Miles away, in the heart of Empyrea, Gertrude Soulsinger paced her chambers, her mind racing. The trial had been a farce, Equinox's influence clear in the vacant eyes of the other council members. Now, under house arrest, she felt more powerless than ever.
But as she gazed out the window at the shimmering spires of the Empatheum, Gertrude knew she couldn't give up.
Her fingers, weathered by time yet still graceful, traced an intricate pattern with practiced ease. The hidden panel whispered open, revealing a slender staff of polished wood. Runes etched along its length pulsed with a soft, otherworldly light, responding to her presence.
"Forgive me, my old companions," she murmured, her words carrying the weight of unspoken regrets.
As her fingers closed around the staff, a flood of memories crashed over her. The exhilaration of battle, the raw power coursing through her veins, the sacrifices made in the name of duty – all came rushing back with the force of a tidal wave. The staff's familiar weight felt both comforting and alien, a stark reminder of the life she had willingly left behind.
Time was of the essence. Gertrude moved with purpose, gathering essential supplies with the efficiency of a seasoned battle mage. At the chamber door, she paused, her senses prickling at the invisible barrier of magical wards. A wry smile tugged at her lips. She hadn't earned her reputation as a master of emotion magic by adhering to arbitrary rules.
Her hands danced through the air, weaving an intricate tapestry of emotional resonance. The very air seemed to hum with power as she attuned herself to the wards' frequency. For a breathless moment, nothing changed. Then, with a musical chime that sent shivers down her spine, the wards shimmered and dissolved like morning mist before the sun.
"I haven't lost my touch after all," Gertrude allowed herself a moment of quiet satisfaction, the ghost of her younger self reflected in her eyes.
As she slipped out of her chambers and made her way through the twisting corridors of the Empatheum, Gertrude's mind raced with plans.
---
Elden's heart raced as he faced the Witching Hour, her ethereal form shimmering in the twisted landscape of Heartwood's ruins. He could feel the weight of her gaze, centuries of knowledge and power bearing down upon him.
Before Elden could react, she raised her hand, and the forest around them blurred, reality giving way to a dreamlike haze. Elden found himself surrounded by swirling mists, nightmarish shapes coalescing and dissolving at the edges of his vision. He felt a wave of exhaustion wash over him, his eyelids growing heavy.
Shaking off the drowsiness, Elden focused on a mental image of the golden page's "Temporal Manipulation" sigil. His hands moved in a complex series of gestures, and suddenly, the world around him crystallized. The Witching Hour's advance slowed dramatically, her expression frozen in a mix of surprise and calculation.
In this moment of temporal dilation, Elden gasped, realizing the extent of what he had done. He had created a large-scale time freeze, affecting even a powerful mage like the Witching Hour. "This... this shouldn't be possible," he muttered. "I shouldn't be able to freeze someone of her caliber."
The Witching Hour's eyes narrowed as she struggled against the temporal effect. Her movements were sluggish, but she was far from helpless. "Impressive," she said, her voice distorted by the time dilation. "But not unprecedented."
With visible effort, she raised her hand, summoning a small temporal distortion of her own. It was weaker than Elden's magic, but it was enough to accelerate her movements slightly. "You're not the only one with tricks up their sleeve, boy."
She raised her hand, and the world around them began to shimmer and distort. The trees of the glade twisted into impossible shapes, their branches reaching out like grasping fingers. The ground beneath their feet became a swirling vortex of color and shadow.
Elden's mind raced. He knew the time freeze wouldn't last long against her. He needed to act fast. "Why are you here?" he demanded. "What does the Cabal want with me?" He could feel the Witching Hour's power pressing against his mind, trying to draw him into her dreamscape.
The Witching Hour's lips curled into a sly smile. "Oh, we want many things. But right now, I'm more interested in what you have. That little trinket of your father's, perhaps?"
As she spoke, the air around them shimmered. Suddenly, Elden found himself surrounded by multiple images of the Witching Hour, each one as real as the last. "Can you tell which is the real me?" they taunted in unison.
The illusions converged, reforming into a single entity. She raised her hand, and a wave of dream energy washed over Elden. He felt his grip on reality slipping, the edges of his vision growing fuzzy.
Stolen from its rightful author, this tale is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.
"Sleep, child," the Witching Hour cooed. "Sleep, and let me see what secrets that mind of yours holds."
Elden struggled against the overwhelming urge to close his eyes. He could feel the Witching Hour's magic probing at his defenses, seeking a way into his thoughts. With a monumental effort, he pushed back with a memory defense techniques he had learned in Mnemosyne. He constructed a mental maze within his mind, leading the Witching Hour's probes astray.
The resulting feedback disrupted the Witching Hour's sleep spell. She staggered back, genuine surprise flickering across her face. "Well, well," she murmured. "Perhaps you're more than just another time-touched after all."
Seizing the moment, Elden poured more power into his time freeze, feeling the strain on his Wellspring intensify. The pressure built behind his eyes as he slowed the Witching Hour even further. With his free hand, he began weaving another spell, his mind racing back to another memory from years ago.
In his mind's eye, Elden saw himself as a young boy, sitting cross-legged in a crowded lecture hall in Mnemosyne. A traveling archmage, her robes adorned with swirling patterns that seemed to shift like wind, stood before the audience. Her voice, clear and commanding, echoed through the chamber:
"The true power of air magic," she had explained, her eyes alight with passion, "lies not in gentle breezes, but in harnessing the destructive force of nature itself. The Tornado Piercer is the pinnacle of offensive air techniques, a 6-star spell that few can master."
The memory of her hands weaving intricate patterns flashed through Elden's mind. He had spent countless hours practicing those movements, never quite managing to replicate the spell's full power.
Now, with time slowed to a crawl around him, Elden saw his chance. His fingers flew through the air, tracing the complex sigils of the Tornado Piercer. With each gesture, he felt the air around him respond, molecules vibrating with increasing intensity.
As the spell took shape, Elden infused it with a thread of chrono magic, accelerating the air currents to impossible speeds. The resulting vortex that erupted from his hands was no mere wind—it was a condensed tornado, its core spinning so rapidly it glowed with friction-induced heat.
The Tornado Piercer lanced forward, its tip a needle-sharp point of hyper-compressed air. As it traveled, it pulled in the frozen debris around it—leaves, twigs, and even small rocks—adding to its destructive potential.
The Witching Hour's eyes widened in shock as she saw the spell hurtling towards her. Despite the time freeze, she managed to raise a swirling magical barrier. The Tornado Piercer slammed into it with devastating force, the barrier cracking like ice under the onslaught.
Taking advantage of the distraction, Elden sprinted past her. He pushed his speed to its limits, the world blurring around him as he wove through the frozen guards and twisted trees. The lingering effects of his chrono magic made him feel as if he was racing through molasses, each step requiring immense effort.
By the time the Witching Hour recovered and broke free of the temporal effects, Elden had vanished into the depths of the forest. The air where he had stood still crackled with residual energy, tiny whirlwinds dancing in his wake.
As the time freeze faded completely and her guards slowly came back to awareness, the Witching Hour's expression hardened. She surveyed the scene, her eyes narrowing as she took in the destruction wrought by Elden's spell.
Without a word, she gestured to her personal guards – the masked figures with grotesque animal faces. They understood her silent command, immediately setting off in pursuit of Elden, their otherworldly forms melting into the shadows of the forest.
The Witching Hour then turned her attention to the emotion guards sent by Equinox, still dazed from the aftermath of Elden's magic. A flicker of disdain crossed her face. With a wave of her hand, tendrils of dream energy began to coil around the emotion guards, slowly enveloping them in a shimmering mist.
As the last of Equinox's guards disappeared, leaving no trace of their presence, the Witching Hour's face settled into a thoughtful expression. She stood motionless for a moment, her mind clearly racing as she pondered her next move. The subtle shift in her posture suggested a decision made – it was time to consult with Eternity.
Without a backwards glance at the now-empty clearing, the Witching Hour vanished in a swirl of dream energy, leaving behind only the lingering scent of ozone and the whisper of forgotten nightmares.
---
In a realm beyond mortal comprehension, the Witching Hour's astral form knelt before a being of cosmic power. The figure's face was hidden behind a veil of starlight, but his presence radiated an authority that transcended time and space.
"My lord," the Witching Hour began, her voice trembling slightly. "I have news. The Vortis boy... he has the artifact we sought. The one Mnemion failed to recover from Edward's body."
The cosmic figure's voice resonated with the weight of eons. "You are certain?"
"Yes, my lord. I saw him use its power myself. It was... extraordinary. He managed to escape using abilities that should have been beyond him."
The figure was silent for a long moment. When he spoke again, his words sent chills through the Witching Hour's incorporeal form. "Secure the pages," he commanded. "Ignore the time-touched child if necessary."
The Witching Hour hesitated, then pressed on. "My lord... if I may. My reward. I have served faithfully, and I thought perhaps..."
"You wish to claim it early?" The figure's tone was unreadable.
"Yes, my lord. If it pleases you."
Another long silence. Then, "Very well. Bring me the pages, and you shall have what you desire. Do not fail me again. The consequences would be... severe."
As the astral connection faded, the Witching Hour's consciousness returned to the material plane in Empyrea. Her eyes snapped open, blazing with newfound determination.