The duel reached its climax when both mages unleashed their most powerful spells simultaneously—a radiant surge of energy from the blonde mage and a swirling vortex of dark energy from the dark-haired woman.
"Sun and Moon, clashing it seems…"
Some mages commented as they saw the end of the battle.
The two attacks collided in the center of the room, creating a shockwave that rippled through the air.
The runes on the walls glowed brightly, absorbing the excess energy and preventing any damage to the structure.
The crowd erupted into applause as the duel ended in a stalemate, both mages lowering their hands and catching their breath.
"Well done!" the tall mage called out, clapping his hands. “That was a fine display of skill.”
The braided-beard mage nodded in agreement.
“Their fundamentals are solid, no doubt about it. With some refinement, they’ll make excellent Level 3s.”
The hawk-like mage smirked.
“If they survive long enough to get there. The gap between Level 2 and Level 3 is more than just skill…"
The young mage who had spoken earlier crossed her arms.
“I think they’ll manage. They’ve already shown they can adapt under stress. That’s half the battle.”
-
Rud paced the room with thoughts of Alexander Distantias, the recently deceased leader of the organization.
Rud had met with the man not long ago, and now he was dead—killed by what was most likely a curse of considerable sophistication. The weight of this revelation pressed heavily on his mind.
Seated around the large, circular table in the center of the room were several of Rud’s trusted mages.
They watched their leader with a mixture of respect and unease, knowing he demanded answers, and quickly.
“Speak,” Rud commanded, his voice cutting through the silence. “What do we know about the curse that killed Distantias?”
One of the mages, a wiry man with sharp features named Arvon, leaned forward, resting his elbows on the table.
“We’ve analyzed the magical residue left from the practice room explosion.
The energy signature aligns with high-level curse magic. Specifically, it appears to target individuals directly, bypassing conventional defenses. It’s not a spell that could have been cast lightly.”
Rud nodded.
“And you believe it’s connected to Alexander’s death?”
“Almost certainly, my lord,” Arvon replied. “The timing is too precise. That burst of magic, followed by his death—it’s no coincidence.”
A younger mage, a woman named Lira, interjected.
“It’s not just the curse itself, my lord. I think it is beginning."
Rud stopped pacing and turned to face her.
“Explain."
“Yes,” Lira said confidently.
“The level of magic we detected suggests someone—or a group—is preparing for something much bigger. Alexander may have been a target, but he won’t be the last. It would be a pretty bad choice for any mage to use a curse to kill a target like Alexander, strong in commoners standards but weak for any mage at level three, not to mention level four.”
Another mage, older and more reserved, spoke up from the far end of the table.
“The question, my lord, is who benefits from Alexander’s death? His organization is already splintering. Smaller groups are moving in to claim pieces of his territory.”
Rud’s expression darkened.
“And what of the remnants of Distantias?"
Arvon shook his head.
“Scattering, mostly. Without Alexander’s presence, they’ve lost their backbone. Several minor factions within the organization are fighting among themselves. It’s chaos.”
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Lira added,
“The thugs in the lower levels are taking advantage of the power vacuum. Fights have broken out in multiple areas, and we’ve seen at least two smaller groups claim parts of Distantias’ old territory.”
Rud leaned on the edge of the table.
“Typical. They’re like vultures, circling the carcass of a dead lion. What about the larger organizations? The Third Circle? Dark Sickle? Are they moving against the Distantias remnants?”
The older mage, whose name was Ebrin, nodded solemnly.
“Dark Sickle has already made overtures to some of the more influential Distantias members. The Third Circle seems to be holding back, perhaps waiting to see how things unfold.”
“And what of the others?” Rud asked.
“Most are waiting, my lord,” Ebrin replied.
“But waiting doesn’t mean inactive. They’re consolidating their resources, positioning themselves for the right moment to strike."
Rud straightened and crossed his arms.
“Good. Let them fight among themselves for scraps. It will make them weaker. But we cannot ignore the possibility that whoever orchestrated this has a larger plan.”
Arvon nodded in agreement. “It’s likely, my lord. A spell of that magnitude isn’t cast without purpose. Whoever did this wanted to destabilize the power structure on this ship—and they’re succeeding.”
Lira leaned forward, her eyes sharp.
“We need to act, my lord. If we wait too long, the balance will tip further out of our favor. We should begin gathering intelligence on the groups most likely to benefit from this chaos.”
Rud smirked faintly. “You’re eager, Lira. I like that. But we won’t act rashly. Chaos can be a tool if wielded correctly. Let them think we’re idle while we watch and prepare.”
Ebrin cleared his throat.
“My lord, if I may—what about the magical threat itself? The practice room explosion was powerful enough to be felt across multiple levels."
Rud’s expression hardened.
“We will find them. And when we do, we will understand them to control them…
The room fell silent for a moment, the weight of Rud’s words sinking in. Finally, Arvon broke the quiet.
“If I may suggest, my lord, we could use our contacts among the guards. They might not know the intricacies of magic, but they see and hear much.”
“Do it,” Rud said curtly.
Lira hesitated before speaking again.
“There’s one more thing, my lord. The remnants of Distantias—should we make a move to absorb them? With Alexander gone, they’re leaderless. They could be useful if properly controlled.”
Rud considered this for a moment.
“Perhaps. But not yet. Let them tear each other apart first. Those who survive will be stronger—and more desperate. Then we’ll make our move.”
The mages nodded in unison, their loyalty evident.
Rud resumed his pacing, his mind already working through the next steps. The ship was a powder keg, and Alexander’s death was merely the spark.
"If only a Dark Mother was in this ship, with the power of a Dark Mother on my side, everything would get easier."
“Remember this,”
Rud said, his voice low but commanding.
"No mercy to enemies of the Dark Father…"
The mages bowed their heads in acknowledgment.
-
Sylas woke with a start. His eyes darted around the room, immediately noticing something was off.
The warm wooden tones of his cabin aboard the Blue Hope were gone, replaced by an expanse of endless white, stretching as far as the eye could see.
The bed beneath him had vanished, leaving him standing on an unbroken, flat surface that gave no indication of direction or depth.
“Not again,” he muttered, running a hand through his disheveled hair. His instincts flared, alerting him to the unnatural nature of this space. He focused, trying to sense any trace of magic.
Moments later, Sylas spoke aloud, his voice steady.
“Dark Sickle? Is this one of your tricks?”
No response.
He scanned his surroundings again, this time reaching out with his mind to detect any residual energy or magical disturbances. Nothing.
The air was too still, too neutral. Whatever this was, it didn’t bear the signature of dark magic he’d encountered before.
Then, out of the void, a figure began to form. First, it was a faint shimmer, like heat rising off a desert.
Slowly, the image coalesced into the familiar, imposing figure of Captain Heidrick.
Sylas didn’t flinch but narrowed his eyes. “Heidrick,” he said under his breath.
The air around them shimmered once more, and two ornate chairs materialized out of the nothing.
Heidrick gestured toward one, his usual calm expression betraying no emotion.
“Sit,” Heidrick said simply.
Sylas hesitated, his instincts screaming at him to stay on guard.
But curiosity and respect for Heidrick’s power won out. He stepped forward, settling into the chair.
Heidrick took his seat across from him, crossing one leg over the other and steepling his fingers.
Sylas broke the silence first.
“You pulled me here. Or whatever this place is. What’s going on, Judge? And why me?”
Heidrick’s lips curled into the faintest of smiles.
“You are a guest aboard my ship, Lord Sylas. An important one at that. It’s only fitting I ensure we have an understanding.”
Sylas raised an eyebrow, unimpressed.
“An understanding, huh? Forgive me if I don’t see the need for this theatrical setting just for a chat. You could’ve knocked on my door like a normal man.”
Heidrick chuckled lightly.
“I am not a normal man, as you well know. And neither are you. I prefer conversations without unnecessary ears listening in.”
Sylas leaned back in his chair, crossing his arms.
“Fine. Let’s skip the pleasantries, then. What do you want to talk about?”
“The ship,” Heidrick said simply, his voice low but firm.
“Its passengers, its journey, and the tensions… You’ve surely noticed.”
Sylas nodded.
“Hard not to notice. This place is practically a powder keg. Thugs, mages, and organizations vying for power—what did you expect when you crammed a hundred thousand people into a confined space for months?”