The oversized sleeves of Lily’s borrowed shirt bunched at Ariella's wrists as she adjusted the pendant resting against her chest. She refused to let it slip beneath the neckline, its warmth a constant tether to a part of herself she couldn’t share. Across from her, Lily’s laughter rose lightly in the musty chamber of City Hall, her newly manifested power a topic that seemed to buoy her, even in the strangeness of their predicament.
Eleanor Beale, the woman who had cornered Ariella earlier, had spread papers across the polished wood of the meeting table. Ariella took note of her exotic skin tone that reminded her of the people of the Drops of Shavi, but the unique shape of her eyes marked her as… different, even behind her silver-framed spectacles. Beside her, the man named Boomer leaned back in his chair, one leg stretched out as if he couldn’t quite decide whether this was an interrogation or a casual gathering. His perpetual smirk softened only when Lily gestured animatedly about the burst of electricity that had left scorch marks across her bathroom wall.
“It wasn’t just sparks,” Lily insisted. “It felt alive. Like the air wanted to move with me.”
“You’re lucky it didn’t blow up your apartment,” Boomer teased, his grin widening. “Guess it’s a good thing for us you didn’t turn into a Luxmancer or we’d all be blind by now.”
Eleanor silenced him with a look, one sharp enough to send Ariella's hand twitching toward her pendant. “This isn’t the time for jokes,” Eleanor said, her tone measured but firm. “The Blacklight has been a catalyst in more ways than one. This rapid manifestation of mantles is... well, the term unprecedented would not be doing it proper justice.” She picked up a piece of paper with a list of names on it. “In the past two hours over fifty people have exhibited manifestations across the entire spectrum of currents with the exceptions of Animancy and Chronomancy.”
“That makes sense,” Ariella interjected, her voice quieter than she intended but still cutting through the conversation. “Chronomany is nearly mythical in nature. Only one Seer is born per generation, and we already know him. Vaelin Morien, the current Blueseer is in Arronay.”
Eleanor picked up another piece of paper. “And Arronay is…?”
“A city in Halen,” she said, turning to look outside the window. Hitched to the railing outside were the brightstriders of Nalya and her companions. They shuffled restlessly, their sleek, feathered forms unfamiliar to Ladysmith’s residents. The townsfolk had gathered in cautious clusters, watching the creatures but wisely keeping their distance.
She turned back. “Animancy is not nearly as rare as chronomancy, but rare enough. I wouldn’t be surprised if there were no manifestations in Ladysmith. And even so, it’s possible that if it did manifest, due to the nature of the mantle, the one who receives the gift may not realize for decades. It doesn’t quite manifest the same way as other mantles, then—” Her gaze returned to Eleanor. “You said there were no reports of animancy or chronomancy. You didn’t mention psychomancy.”
Boomer leaned forward, his smirk faltering under her scrutiny. “That’s because that’s one of the ones that manifested,” he said with a casual shrug. “Lucky me, huh?”
The silence that followed was heavy, electric in its tension. Ariella rose to her feet so swiftly her chair scraped against the floor. Her pale green eyes blazed with fury, flecks of gold catching the light.
“You’re lying,” she hissed.
Boomer blinked, startled by the venom in her voice. “Uh, no?”
Ariella’s hand curled into a fist. “Psychomancers are dangerous. They can’t be trusted—not by the public, not by the High Magus Council, and certainly not by me.”
“Whoa, hold on—” Lily began, her voice filled with alarm.
“Do you know why the Covenant of the Wisdoms was formed?” Ariella pressed, cutting her off. “It exists because of the chaos your kind creates. A Psychomancer loses themselves. Their minds bleed into others until they can’t tell what’s theirs and what isn’t. Their madness becomes a weapon not even they can control.”
Boomer’s expression hardened. “That’s not me.”
“You don’t know that!” Ariella snapped, her voice ringing through the hall, sharp as stone striking steel and turning heads. “The High Magus Council decreed that no Psychomancer may remain autonomous for a reason. The moment their power manifests, they must be brought before the Council for containment. If you were in the Pactlands, your freedom would already be gone.”
Boomer sat up straighter, his smirk long gone, replaced by an unguarded defensiveness that made him look oddly younger, almost vulnerable. “Good thing I’m not in your Pactlands, then,” he said, his voice quieter but no less resolute.
Lily’s hand shot up, her palm pressing flat against the table. “Stop,” she said, her voice cutting between them with the same quiet determination that Ariella was beginning to associate with her. “Arie, you don’t know Boomer like I do. He’s not dangerous. He’s the guy who helped a drunk woman he’d never met before get home safe. The guy who gave his last twenty bucks to a homeless man without thinking twice. He doesn’t deserve—”
“You think kindness protects him from what he is?” Ariella interrupted, her tone icy. “You think that good intentions will matter when he loses control?”
Lily hesitated, glancing at Boomer. He opened his mouth, as if to speak, then closed it again, his brow furrowing. The tension between them hung in the air, taut and brittle.
“Let me tell you what happens when a Psychomancer loses control,” Ariella said, her voice dropping to a quieter, deadlier register. She straightened, her hands gripping the back of her chair. “Two years ago, there was a Psychomancer named Jareth Fayn who lived in a village named Eryshale, in the Reach. He feared losing his freedom, so he hid his powers. For nearly twenty years. He was mild-mannered, a teacher. A man of good intentions. But when his power grew beyond him, he couldn’t separate his own thoughts from those of the people around him. He didn’t mean to hurt anyone, but that’s of little consequence, because the madness came. And when it did, it came for the entire town.”
Ariella’s gaze swept the table, her pale green eyes locking briefly on each of them. “He convinced his students to slit their own throats. He turned half the village into a mob that burned their own homes to the ground and massacred their families. Over one hundred and fifty people in that village and by the time help could arrive, only four were left breathing while Jareth used their bodies to construct him a throne of corpses. That is what happens when a Psychomancer is left unchecked.” She looked to Boomer. “Entire villages become little more than scars on the map.”
Boomer flinched, his lips pressed into a thin line, but his eyes remained locked on her. There was no smirk now, no glib retort, just a quiet determination that made Ariella’s anger falter.
“Boomer’s not Jareth,” Lily said, her voice trembling but steady. She reached for Ariella’s arm, her fingers firm and warm against the borrowed sweater. “He’s my friend. And he’s the same person he was yesterday. I know you’ve seen terrible things, but we need you to see us. We’re not monsters.”
Eleanor stepped forward, placing a hand lightly on the table. “Ariella, I understand your fear. But we don’t have the luxury of driving each other away. Whatever is happening in Ladysmith, it’s bigger than any of us. We need someone who knows this world—who knows how to guide us.”
For a long moment, Ariella stood frozen, her hand drifting to the pendant at her neck. Her fingers brushed its smooth surface, and she drew a deep breath. This wasn’t her fight. This wasn’t her place. She had every reason to walk away, to leave these people to their chaos and continue her path to wherever the Broken Choir willed her. The urge to flee tugged at her like a silent current.
But Lily’s hand on her arm was insistent, grounding her. Her dark eyes shone with a quiet desperation that reminded Ariella too much of her own reflection not too long ago.
“I’ll help,” she said finally, the words heavy with reluctance. “But don’t mistake this for loyalty. When the time comes, I’ll leave. I always leave.”
Lily nodded, her grip tightening briefly before letting go. “That’s enough for now,” she said softly.
Boomer exhaled audibly, leaning back in his chair. “Thanks for the vote of confidence,” he muttered, though the tension in his shoulders didn’t ease. “Look, if it helps, I’ll try my damnedest not to uh… go mad and destroy the town, okay?”
The corner of Ariella’s mouth twitched, but she made no attempt to respond. Outside, the brightstriders shifted restlessly in the sunlight, their soft calls mingling with the murmurs of the townsfolk. For now, the fragile alliance in the room held. But the weight of her choices pressed against Ariella’s chest like a stone, heavy and unyielding. She wasn’t sure how long she could carry it.
----------------------------------------
The council chamber of City Hall felt dimmer than when they first arrived, the flickering lantern light casting uneven shadows against the wood-paneled walls. Nalya stood at the head of the room, her posture rigid despite the fatigue pulling at her limbs. Boone sat across from her, his brow furrowed in contemplation as Goose paced near the door. Terra leaned against the far wall, her arms crossed and her expression unreadable, while Ryan sat nearby, one leg bouncing nervously. Keltz and Bayne lingered by the window, their silence weighted with the importance of what was unfolding.
“We must leave at first light,” Nalya began, her voice carrying a sharp finality. “Time is already against us. Each hour that passes tightens the noose around Ladysmith’s neck.” She walked to the edge of the table and pulled a rolled up map from out of her satchel, flattening it on the table by placing weights on their corners.
Boone looked over the map, then pulled out a small rectangular device from his pocket. Nalya raised an inquisitive brow as the face of the device lit up, casting a bluish light against Boone’s face. He pressed his thumb against it, and held it aloft, pointing it toward the map.
She watched as an image of the very map before him appeared on the face. In light of what she had seen since first encountering the town, it no longer surprised her.
“Clever device,” she said.
“I’ll have copies made,” he said. “So where are we?”
Nalya pointed toward the eastern coast, about a third of the distance between the border of Vector and where Halen began. “Here,” she said. “Our maps of the Disputed Lands are old. Copies upon copies. We haven’t entered this lands on any official business for decades. Perhaps longer, but the coast is well-known amongst trading ships traveling between Halen and Vector.”
“So you and Vector aren’t exactly at war. You still trade?”
She nodded. “Under the laws of the Pact, hostilities are always a resort explored after diplomacy has been exhausted, and even then we’re held to the regulations of the Concordance. It has been this way for a thousand years.”
“A thousand years?” Goose repeated, coming up from behind her and looking at the map. “And in that time, no war? No conflict?”
“There is always conflict,” Nalya said. “Mostly internal. Vector has seen many emperors deposed or assassinated, as well as civil war. Rasza has seen citizen uprisings against their Republic and internal reforms. Halen and Shavi are perhaps the outliers in terms of internal stability. Both are monarchies, with unbroken hereditary lines going back to the Concordance itself, but even so, we have seen our share of internal conflict. Two centuries ago, there was the War of Dusk, which saw a Vectoran occupation of Veynshold, one of the provinces of Halen, acting against the agreement of the Concordance. That was a costly choice for them. The High Magus Council sanctioned trade against Vector for fifty years, resulting in a tragedy for their people. Then, fifteen years ago, the ascension of Caius Kaen as emperor resulted in the Ebon Reform, which limited the power of their senate and centralized it under the Emperor.”
This story originates from Royal Road. Ensure the author gets the support they deserve by reading it there.
“So it’s a dictatorship?” Goose asked.
Nalya nodded.
“You said this territory was disputed, and had some kind of special protection from the High Magus Council, and the borders of all these nations haven’t moved for a thousand years. That’s hard to grasp. As far as I’m aware there’s not a single nation in our world whose borders haven’t shifted in that time. So what changed?”
“That is the question,” she said. She let out a sigh. “Before the change of the year, Vector reported raids by Free Folk along their border settlements.” She pointed to the south edge of the map, where a dotted line marked the border of Vector. “Veylan’s Gate near the coast, to Vorthal in the Serpentspine Mountains. We haven’t been able to confirm the full truth of the matter, but the High Magus Council approved their invocation of a clause within the Concordance that allows for a temporary occupation of the Disputed Lands in order to quell the issue.” She pointed to a region south of them, near the border of Vector. “Our best guess is that their main camp is here. Approximately three days march south, but their forces have been active in the region as late as yesterday. We are uncertain if they bore witness to the Blacklight as we did. We are hoping they were too far away, or obscured from it, and that it may buy us valuable time.”
“The Free Folk are a lot of things,” Bayne added. “But to raid Vectoran settlements—that many of them? That doesn’t have the ring of truth to it.”
“So it’s a false flag,” Goose said.
Nalya cocked her head, uncertain of the meaning of the term. “It’s a pretext,” she said. “I’m certain of it. There’s something else they’re up to.”
“And you’re here to figure that out?” asked Boone.
She nodded. “I volunteered,” she said. “The King agreed, but there’s a more dire matter. The decision was made without the consent of the High Magus Council.”
“So what you’re saying is that Halen could get in trouble for this?” Goose asked.
She nodded. “That is a very real possibility. That’s why it is so important we discover their true aims.”
“Then why would you risk your mission to help us?”
Nalya sighed. Her eyes darted over to Terra for a moment. “There are other factors at play. But know that decision was not made lightly. My desire is that your presence here will change things. Once word reaches the High Magus Council that Ladysmith exists in these lands, and the meaning behind your appearance, they will have no choice but to revoke Vector’s petition, and give us more time to discover their aims. Unfortunately, I believe that once their General, Ajjiro Ryde, learns of your presence, Ladysmith will become his sole focus because he will come to the same conclusion.”
“Not even here for a day,” Boone commented, stifling a laugh. “And we’re already being used as a chess piece.”
Nalya looked up at him. “Chess,” she repeated. “An apt analogy, but one that raises further questions about the connections between us. I am beginning to suspect that this may not be the first time our two worlds have touched. Once we’ve dealt with the matters at hand, we shall have to explore these connections more in-depth.”
Goose and Boone looked to each other. “Fair enough,” Boone said. “So as for tomorrow?”
“Lieutenant Wicket will remain in Ladysmith,” she announced, glancing in his direction. “He will act as the liaison between your Committee and our forces, who are expected to arrive tomorrow. In my absence, he will be elevated to Acting Captain, supported by Lieutenant Veryn Syrel.”
Keltz shifted his stance, his usual confidence tempered by the weight of responsibility.
“The Lieutenant was born a commoner, but he has received a noble’s education, alongside me under the Wings of the Swan at the Deyish Academies. Martial affairs, history, politics—he will be a valuable resource to improve your understanding of the Pactlands. Your Committee will need the knowledge he has at hand.”
Goose tilted his head, curiosity flickering behind his eyes. “Wings of the Swan, huh? Sounds fancy.”
“It is,” Keltz said dryly, thought a faint smirk tugged at his lips.
Nalya pressed on. “There is also the matter of Ladysmith’s people manifesting mantles. This is… complicated. While my orders to my men are to support Ladysmith however possible, I must warn you that magi from the Pactlands hold strong opinions about feral magi. The stigma against them runs deep, and there may be conflicts.”
Keltz inclined his head. “Any issues from my magi will be dealt with. I only ask that the Committee ensures the same in kind.”
“Fair enough,” Goose said. “We’re reconvening after dinner to figure out what to do about that issue, anyway. There’s some chatter about forming a temporary regulatory body, but it’s not exactly my area of expertise. We’re leaving that to Professor Beale to advise us on.” He sighed. “I was kind of hoping to catch the new Masked Singer tonight, but, you know—global displacement kind of threw a wrench in that plan.”
Ryan snorted behind them, though Nalya only tilted her head. Goose waved it of sheepishly. “Never mind. Point is, we’ll figure it out.” He gestured toward Boone. “We’ve agreed to host a hundred of your people in town for now. As you might understand, having them all roll in at once might cause some issues, at least until we can build trust between us.”
“We’re going to set them up at the high school,” Boone said. “There’s a big field there, should be plenty of wide open space for them to make camp. Keep in mind a lot of people live around there, so try to ensure your men are respectful of people’s homes and property. Don’t have them jumping over fences or… I dunno, cooking their pets for dinner, okay?”
Keltz nodded. “I’ll make certain they respect your laws.”
“If it goes well, we’re open to getting more of them down here. But for now, let’s focus on making friends and training,” Boone added.
Nalya leaned forward and pointed to a place nearby. “I must also mention my promise to the Elder of Stone’s Mouth, here. The village has suffered profound loss—homes burned, families scattered or killed. Their pain is not so different from the loss your people are experiencing from being taken from your world. It might be wise for you to send emissaries there. Extend a hand in friendship. Perhaps there is a way you can help one another.”
Boone leaned back in his chair, his brow furrowed in thought. Before he could respond, Bayne spoke from near the window, his gruff voice cutting through the room.
“If you do, be wary of bandits. They’re on edge because of the Vectorans. Desperation makes them dangerous, and they may see a small group as an opportunity.” He levied his attention on Boone. “Do not travel those lands unarmed.”
Boone gave a sharp nod. “I’ve been thinking about that too,” he admitted. “And while we’re on the topic, what about the local wildlife? I feel silly asking, but after seeing those giant birds you have hitched up outside, it’s been pressing on me. I gotta know if we’re dealing with normal things like deer and bears, or like… cannibal elves and dwarves. Or… what are they called… manticores? Any big predators we should know about?”
Keltz straightened. “The Disputed Lands are home to many dangers, Sergeant. I will provide what information I can on bandits, animal life, as well as the sentient races you may encounter.”
“Hold up,” Goose said. “Sentient races?”
Keltz nodded. “Yes. There are four worthy of mention in the Disputed Lands. There are Whiskrell, Rathkarii, Ilyx’ori, and the El’dar.”
Bayne scoffed. “Bloody Whiskrell,” he muttered. “Pests, they are. Hardly sentient.”
The names hung in the air like an unfamiliar melody. Ryan blinked. Terra raised an eyebrow. Goose, for his part, let out a low chuckle. “Whiskrell, Rathkarii, Ilyx—whatever. Of course, why wouldn’t there be?” He grinned, shaking his head. “At this point I shouldn’t even be surprised anymore.”
Nalya inclined her head slightly, a faint flicker of amusement in her eyes. “You are bound to find the world beyond Ladysmith to be vast and strange. But it a world we knew well,” she said. “You appear every bit as human as we are, so I suspect you, too, will find your balance with it.”
“I guess if nothing else we’re known for our ability to adapt,” Goose commented.
Boone inclined his head. “All right,” he said. “I think that’s all we’ve got for now. I’ve asked Constable Shephard to be part of your… fellowship” His gaze flicked briefly to Ryan and Terra, then back to Nalya. “But I wouldn’t be doing my job if I didn’t voice my concerns that Stills and Murphy here weren’t exactly the best people for the job.”
Nalya frowned, her eyes lingering on Ryan. “I’m uncertain about him,” she admitted, the bluntness of her words making Ryan flinch slightly. “But Constable Shephard seems capable. He has discipline, and I suspect that will serve us well.” She then cast her gaze over to Terra. “And it… it must be you, Terra.”
Ryan opened his mouth to protest but stopped when Goose raised a hand. “Let her finish,” Goose said, his voice calm but firm.
Terra uncrossed her arms and took a step forward. “I’ll go,” she said, her tone clipped. “But I don’t see why it has to be me. What exactly makes me so important to this mission of yours?”
Nalya hesitated, the weight of Terra’s question settling heavily on her shoulders. She glanced at Keltz, who gave her a subtle nod of encouragement. “Let the truth stand as my refuge,” she murmured under her breath, reciting the mantra her father had taught her.
She took a measured breath and turned to Terra, meeting her skeptical gaze. “I need to speak to my uncle, Vaelin Morien. He is the Blueseer—the only chronomancer alive. Months ago, I sought an audience with him. He said many cryptic things, as Blueseers often do. But one thing he told me has stayed with me: ‘Chase the empty light.’ At the time, I didn’t understand what he meant. Now I see that he foresaw the Blacklight, the event that brought Ladysmith here.”
Terra raised an eyebrow. “And what does that have to do with me?”
“He also spoke of you,” Nalya admitted. “He described your hair—a shade of red I had never seen before. He said I would meet someone with that hair who ‘walks where the veil is frayed.’ I now believe he meant you.”
Ryan frowned, glancing at Terra. “It’s dyed. Terra’s not the only person in town with that shade of Manic Panic. Kayla Winder has the same shade.”
Nalya shook her head. “I didn’t meet Kayla Winder. I met Terra. And Vaelin’s words were never wrong. Terra walked where the veil is frayed—near the edge of the region affected by the Blacklight.”
Terra’s expression hardened. “That’s still not an answer. Why me?”
“Because he saw you,” Nalya replied simply. Her voice softened, the edge of frustration giving way to a quiet earnestness. “And he said he must meet with you. Perhaps Vaelin will have answers I cannot give you. I make no promises, but I hope he can explain your role in this better than I ever could. Perhaps even shed some light on how your people got here. Perhaps even how you can return.”
Terra fell silent, her gaze dropping to the floor. The tension in the room shifted as the weight of Nalya’s words settled over them all.
After a long pause, Terra spoke again. “So, what is it that chronomancers actually do? How does it work?”
“Blueseers witness fixed events in time,” Nalya said. “They cannot see every possibility, only what is certain, and even so, in fragments. They see outcomes but not always the circumstances which lead to them. Vaelin told me many things, but their meaning often only becomes clear when the events come to pass.”
Terra’s voice wavered. “I’ve been seeing things. Terrible things. It happened twice—once in the truck with Ryan, just before we met you, and again at my family’s shop. Are those... fixed events?”
Nalya’s lips thinned. “It’s difficult to say. There shouldn’t be another chronomancer for at least another ten or fifteen years. But you…” She paused, searching Terra’s face. “...and all this. We have all been treading outside of precedent since this morning.”
Ryan leaned forward. “That was when your eyes glowed green, wasn’t it?” His question hung in the air like a spark before a flame.
Bayne made a sharp, alarmed noise, drawing all eyes to him. “Green? You’re certain?”
Ryan nodded, his brow furrowing. “Yeah, I saw it. They lit up, it was just before we met you.”
Bayne exchanged a meaningful glance with Nalya and Keltz. The air between them grew heavy with unspoken knowledge. Goose, still pacing, stopped in his tracks. “Alright,” he said, folding his arms. “What’s the big deal? What’s the significance of green?”
Nalya hesitated, her fingers brushing the sigil at her breast. “There are different types of chronomancers,” she said carefully. “Blueseers are born every fifty years or so, and they witness fixed events. But there is another kind—a Greenseer. They are born only once in a thousand years. Their birth heralds massive change, upheaval on a scale that reshapes history.”
She paused, her gaze distant. “Waendal Murfain, the last known Greenseer, was a founding signatory of the Concordance of Aligned Realms. That document created the Pactlands and established the stability our world has known for over a millennium. It is often believed that this is because he could see more than just fixed events. He could see possibilities.”
Terra’s voice was barely audible. “And what does that mean for me? For what I saw?”
Nalya met her gaze, her expression unreadable. “I don’t know. But it’s all the more reason to go to Arronay. Vaelin may be able to shed light on what’s happening. And then we will go to Cilasia, to secure the aid Ladysmith desperately needs.”
The room fell into a contemplative silence before Goose clapped his hands together. “Alright, folks. You’ve got your mission. Everyone go home, get some rest, and pack light. We leave at dawn.”
He turned to Nalya, his tone softening. “We’ve got a Microtel just north of town. It’s like an inn, I guess. You and your crew can stay there for the night, we’ve already made arrangements. It’s not the Coast Bastion, but it’s comfortably decent.”
Nalya nodded, the tension in her shoulders easing slightly. “Thank you. Rest would do us all some good.”
As the group began to disperse, Nalya lingered by the window, staring into the sky. The weight of her choices pressed heavily on her, but she steeled herself with a quiet determination. Whatever lay ahead, she would see it through.