Yelora
Yelora picked her way over the broken stone at the foot of the Wizards’ fortress. She’d found only three crystal shards in her hunt around the grounds, far fewer than she’d hoped to gather. Still, three shards of this new and powerful magic was better than none.
How it could help her people, she still did not know, but she had a plan. The Wizards’ Lair was built over an Oracle. It was a broken one that hadn’t spoken for centuries, long before the Rift War and the creation of the Imperial Dynasty. Before Queen Fara had taken the throne and the Sky Engineers had peeled off from the rest of the Wizards to bury their gazes in their telescopes. Before the Dwarves had hoarded their technology deep underground to hide it from the rest of Terris.
The Oracle was little more than a ruin, but an oracle was an oracle. Perhaps she could wield this new magic to tap into an ancient one.
Snapping her fingers, she called on petty magic to dispel the lingering illusion. The fractured stone horse head shimmered into view amidst the foundation stones of the Wizards’ Lair, its blind eyes staring into the eternities. Yelora navigated between the piles of rubble supporting the fortress. She settled herself on a smooth stone under a tilted slab and drew a shard from the pocket of her cloak.
She wasn’t certain how this celestial magic worked, but it couldn’t be too different from what she’d witnessed in the Alchemist’s lab. Clutching the shard in one hand, Yelora pressed a palm to the horse head’s cheek.
“Great Oracle,” she whispered. “I come to you humbly, seeking guidance.” The purple crystal glowed in her hand. She closed her eyes. Sprites, please help me. No, not me. My people.
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The horse head hummed under her palm, and its dead eye opened, the iris ringed in purple.
“Ah, Yelora, newly-crowned Elven Queen, you seek wisdom and salvation.” The female voice echoed through every cavity in the stone pile. Yelora gasped as it thrummed in her skull, her chest. It felt like her insides were being shaken apart.
But it had worked!
“Wise Oracle, please,” she breathed. “The Elf Queendom is dying. We have exhausted all options. Queen Fara has even poisoned herself with darkness in an attempt to save it. I fear the Elven Faire will fade away if I cannot find a way to bring new life to our people.”
“Yes,” the Oracle rumbled. “The cycle of life has been disrupted. Desperation drives even the noblest to embrace darkness. But in this bleak hour, a flicker of hope remains. A new magic provides a way, but it is not the key.”
“A new magic?” Yelora breathed, leaning in. “You speak of the celestial crystals?”
But the horse head had gone silent, its eyes milky and dead. In Yelora’s palm, the crystal had fallen to dust. So soon? She brushed the particles away and retrieved a second shard from her cloak.
Pressing her hand again to the cold stone she spoke. “Give me more guidance, Great Oracle. I am listening.”
The Oracle’s eyes glowed purple anew. “You must make new alliances, cleave yourself to those you despise. Only then shall the path to salvation reveal itself.”
“How can an alliance help us? Our problem is not political.”
“Your problem runs deeper, Elf Queen, and it will worsen with the terrible mistake you have yet to make. Terris will once again be at war, and only those who control this new magic will prevail.”
The second shard crumbled to dust in her hand.