A brilliant orange light peaked over a vast mountain, spilling light on the land, and chasing the shadows away like a shepherd dog protecting its flock from the ever-present shadows of predators.  There was forest before the mountain.  The forest was lush and thick, climbing the slopes until the rock of the mountain would not let any tree take root.  Before the forest, there was a meadow stretching out into an immense sea of wildflowers rolling over the hills as far as the eye could see.  The vista was truly magnificent.  Over the years, many painters had tried to interpret this landscape.  Poets had tried to enshrine their loves with symbolism, using the beauty of this visage as their backdrop.  But all their works of art and words of beauty have always left them searching for more significant ways to channel the muse of this spectacular nature.  Yes, this vista was beautiful beyond compare. 

This spectacular view enthralled all who saw it for the first time.  You could easily lose moments of your life in this landscape as you study the fields of flowers, the lush greens of the tree canopies, admire the peaks and the exposed rock of the mountain.  But soon uncertainty will wind its way into your thoughts.  There is no sound.  The wind, one would expect to feel anywhere, was not present, not even a blade of grass or branch from the abundance of trees stir.  Everything sat in perfect stillness.  There were no animal calls or signs of life.  In fact, nothing living could exist here naturally.  This entire landscape was constructed in the Fade Realm, an area that exists between both dream state and reality.

The Fade Realm is a painter’s canvas with infinite colors, and the brush strokes one could utilize had no limits.  It was a blank sheet of paper an author could write on, never able to reach the end of their story or run out of words to use.  A person could create entire worlds with their imagination.  No palace was too opulent, or you could use the Fade to recreate entire cities or locales you were familiar with, down to the scratches on the hardwood floors, though it would require you to have visited the room firsthand to transcribe properly into this world from your memory.

There are two ways one could enter the Fade Realm, and both require the use of magic to achieve.  A person could meditate themselves into a semi-unconscious state, creating the landscape in their mind while channeling their magic.  Then one would manifest in the domain or room they imagined in a flash of flames.  Being projected into the Fade limited the things one could do here, mostly meeting with others and interacting with conjured and non-conjured items.  But the most significant advantage of being projected into the fade was the instant creation of objects.  However, the objects created would be bound to the room or realm it was created in. 

The second way to enter the Fade Realm is harder to achieve.  It requires the person to be a stronger wielder of magic to successfully crossover physically into the Fade using a doorway.  Physically being in the Fade meant one could not create things from thought as with the projection method.  However, you could interact with items created by someone projected in the Fade Realm.  The greatest benefit to physically crossing over allowed one to fast travel since you could create a doorway in one part of the world and then jump into the room on the other side of the world.  The caveat, at least one person had to have passed through or created the doorway to the location you were traveling to.  It is even possible to share doorways, so long as the creator of the realm or room invited you, forming a link between all invited.  The doorways in the Fade could only be used by the person who created it unless there was an established link.  Nevertheless, if one is strong enough in magic, and with an exorbitant amount of time, one could find a way through a warded door.

To use the Fade for travel is like navigating a never ending labyrinth of congested doorways leading to many destinations.  The numerous doors led to places long forgotten, created by people who were no longer living.  Many of the doors were safeguarded with magical wards, preventing trespassers from its use.  Suppose an intruder tried to barge their way through a warded door.  In that case, they could find themselves trapped in infinite copies of the room, or when they attempt to pass back through the door, they could be incinerated to ashes by flames, or any other foul devious end its creator could think of.

 One would think travel or bringing items into the Fade would be the biggest advantages, but the biggest advantage of being in the Fade physically was the amplification of one’s magic and time manipualtion.  Time flowed differently in the Fade.  One day outside of the Fade could be as long as a normal day or just as easily a hundred years or longer, depending on how the creator of the realm or room wanted time to flow.  If you wanted to study magic, that would take decades to learn, then step into the Fade and train in whatever you wanted to learn.  To the rest of the world, you could have been gone for one minute or even a second.  But to you, it could have been a decade of studying, so long as you could mentally withstand the solitude and provide for your sustenance.

Miles away from the mountain, in the sea of unswaying flowers, a tall flame erupted, emitting no heat, and sparing the beautiful flowers around it.  The flame was a sign someone was entering the Fade Realm through projection.  The flamed died down as abruptly as it appeared, and a man was left standing there.  His head was shaved, polished, apart from a black braided side knot held at the end in place by a leather strap.  His skin was an exotic brown, his eyes were black with amber flecks peppered throughout his irises, and he wore a dark blue robe tied with a white cord.  At the end of the sleeves, and at the bottom of the robe, there was golden trim.  A moment after his arrival, the surrounding ground shifted from wildflowers to a stone floor, and a polished black-and-white marble table shaped like a crescent moon covered in ancient runes materialized.  Five chairs appeared just as the table had a moment earlier.  Four of the chairs were of equal size, while the fifth was larger.  They were arranged around the crescent table with the larger chair centered amongst the four, indicating a more prominent position.

The man looked at the table, and when he was satisfied, the flames surrounded him again as he exited the Fade Realm.  Just as quick as he was gone, a plain-looking wooden door appeared, and the same man stepped through it.  He physically entered the Fade Realm carrying an enormous book and a sword in a black scabbard.  The only thing notable about the sword was the black polished stone attached to the hilt.  He laid the book and sword on the table, walking back out through the door again, and when he returned, he was carrying a black glaive.  The door shut, flicked, and then vanished.  The war glaive was taller than him, solid black apart from silver and gold runes engraved along the blade and its shaft.  It was called Witch Devil because of its master’s proficiency at handling this weapon.  Those who have seen him wield the glaive in the carnage of battle have described it as a bewitching experience while watching the devil hewn men as he danced around the battlefield.  He walked over to the table, leaning the glaive on one of the five chairs, pausing momentarily to make sure the balance was right.  Looking back at the book, he waved his right hand over it.   Green mist tendrils leaked slowly from his fingertips, snaking their way towards the book before enveloping it in a cloud of emerald fog.  The man took a deep breath and blew at the mist, causing it to dissipate, and the book was no longer there.  Picking the sword up from the table, he opened his robe and hid it in the excess fabric.

He was looking around at the world he created when a pillar of flame flared a few feet from him, and a beautiful woman with tanned caramel skin appeared behind another chair next to the one Witch Devil was leaning against.  The dress she wore was cut in a way to tease a man’s eye.  Her dress was dark blue silk, and the neckline plunged daringly low.  A silver chain with a cut green stone hung from her neck, nestling between her cleavage.  Her hair was braided into a ponytail, with tiny golden chains weaved through it.  Around the hem of her dress, flames seemed to dance around, casting embers upwards along the blue fabric before fading right at her bust line.

“Ah Lizbeth, I am glad you are here,” the man said as he pulled one of the smaller chairs out and sat down.

“Clyden, I told you I would come.  The others, I cannot speak for,” Lizbeth said in a neutral tone while looking around at the landscape Clyden constructed in the Fade.  A fifth chair?  “Why did you pick this setting and five chairs when there are only four of us?” she asked.  She walked to the chair nearest Clyden, pushing Witch Devil towards him nonchalantly.  Clyden quickly grabbed the haft, laying the weapon down on the floor next to him.

Both Clyden and Lizbeth were Magi, two of the four eternal beings that walked the lands of Gawraith, their world.  The magi possessed immeasurable magical powers.  In ancient times, they were considered deities.  Other times they just walked away from life and let the world take its natural course before blending back into the world.  The magi watched empires fall and rise; the world was their playground.  They were kings and queens, tyrannical usurpers, they were bitter rivals throughout their many lifetimes, and, at times, they have tried to kill each other.  But when you can live eternally barring an unnatural death, people’s mindsets can change.  The Magi, over the course of their many lifetimes, laughed, cried, fought, destroyed, created empires, loved, made mistakes, and evolved.  They did not even remember where they came from except for Lizbeth, who had an extraordinary memory.  None of them knew why they were the only ones who had such unrestricted access to the magic in the world.

“This scenery is all I can vaguely remember of where I was raised,” Clyden said.  He touched one of the chairs.  “As to the extra chair, I will tell you all once the others arrive.”

“Very well.  I will wait,” Lizbeth said as she waved her hand, and the world shifted, “But I prefer here.”  They were no longer outside, but inside a building that seemed to have no ceiling.

Clyden sighed as he was powerless to alter what Lizbeth had done since he was now physically in the Fade.  All that remained of Clyden’s creative efforts was the table and chairs.  He looked around the room; there were thick white marble columns emitting light.  The columns stretched up, their light even disappearing into the infinite blackness of the ceiling.  There were rows of bookcases stretching as far as the eye could see.  In the Fade Realm, the painter with the infinite brushstrokes of their imagination could create any setting or object so long as they knew the purpose of the object.  You could even create living creatures, disappearing once their creator left the Fade.  While inanimate objects would remain until someone deconstructed them.

“This seems like you, Lizbeth,” Clyden said, looking at the endless rows of books.

“Ah, you think so.  This is my library.  It is the only place I can keep all my books,” Lizbeth said, pointing at her massive collection.  The only thing that really interested Lizbeth any longer was the collection of books and knowledge.

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

“You have quite the collection,” Clyden was saying, but two flames flared up, and a man and woman appeared in unison.  “Ah, welcome Servan and Malve,” Clyden said to the new arrivals.  Servan stood in a black robe with his hood pulled over his head, with his face veiled.  Even with his face covered, Clyden knew the man was scowling at him.  Malve was in a black dress; when compared to what Lizbeth wore, it was much more modest.  Her hair was black, cut short, with the sides shaved off completely.  “I am glad you all are,” he began, but Malve raised her hand interrupting Clyden.

“We haven’t met altogether for a century.  Just get to the point, Clyden,” Malve said impatiently, claiming the chair furthest from Clyden.

“I agree with her,” Servan said, still veiled as he sat down, crossing his arms and sitting next to Malve, leaving only the larger chair empty.  The other Magi studied the larger chair intently, wondering who the chair was for.

Clyden stood up, the wooden chair legs scraping across the stone floor, and cleared his voice. 

“Very well then,” Clyden said, waving his hand.  Green tendrils of mist appeared surrounding his fingers and traveled to the middle of the half-moon table like fog rolling over the sea.  The mist lingered just a second and then formed into a rectangular shape before solidifying into the book he brought in earlier.  For a moment, the other three magi were struck with surprise.  The book was thick and bounded in black leather. It had no decorative features, and even though the book was huge, its weight was next to nothing.

“A compendium?  Where did you find it, Clyden?” Lizbeth asked excitedly, breaking the silence in the room.

“Where I found it is of no importance.  It is the book’s owner, whom it belonged to is what is truly important,” Clyden said, pushing the book over to Malve before Lizbeth could grab it.  Clyden calculated this move out ahead of time.  Magic left traces of residue, making it easy to trace back to the caster of the spell unless appropriately concealed.  Clyden knew of all of them at the table that Malve had the greatest emotional connection to the owner of this book, and he would rely on those feelings.  Malve would immediately fall in line, and she would become his ally in what needed to be done.

Touching the book, Malve cast a delving spell on it, and her eyes winced momentarily.  There was a fleeting moment of a smile before she frowned.

“It is his. It belonged to Varoosh,” Malve said, touching the compendium.  For a moment, a hint of pain was in her voice.  Malve opened the book, but the first page was blank.  She turned to the next page, and it was blank as well.  Malve opened the compendium to the middle, pursing her lips when she was greeted by another blank page.  No matter the page Malve flipped to, the pages of the book were entirely blank.  She closed the book, pulling it into an embrace.  Varoosh, you never could do things the simple way.  You had to seal it.  Malve laid the book back on the table.  Lizbeth motioned for Servan to hand her the compendium, and he slid the book over to her.

Varoosh was once one of them, a powerful Magi.  No, he was more like a brother, a friend, husband, and a King to them without even asking for the throne.  He was the strongest of them all.  Varoosh was the person who bonded them together, and he went missing almost 400 years ago while looking for another land, not a part of their world, Gawraith.  The aftermath of the failed magical experiment left the remaining four magi in a coma for three hundred years in the Fade Realm. 

When they awoke, their world was changed; magic users were all but extinct and could do little more than parlor tricks.  The animals who relied on magic, such as dragons, phoenixes, or sphinxes, became feral or known only as legends and were used in stories to scare children.  New monsters roamed the lands.  Things were very different when they awoke.  Once they were family.  Now, they were strangers to each other.  Clyden often bothered them all in his obsessive quest to bring Varoosh back from wherever he accidentally vanished to.  Clyden could not let Varoosh go, and his relentless search for Varoosh led to bitter feelings between him and his once close friends.  Malve just avoided Clyden because it pained her to believe or hope Varoosh was alive still.

“As you all can see, the book is sealed and will not open.  I do not think it would open for Varoosh even if he were here himself,” Clyden said, pointing at the book.

“You have a theory to open it,” Servan stated.  Clyden always liked Servan’s no-nonsense demeanor, always direct and straight to the point.

“The book is under a compound lock,” Lizbeth said, offering an answer first, inspecting the book.

“Exactly, what I garnered, but it took me much longer to come to that hypothesis, Lizbeth,” Clyden said.

“Knowing Varoosh, I would say it can only be open if all four of us were to agree to open it,” Lizbeth theorized aloud to herself, waving her hand at those gathered at the table in a circular motion. Lizbeth’s mind was always the quicker of theirs, and clearly, she was the smartest one of them.  Varoosh had once said, ‘Lizbeth name should have been Knowledge.’  She was by far the most versed in the arcane arts among them due to her gifted memory.

“Wait, you said it wouldn’t open for Varoosh either,” Servan said, taking the book from Lizbeth.  “What are you after, Clyden?” Servan turned the book over in his hands, tracing his fingers along its leather bindings.

Taking a deep breath, Clyden reflected on his words; this is the moment he had prepared for the last ten years.  His voice was timid as he spoke. “We can bring him back.  I think the retrieval spell is in the compendium.  I have tried for ten years to open the book.  I have come up with new ways to unlock many things, trying to gain access to it.  But this book will not open for me,” Clyden said, pointing at the book.  Clyden stood up and loosened the fabric of his robe, pulling from it the ordinary-looking sword he had hidden earlier.  The sword rasped against the metal portion of its scabbard as he drew it.  The pommel of the sword had a mounted oval, black polished stone.  He laid the sword down on the table along with its sheath.

The three magi in the room gasped in shock as they recognized the sword clearly, even though none of them had seen it for over four hundred years.

“Bane,” Lizbeth said, surprised Clyden had it in his possession.

“It is going to take the five of us to bring him back,” Clyden said, laying the sword in the middle of the table between them all.

“Bane!  Where did you find his sword?” Malve asked.  She never, no, none of them ever thought they would see Varoosh’s sword again.  The day Varoosh vanished, he did not even have Bane with him.

Bane looked as normal as a plain sword could present itself, but they all knew well the potential power this sword had.  The sword itself appeared to be dormant because the runes typically engraved into a magus focal thaumaturgy were hidden.  Each of the magi had their own focal thaumaturgies, items imbued with their magical essences.

Magic was wild and hard to handle; it is like swimming up a tall waterfall trying to control it without the proper tools.  Many practitioners drowned or burned out failing to do so.  Though if one could learn to control it without the use of thaumaturgies, the magus would be even more powerful, but the risks were too high.  A magus with a focal thaumaturgy had a path to walk on instead of drowning while trying to swim up an impossible waterfall.  The magus’ focal also allowed the wielder to channel more magic than they could safely handle.  Clyden had his glaive, Lizbeth’s was the green stone around her neck, Servan had an assortment of robes he liked to wear, and Malve’s was unknown to any of them.

Bane was deadly sharp, but two things made this weapon special.  One was the ability for the weapon to morph into the needs of its master.  Each of the magi at the table had witnessed Varoosh change the sword at a whim to whatever weapon Varoosh desired, and he wielded Bane with deadly precision in many of its forms.  Only Clyden could beat Varoosh in a physical confrontation, but barely. 

The second and most important thing about Bane was the black polished stone, the Eye of Bane.  The Eye was a stone with unique magical properties, and it was the only one in all Gawraith known to all of them, gifted to Varoosh from another Magus.  The Eye of Bane acted as a magical capacitor, storing magic and the essence of the sword’s master or other magi.

Servan stood up, angry at the sight of the sword, and tossed the book on the table.  “Bring him back!” Servan said, his voice was heated as he slapped his left hand on the table.  “He abandoned us! Why should we bring him back?  We slept for three hundred years because of what he did.”

“Servan, what he was doing was experimental.  Varoosh was trying to find a place to banish Revlaman to.  I do not think he would have gone forth with it if he knew it would send us to slumber for three centuries and take him from us,” Malve said, touching his hand.  It was like watching a tornado vanish before it could make landfall as Servan’s anger subsided.

“Anyways, it doesn’t matter,” Servan said with a sigh, sitting back down.  “You said it would take five of us, and there are only four magi left.  We won’t ever know.”

“To answer your questions about where I found the sword,” Clyden said, picking up Bane by the blade and standing up.  “I found it in Loudas.  It hung on the wall as decoration in the King’s castle,” he told his story as he moved the sword hilt in front of Lizbeth.  She reached out and touched the stone, her eyes widening with surprise.  Clyden placed his right index finger over his mouth, imploring her to be silent, and continued with his story.  “Imagine my surprise when I saw it on the wall,” covering the short distance towards Servan’s and Malve’s end of the table.  Servan touched the stone, and the same recognition Lizbeth experienced flashed in his eyes.  Servan finally lowered his veil, and for just a brief moment, unrestrained hope was in his eyes. “If it weren’t for the Eye on the pommel, then I wouldn’t have ever found it.  The sword was gifted to me for service rendered for saving Prince Danyais from an assassin’s poison,” he said, moving the sword hilt towards Malve now.  She reached out tentatively with trembling fingers.  “If we were to,” he did not have time to finish his statement as Malve touched the stone.

“Infuse our essences also,” Malve said, finishing Clyden’s sentence as a white light surrounded her as she touched the stone.  The Eye of Bane glowed molten red in reaction to Malve’s touch.  Varoosh was there, his essence and life force were still imbued in the stone.  She almost forgot how beautiful his essence was to her.  This was the closest Malve had been to him in four centuries.  It ached and shredded her heart to the core that she did not have a body to embrace.  Tears welled up and traveled down her cheeks.  “He is alive!” she said in shock.  The grief that has held her prisoner for the past hundred years since Malve woke up in the Fade fissured instantly.  Hope began to seep through the cracks.

The light around her dimmed a little, Malve grabbed the pommel of the sword with both hands, and Clyden held onto the blade with all the strength he could muster.  Malve wore a look of desperate determination on her face.  The light intensified around Malve, and the Eye of Bane went from molten red to white blue.  Runes not visible before on the blade lit up, pulsating between red and white as they were engraved back onto the metal blade and handle.  Malve forced more of her essence into the Eye of Bane.  White light emitted from her eyes.  When Malve opened her mouth to gasp for air, light spilled from her mouth.  Malve could not hear any noise at all except for the roaring river in her head.  Malve knew her magic was flowing into the Eye; she could feel the stone drinking in her essence greedily.  The river was not loud enough.  I don’t care.  I will give it all if it brings him back, more, I can give more!  Malve screamed in her head even as her body felt like it would burn to ash.  The disparity shattered, and hope washed over Malve.

“Stop her, Clyden!” Lizbeth yelled.  She must have judge Clyden to slow in his actions, “Servan, break the connection!”

Servan stood up and dashed around Clyden, quickly grabbing Malve’s right shoulder with his left hand while trying to reach for the sword’s hilt with his other.  His hand was repulsed by a magical field right when he was about to grab the sword.   Servan turned his attention to Malve’s hands clutching the stone and grabbed her wrists, trying to pull them away from the Eye of Bane.  He somehow managed to weaken Malve’s grip, or she lost the will to hold on, but her hands withdrew from the Eye of Bane, and the sword felled to the table.  Malve swayed and fell into her chair, exhausted.

“Malve, are you OK?” Servan asked attentively.