s definitely possible,” I said. “I did it this morning.”

Hassina looked at me as if I was mad. “You don’t meant to say—you’re level 0? Right now?”

“A bit of a change from usual, I know,” I said. “But I wanted a little time to get used to this new level of strength.”

“But how?” Hassina asked. “You can’t take someone’s levels.”

“Let’s focus,” I said. I began to change into my armor with Zirilla’s help. It was a set of composite leather armor, padded on the inside and lined in critical areas with thin steel plates. “I’m about to warp to the new world, and then I’m going to bring everyone in the temple over—using this.” I opened a steel-lined pouch at my waist, pulling out a jewel that glowed with blue-white light.

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“We can’t all go at once?” Hassina asked. “Wouldn’t that be less dangerous?”

“No,” I said.

“One of us has to go through first and bring the rest in after them,” said Zirilla. “Act like a sort of beacon for the rest of the spell.” She flashed the high priest a smile. “We wouldn’t need that person to be Aziriel—except that it’s going to be horribly dangerous.”

“Horribly dangerous,” Hassina echoed.

“The new world is covered in primeval mana,” Zirilla explained as she helped tug a jerkin over my head. “Which for our intents and purposes is bad news.”

“Why is that bad news?” Hassina asked. “You’re both primeval spellcasters.”

“Primeval mana is the mana of life, of vigor,” said Zirilla. “It channels faster than other mana, which I’m guessing you know, but it also mutates creatures who are exposed to it for a long time.”

“That I also knew,” Hassina said.

She glanced at me as she said it, and it was easy to see why. A long life of exposure to primeval mana had added a few inches to my height, turned my white hair gold, my eyes red, and lengthened my canines into fangs.

“The most dangerous mutation that primeval mana creates is called a primeval convergence,” said Zirilla. “It affects almost every creature in a local ecosystem. It doesn’t make them stronger or faster, but it can make them collectively aggressive once certain conditions are met.”

Hassina looked from Zirilla to me. “And I take it you’re going to meet those conditions, whatever they are?”

“If a new species shows up and kills too many other creatures, the whole of the ecosystem will respond to a deep instinct—and beasts for miles around will come to fend off the new threat,” Zirilla explained. “Basically, the wilderness drafts an army to deter any powerful new predators who might drastically alter the ecosystem.”

“All right,” said Hassina. “So to avoid the primeval convergence, she has to level up without seeming too strong? Without killing too many things?”

“Not quite,” Zirilla said, flashing Hassina a devilish smile. “I left something out. A new species showing up in great numbers will also trigger a convergence, since that too can drastically alter the ecosystem.”

Hassina’s face fell. “Oh.”

“That’s right,” said Zirilla. “When Aziriel uses the warp jewel and we show up, we’ll trigger a convergence and get mauled by all the local fauna at once—while we’re level 0.”

Hassina nodded in understanding, looking even more tired. “Unless Aziriel triggers a convergence first.”

Zirilla nodded. “If she fights a convergence off, our species will be psychically catalogued as a part of the local ecosystem, and armies of wild beasts will no longer gather to attack us. Which is good.”

Hassina sighed. “Which is good,” she echoed.

“Aye, now you see,” said Zirilla, grinning. “She’s got to go to an unknown world that’s steeped in power at level 0, then trigger a convergence and fight off an army of wildlife she’s never seen before.”

“Before the jewel’s power dissipates,” I added, patting where the jewel was sequestered in a metal case at my hip. “Primeval mana isn’t particularly kind to arcane magic—even when kept in its case, the warp spell stored in the jewel will only last for a few hours.”

“A few hours,” Hassina echoed, worry creeping into her expression.

“Any advice?” I asked her, a smile playing at the edge of my mouth.

Hassina stared at me, and her expression slowly became accusatory, her eyes narrowing. “Aziriel… you’re actually looking forward to this, aren’t you?”

“Of course I am,” I said. “This past month I’ve craved purpose, a direction to move in. Soon I’ll have one. Soon all of us will.”

Hassina was still looking at me like I was insane. “I thought you hated risks.”

“I hate unnecessary risks,” I corrected. “But once a risk is necessary, I commit. And there’s no use worrying after you’re committed. Besides,” I added. “Think of how many new creatures I’ll get to meet.”

“Hostile creatures that have been mutated by primeval mana.”

“That doesn’t make them less interesting,” I said.

“And we couldn’t risk someone less valuable?” Hassina asked. She hesitated, then added: “Like Zirilla?”

Zirilla cackled. “Aziriel is one of the firstborn,” she said. “And she’s the [Primeval Champion]. Even at level 0, she’s still got her class skill and the gift of a goddess to keep her safe.” She shrugged. “She goes, we stay.”

While we’d spoken, I’d finished equipping myself. On my belt I had two curved knives, a pair of flight goggles, a pouch of chalk dust, the pouch containing the warp jewel, a canteen of water, some strips of dried meat wrapped in cloth, a quiver of arrows, and a whetstone. Bound to each thigh was a sheaf of more arrows—I’d brought 66 in total.

While I was checking all this over, a knock came at the door. Zirilla answered it to find Seriana, the archmage, with my bow.

“Everyone’s here,” Seriana said to me.

“Good,” I said. “Seal off the temple. No-one comes, no-one leaves. Start getting everyone in formation.”

She nodded and left.

“Why have them take the enchantment off the old bow?” Zirilla asked. “You could’ve just grabbed a new one.”

I stood, then took the bow from her and clipped it to my baldric. “Sentiment,” I said simply. Then I rolled my shoulders. “I’m ready.”

“Remember,” said Zirilla. “Don’t die, then find enough essence to make a skill key and make a skill. After that’s done, continuing not dying until you can trigger a primeval convergence.”

I grinned at her as she passed me my spear. “And once that’s happened—”

“You’re going to want to stay alive,” Zirilla said gravely.

I planted my spear on the ground in front of me. “You two should go join the others, now. I’ll be leaving shortly.”

Both of them wished me luck. Hassina said a prayer.

Then I was alone.

I took stock of what power I’d kept, first querying for my attributes:

?—Your Attributes:

4 [Aegis]

25 [Agility]

4 [Strength]

4 [Channel]

25 [Focus]

4 [Source]

6 [Bestow]

40/40 Mana — 40% Primeval

They were simple enough to understand: [Aegis] was a general defense attribute, [Channel] determined how fast I could fuel my spells with mana, [Focus] concentrated on spells for me, and [Source] determined the size of my mana pool.

These attributes only represented the magical bonuses granted by my class, skills, and level: counting what I was innately capable of even without my attributes, my [Strength] would have been more than 30, my [Agility] more than 70.

[Bestow] wasn’t an attribute. Rather, it was the amount I would get to increase any attribute when I gained a level. [Bestow] went up by 2 every 5 levels—making levels more valuable as I got stronger.

I had kept two passive skills when I’d been stripped of my power. The first had been given to all of the firstborn elves by our mother-creator, Sabina:

[Sable Grace 20]

Components: [*Arcane 5] + [Body 5] + [Diamond 5] + [Dark 5]

+ 21 [Agility]

+ 21 [Focus]

+ 20% Efficiency with mana. Efficiency refunds a part of the cost of spent resources.

Extending your claim or gaze through darkness, moonlight, or starlight is easier. Your gaze now conveys the contours of surfaces that are in darkness or that are lit by starlight or moonlight.

You see well in darkness, unless it is perfect darkness.

Locked: this skill was a gift from Sabina; it cannot be relinquished or modified.

The goddess of night and magic had, fittingly, gifted the first elves with a powerful skill that strengthened our magic and made us at home in the night.

I brought up my class’s granted skill, also a passive:

[Primeval Power 30]

Components: [*Primeval 5] + 5 [Primeval 5]

[Primeval Resonance] × 2.00

Primeval Mana Profile + 40%

Locked: this skill is your class’s granted skill; it cannot be relinquished or modified.

Primeval mana profile was simple enough: it converted any mana that I was holding into mana that was 40% primeval, making it channel 40% faster than normal mana. Faster channeling meant throwing faster projectiles, conjuring hotter flames, healing wounds more quickly… as long as I had the mana to pay for it.

[Primeval Resonance] was more complicated, but also far more important. It wasn’t an attribute, and it wasn’t bought with essence or aspects—it was a percentage multiplier that one gained by being in the right state of mind.

In order to raise [Primeval Resonance], one had to be in touch with their instincts and with the physical world around them. Feasting, dancing, fighting: these things raised [Primeval Resonance]. Hence my power derived from passion, from sensual experience, from tasting the air on my tongue and feeling the thrum of my pulse in my fingertips.

A trained fighter might reach 20% resonance in battle. A veteran berserker, 30%. An archdruid might reach 40%—especially if they used some of the meditative techniques I’d invented many centuries ago.

I checked mine:

102% [Primeval Resonance]—modified from 51% Base.

Thanks to my class’s skill, my resonance was more than double that of our next-best warrior. It would go higher soon enough, when I was fighting for my life.

The first benefit of [Primeval Resonance] was the same benefit that I gained from having primeval mana: faster channeling. [Primeval Resonance] and my primeval mana added their bonuses together, so that my [Channel], the attribute that governed channeling speed, was more than 140% more effective—an absurdly powerful bonus that made my spells brutally fast.

The second benefit of [Primeval Resonance] was that it increased the effects of almost every passive skill. With [Primeval Power] to bring my resonance to over one hundred percent, I would double the strength of every passive skill I built—hence why [Sable Grace 20] was granting seven levels worth of attribute points.

All of this was only half the power of my class, though. Once I got to the new world and started building skills, I’d begin to enjoy the other half.

I reached into the jewel at my hip with my magic, finding the ready-made spell trigger that would take me to the new world.

I took a few deep breaths.

Then I triggered the spell.