The waning light of a wooden torch flickered, as a dark, robed figure rushed past it, pacing down the damp and dimly lit hallway.
“I need a plan,” thought Xarhazan, “or else I will never find the creature again.”
The echoes of the heavy and hurried footsteps suddenly ceased, signaling that the man has finally arrived at his destination. The tall silhouette stood in front of a massive reinforced steel door, lined with countless magical runes and mysterious inscriptions.
[Thil li feinlen án ashin vou argis] a short incantation rose, resonating with the magical circuitry inside of the door, which in turn started to emanate a soft violet light, prompting the mechanisms within into motion.
A soft hum could be heard from the elaborate contraption, as dusty cogs turned and spun, creaking loudly, but still opening the entrance to the vault reliably.
[It has been a long time,] the wizard mused, deeply inhaling the stale air, [a long time indeed.]
The insides of the room felt desolate. Countless towering wooden shelves laid empty along the walls, covered with a thick layer of dust that must have accumulated over dozens of years of neglect.
Xarhazan frowned as he took a few steps inside the vault.
“This place used to be full of wonders the likes of which would leave the world in awe.”
But all of these unique, and irreplaceable treasures were gone now, sold off to fund his pursuit of greater justice. The pursuit of the project that was now so dangerously close to failing. Well, all of them, but one.
He took another few quick steps towards the center of the room, where a single, ornate chest laid atop the moldy floor.
Crouching, the man took a small dagger out of the pocket of his silken robe, unsheathing it in a fluid motion and bringing it towards the sweaty palm of his hand.
Not a single sound escaped his lips as he slid the blade along the skin, opening up a shallow wound. The blood surged forth from the cut, flowing freely, as if drawn towards the golden ornaments adorning the lid of the metal chest. A few drops was all it took for the chest to open smoothly, seemingly unperturbed by the ages of disuse.
Xarhazan reached inside calmly, taking out a single small leather pouch, half filled with what seemed to be a number of tiny angular clinking objects. Untying the lengthy straps, he peered inside only to grimace in displeasure-
[So few…] he sighed, as he picked up a single translucent crystal, rolling it between his bony fingers, the only part of his body that showed as many signs of aging as his face did.
Putting the pouch inside of his pocket, he reached inside of the chest again, his wrinkled old hand taking out a beautiful and elegant longsword.
[It has been far too long,] he murmured, a soft smile appearing on his dry lips, [old friend.]
The sword emanated an otherworldly aura of power. Its faultless silvery blade showed no signs of use, in spite of the many battles it had won for its master. The hilt was of simple, yet effective design, reflecting the crafter’s obvious preference for practicality. The simple metal crossguard was there to protect the wielder’s swordhand, not boast of his wealth, and the grip wasn’t exactly showy either. Pommel was perhaps the only part of the weapon that could be considered extravagant, as it was made of a rounded black gemstone set in an intricate silvery filigree. Many foes have made the mistake of foolishly believing the gem to be the weakest part of the weapon, as in fact the jewel itself was harder than diamond, and more importantly, magical in nature.
[Várgint,] Xarhazan called, [the mage slayer.]
The sword shimmered as if responding to his summons.
“Good,” thought the old man, “it still remembers me.”
Having acquired what he came for, the mage stood up, and hurriedly left the room, heading straight towards the very top of the tower.
As he ascended the long winding stairs, various thoughts occupied his mind.
“Várgint, eh?” he chuckled, “such a nostalgic feeling, partner.”
The weapon wasn’t merely a tool to him. It was a memento of his old master, something he had sworn to protect with his life. So far, he has always been faithful to that promise, in spite of all the hardships he has had to endure because of it. There was another reason for his reluctance to part with the sword though, and this one was not nearly of such a sentimental nature as the previous one. In addition to being something precious to both him, and his tutor, Várgint was also one of the only eleven greater artefacts known to humankind, and one of the three that could actually be used in battle.
No ordinary sword could rival the power of this mystical blade, magical or not. Not even the greatest enchanted weapons, crafted by the ancient dwarven masters eons ago, could pose a threat to its wielder at full strength. But all that overwhelming power did not come without a price.
And the price Várgint demanded in return for displaying its true power came in three parts. Magic, and time were the first two. Magic was easy enough to clear. The black gem in the pommel simply needed to absorb some arcane mana, its source being completely irrelevant to the blade, be it the sword’s wielder, or the enemy. Hence the name of the sword - the mage slayer.
The terrifying part of Várgint, however, was not merely its ability to absorb the enemy’s magic as its own, or even the ability to use that mana to fuel its own spells. It was what happened to that mana if left alone - the longer, the better.
That was the second condition - time. Any unused mana remaining infused within the sword would slowly grow in size, doubling over in quantity by the end of the very same day, and doubling over yet again at the end of each day henceforth.
And therein laid the first problem. Such a huge, constantly growing mass of power would always inevitably result in some peculiar side-effect, usually sooner rather than later. This case was no exception to the rule. Once the amount of mana contained within the jewel exceeded a certain threshold, the sword would spontaneously start manifesting a will of it’s own, changing its position from a silent tool to an active companion.
Where there is will, there is thought. And that thought might not necessarily be in agreement with the intentions of the weapon’s wielder. In spite of the dire implications this truth could have on his plans, Xarhazan didn’t really feel threatened by this fact. Várgint has never failed to comply with his orders in the past, and there was no reason to doubt its loyalty now. Regardless of how much the sword’s personality changed with each new cycle of rebirth, the sword would forever remain the embodiment of justice to its very core, it’s creator was very adamant about making sure of that. The mage believed himself to be just the same.
No, there was a different reason as to why Xarhazan chose to abstain from using his old companion’s powers, until a time of great need was upon him. That reason was the third, and last part of the price one had to pay. The weapon was, after all, a double edged sword in the truest sense of the word.
Absolute trust. That was what was demanded of the wielder in compensation for the blade’s services. An equivalent amount of mana to what was absorbed by the blade would remain locked inside of the wielder’s own magic core, becoming inaccessible until such time, when the mage slayer was laid to rest yet again, devoid of magic to fuel it’s endless growth with, leaving the wielder defenseless in case the blade decided not to lend its strength to his cause any longer.
Xarhazan didn’t like the notion, he didn’t like it at all. But he trusted his companion. Together, they had slain many evildoers who would bring mankind harm, plowing through the lines of enemies on the field of battle, standing proud and without equal. Those fights now felt as if they happened lifetimes ago. Perhaps they did.
Yes, he trusted him. Trusted him well enough to rely on his aid in times of need, times like these.
[Ready?] the man chuckled loudly as he started pouring what little remained of his mana into the weapon.
Not even bothering to look at the sword, he just kept walking. It didn’t take much longer for the archmage to reach his next destination.
As he arrived at the summit of the spire, Xarhazan shivered under the sudden gale of freezing wind, sending a chill right through him, down to his very bones. Exhaling slowly, he could see his breath condensing into milky white steam, before dissipating into thin air as the chilly breeze lazily blew past him.
The room, if you could even call the place as such, was very cold compared to the rest of the tower, which lacked the qualifications to be referred to as warm even during the hottest months of the year. The reason for the sudden drop in temperature was simple. In place of the thick stone walls, which were present everywhere else within the spire, only ten monolithic ornamented pillars, carved out of the highest quality marble, were the ones to support the crystal roof overhead. The only safety precaution against falling to the ground, if one was unlucky enough to to face such a predicament in this place, was a number of low, embellished railings. The exquisite craftsmanship and great care that went into creating this marvelous architectural piece of art could be easily discerned from taking but a quick glance at the place where the handrails transitioned into pillars, blending seamlessly into a spiral that crawled upwards, stopping centimeters below the delicate-looking statues protruding out of the pillars. One for each of the ascended races of the world.
The angels, demons, beastmen, undead, dragons, mirage people, wisemen, giants, elves and dwarves. Most of the individuals belonging to these races would surely kick up a fuss over being bundled up into such vague and otherwise extremely diverse groups, but there was only one reliable factor according to which an ascended race could be determined - the magic unique to that species. That single fact was something that not even the most obstinate of the aforementioned individuals would dare to dispute.
Xarhazan did not pay any heed to his surroundings, as he proceeded towards a solitary white marble stand, positioned directly below a giant transparent crystal hanging from the ceiling. The purpose of the contraption seemed to be gathering sunlight, as a single concentrated golden ray shone down upon an orb rested atop the polished pale surface.
[Hmpf] the archmage groaned, worry apparent in his eyes.
[How did it come to this…] Xarhazan muttered beneath his nose, [you were my greatest achievement, and yet here I stand, shivering in fear of you.]
The man took a deep breath, clutching his shaking fingers into fists in a futile attempt to stop the trembling.
“What am I even feeling afraid of, after all this time...”
He knew though. He knew what he was feeling afraid of, and he knew that the feeling was not unsubstantiated.
And he remembered. He remembered the day he gave up his humanity and ascended as a wiseman damn well. The oldest one to ever walk the world. He could have been the youngest, but he always felt reluctant, fearing he would lose touch with the reality in front of him, as the passage of time took everyone he had ever known, cared for and loved away from him, crumbling any and all attachments to the world, with the withering hands of indifference. But in the end, his unyielding thirst for justice won over his reluctance. He vowed to the memory of his loving family, that he would stand vigil over these lands, for as long as fate allowed him to. And as both a testament to this oath, and a tool to carry out its contents, Thrathmandil was forged, born of the arcane fires that burned away the old and feeble human, and gave birth to the wiseman Xarhazan.
Most acolytes aiming to become wisemen opted to use the excess arcane energies overflowing from the ritual of ascension to forge artefacts, that would either further their own research, or simply benefit themselves in one way or another.
However, he was different. He didn’t yearn for recognition, he didn’t strive to learn everything there was to know about the world. He simply wanted a tool that would allow him to see what he wanted to see. To obtain a means to an end, and the end he wished to achieve was to seek out and punish murderers, rapists, bandits and all the other scum that walked the lands he had sworn to protect.
They laughed at him, they taunted him, they mocked his goals, and belittled his resolve. In the end, they died performing the ritual, and he did not. Perhaps he might have been right in his choice, and perhaps not, but he was definitely extremely lucky. Only a handful of mages have ever managed to undergo the ritual, and live to talk about it.
Following his ascension, Xarhazan spent centuries seeking out criminals and bringing them to justice, but the more he tried to quell the forces of evil, the more despair he experienced when they appeared anew. Worst of all, the victim count never even seemed to slow down, as new cases of murders, rapes and other heinous crimes kept piling up on top of each other in an endless parade of suffering and death.
Driven into a corner, in a mental state dangerously close to madness, the worn-out archmage attempted something that was downright insane. He tried to take a peek at the future, to see evil before it could happen, and to prevent any further harm from being inflicted upon the innocent.
Although Xarhazan might have been a single step away from spiraling down into the abyss of insanity, that didn’t stop him from designing the most brilliant magical circle anyone had ever seen. A magical circle that spanned one hundred and twenty three meters, crawling up the walls of an enormous tower all the way from the layline flowing through the planet deep beneath the ground, up to the starry skies, connecting the two worlds via the means of countless interweaved inscriptions and runes, channeling all the power of those opposing worldly energies directly into the seeing orb, placed at the center of it all. In doing so, the wiseman doomed his greatest creation to forever remain locked in place, but in return granted it abilities far beyond its original purpose.
At last, Xarhazan was allowed a single glimpse through the eyes of gods. But what he saw there changed him. The world inside of the improved Thrathmandil was a world the wiseman recognised well, however, the scene into which he was thrust upon his arrival, was something straight out of his worst nightmares.
What he experienced in his vision, was a landscape covered in dark flames threatening to consume everything in sight. Blood red haze covered the twisted moon, as if lamenting the death of all that once walked the barren ground. Not a single star could be seen shining through the darkness, that filled the void where sky once used to be. The land was dead. This was a vision from the end of the world.
Though visibly shaken, the archmage emerged from this ordeal with a newfound determination. A new purpose, something only he could do. The world needed him, for he was the only one who knew what was going to happen. He was shown the vision, and he had to prevent it from happening.
[I can do it.] Xarhazan whispered to himself, as he felt grip of fear on his heart lessen ever so slightly.
The memory of what he saw on that fateful night was still haunting him, even though centuries have passed. All of his efforts, all of his research, all of his time since that incident were devoted to one thing: obtaining enough power to prevent that prophecy from ever coming true.
He could no longer see any justice or salvation in saving innocent lives, as they all seemed worthless and insignificant in comparison with the death of the world itself. And so, he stopped caring. He cooped himself up in his tower, researching feverishly day in and day out, as lifetimes passed, ignoring the pleas for help from those he had once vowed to protect.
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[I am so close!] mumbled the wiseman, building up his courage.
[I will be able to save everyone, I only need to find HER!] shaking off the last traces of fear that made him stay his hand, he extended his arms towards the orb, reaching for it with his mind as much as his fingers.
And there, he saw her, laying all bruised and battered, sleeping peacefully on the mossy ground. She was in a forest, but he did not recognise the location. That didn’t matter though, as he could find the spot easily now that Thrathmandil has revealed the location to him. Her image was so clear and vivid… Xarhazan almost felt as if he could reach her, grasp her.
He didn’t even realise he was tracing his fingertips along the smooth glassy surface of the orb, when all of a sudden, the pixie stood up and started looking around in panic.
[WHAT?!] The mage shouted in surprise.
As he was trying to make sense of how the tiny fae managed to sense his spell, the vision changed, spilling out of the confines of the orb in huge inky splatters, quickly covering the ground everywhere around him.
He recognised this phenomenon, as it had happened once before. On a night devoid of the light of moon so many years ago, on the night he was shown something, that he did not want to see.
[Why now?!]
In mere seconds, the scenery of the tower disappeared behind the veil of darkness, as he felt a savage yank pull his consciousness towards the illusion spreading outwards from the orb, as if painting its own, living portrait on the world, trying to overwrite it. Without his magic, he was hopeless to resist the force dragging him in. Soon, he succumbed to the pressure.
When he opened his eyes, he could see the world as he hoped to never see it again. Dying, burning, fading… He had to prevent this at any cost.
As he turned around in hopes of finding an exit from this nightmare, he spotted something that wasn’t supposed to be there. Something, that was different from the last time he found himself wondering this plane of torment.
What he saw, was the origin of all this destruction. Crouching on all four limbs like a beast, the creature emanated an aura of complete and unrestrained rage. Its long slender tail whisking around in the air, as if attached to an annoyed cat, with its long feathery wings folded neatly along the humanoid body, providing an additional layer of protection against attacks, as well as reducing air resistance when it pounced.
The creature was clad in the darkest darkness that one could - or more likely couldn’t, even hope to imagine. The only reason Xarhazan could make out it’s shape was because it was absorbing all the regular darkness from the surroundings, completely negating any meaning that the conventional definition of the word could ever hope to carry.
There was but one source of light-
[no…]
And it was situated on the monster’s chest-
[No…]
Shining with the violet arcane light, so typical of-
[NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!!]
Xarhazan shouted in despair, realising just what exactly the creature was.
[This cannot be possible!]
The creature turned its beastly head towards him.
[It cannot be YOU!]
Even through the veil of abysmal black covering the silhouette, the wiseman could still recognise the face of his familiar.
[It’s not my fault! IT’S NOT MY FAULT!] the man sobbed.
*SCREEEEEEEE* The creature screeched, flapping its wings with a force that could shatter reality, before disappearing from his sight.
***
When Xarhazan came to, he was back inside the highest floor of the tower, sprawled on the floor with his limbs stretched out, in a position unbefitting of one of such social status as himself.
The landscape of dread was nowhere to be seen, but he could still feel the tongues of corrupted flame licking his face, burning his soul. He felt weak, almost as if-
[I see you are awake now.] a voice resounded out of nowhere. It was a raspy, but enticing feminine voice, that Xarhazan did not recognise.
[Who-]
[Have you forgotten the poor little me after being cooped up in this god forsaken place for so long?] the voice asked playfully.
[Várgint?!]
[Yes?]
[Pfft! Hahahaha] the voice broke into an unrestrained laughter. It was obviously very amused by the confusion in the wiseman’s voice.
[Várgint! We have no time for this!] The old man shouted.
[...] the laughter ceased immediately, sensing the seriousness in the mage’s voice.
[How long have I been out?]
[Roughly ten days have passed since I awoke, depending on how much mana you have fed me-]
[Nineteen days…] the archmage was stupefied.
“How could this be?!”
[Xar, would you care to explain?] Várgint asked with a serious voice, not bothering to finish the sentence as she knew the mage would understand what the meaning behind the question.
[Well, where to start…] The man sighed, and then started recounting everything that happened since the first time he had seen the vision centuries ago.
Várgint just remained silent, letting him finish before speaking up.
[Are you sure you are talking about a pixie? Her actions don’t seem like something a creature acting solely on instinct would do.]
[...] silence filled the room as Xarhazan stroked his beard, deep in thought.
[You might be right. I may have created something that will turn out to be our undoing...]
[I didn’t mean that. Think about it. If she has a mind of her own, we could try to reason with her.] Várgint suggested softly.
[NO!] The man roared, [she is far too dangerous to be left alone! You haven’t seen the vision! You don’t know what she’s capable of!]
[...] Várgint remained silent, patiently waiting for the storm to pass, before speaking up again, calmly, but sternly.
[And who exactly do you think is responsible for that?]
[...] Now it was the archmage’s turn to be silent.
[Either way, we must find her first. We can always decide what to do with her later, when the threat is contained.] Xarhazan spoke as he unsteadily stood up, shaky from the days of starvation his body experienced during his mind’s imprisonment.
[We must go find her before she disappears for good. I can still sense her location thanks to Thrathmandil’s influence. Now quit yapping and get ready for battle!] commandeered the old man, signaling the end of the conversation.
Várgint just remained silent, giving the mage the time he needed to cool off.
***[The same day, late at night, in a certain forest clearing | POV: The pixie]***
[I know you’re there, show yourself!] a voice boomed across the tranquil meadow.
My eyelids sprung open immediately, as a violent surge of adrenaline rushed through my veins, assaulting each and every single fibre of muscle in my body, powering it up in preparation of the oncoming confrontation.
“How did that asshole find me?!” Went through my head, as my mind forcefully put an early stop to my body’s instinctual reaction, before it could actually go and jump up straight into a fighting stance.
If my recent experiences actually managed to teach me anything at all, it was definitely that if I was to survive a situation like this, I had to refrain from acting impulsively or rashly. What I needed to do, was think things through, and I needed to be quick about it.
However, the situation was dire, and if I didn’t start acting now, it would all be over in a flash. My heart was beating so fast that I thought it would jump out of my chest.
“Heart? Beating?” my thoughts froze for a second.
“Not. Now.” I mentally shouted at myself.
“Should I flee? Should I... fight?” A number of fresh, still bleeding emotional wounds in my heart throbbed painfully at the thought, but the ache reminded me of the cost of my foolishness. And that memory fueled my newfound resolve, and that resolve chained the swirling, chaotic emotions, and gave them purpose. This provided me with a measure of clarity, that I so desperately needed right now.
Even though I despised the man in front of me, who hurt Silvia, who hurt me… I had a different goal in life now. I had to get stronger, and dying in vain has never led to anyone achieving their dreams ever before.
“I was defeated precisely because I knew neither myself, nor the enemy. This time, I know better.”
Firing myself up, I started thinking.
“Step one, remain calm.”
As I took a deep breath, inhaling the fresh, cold air, I stilled my thoughts. I had to be extra careful not to let out any sound as I was exhaling, as that could betray my position to the foe search all over the clearing below.
“Step two, assess the situation.”
First, I calmly looked around, taking in the surroundings with my eyes’ newly acquired ability to see through the darkness as if it was the middle of the day. Then, I swiftly started analyzing all the information in order to pinpoint any possible flaws in the enemy’s approach.
My pursuer called out to me, which meant that he wasn’t aware of my exact location just yet, or else he would have attacked me in my sleep. That was good. At the very least, I still had a little bit of time left.
An immediate gaping hole in my defenses revealed itself to me though, as out of the corner of my eye, I caught a glimpse of my glowing wings.
“Dammit! I am like a freaking lighthouse in this darkness!” I grimaced for a second, before taking a closer look.
Thankfully, it seemed that the bigger part of the shining feathery surface was currently being covered by a layer of… something. As to what exactly that something actually was, my best bet would be a mixture of varying amounts of dried snake blood, mud, entrails and a lot of funeral pyre soot. However, the camouflage wasn’t nearly as perfect as I would have liked it to be, as some amount of light still managed to pass through the gaps in the crusty cover.
I needed to mend this immediate threat to my safety, to prevent any further rays of light from leaking out, and I had to do it as soon as possible. For now, the thick leafy crown of the oak hid me from the hunter’s sight, but it was only a matter of time before he noticed the oddity.
“How about plucking some leaves and covering myself with them?”
“... No.” I decided to not go through with that idea, as that would both result in unnecessary rustling, that would draw unwanted attention, as well as possibly fail to serve as a reliable form of disguise, considering that I wouldn’t be able to ascertain whether the leaves covered me well enough to prevent detection. That plan had simply way too many ifs.
Moving on to a different idea, the plan to escape by flight was swiftly denied as well. I wasn’t willing to risk exposing myself to a barrage of spells, not after my close encounter with one of those blasted things as I was escaping the tower not too long ago.
While I could try fleeing through the forest, I would most definitely blow my cover in choosing to do so, not to mention, that I would also have to take into account the possibility of crashing into one of the trees as I flew through the densely populated woods.
No, the only reasonable option left to me, was to rely on stealth. So far, I have managed to avoid being found, but the one glaring flaw of going through with this plan, was that the mage was already aware of my presence...
In order to succeed, I would have to sneak down the tree, and look for a solution to the whole glowing wings problem on the ground. Easier said than done, as flapping my wings was as much of a no-go, as shouting ‘over here!’ would be.
Left with no other choice, I had to steel myself for what was to come. Taking extreme care not to mess up this chance, I slowly, carefully descended down the trunk of the tree. My wings were packed tightly along my back, while my concentration focused completely on staying out of sight. This was no easy task, as over the course of the last few weeks, my body has grown considerably.
At last feeling the cold, damp ground with the bare soles of my feet, I had to make sure of the mage’s location. I couldn’t find it within myself to actually dare and go take a look at the clearing from behind the tree, but there had to be another, safer way to go about this.
Spotting a small pebble poking out of the muddy ground not too far away from me, I got an idea. Picking it up cautiously, I pulled my hand backwards, and swung it with all my might, throwing the slippery object towards the bushes to my left.
[What was that?!] an icy grip seized hold of my heart, as words resounded from what felt to be at most two to three meters away from me.
I could hear the rustling sounds of the mage’s feet, as they forced their way through the long grass. Feeling a little confident that I had managed to divert his attention in the other direction, even if only for a few brief moments, I quickly peeked from behind the tree, just in time to see the back of his robes fluttering in the wind.
Without the slightest hint of hesitation, I took off swiftly, but soundlessly, while making sure to choose a path of escape that would put as many obstacles between myself and the man hunting me, as possible.
Moments later, my foot felt the wet sensation of a puddle, as it submerged below the surface of the shallow muddy water.
“This will have to do.”
I loathed the idea of dirtying my wings on purpose, but I wasn’t vain enough to disregard this blessing in disguise because of such shallow feelings. As I felt the cold sensation of mud seep into my feathers, I sincerely prayed, that I wouldn’t regret impairing my ability to fly in the moments to come.
Not stopping at my wings, I ended up covering my whole body with the icky viscous substance. Any tiny advantage might turn out to be the decisive factor in this contest of wits. Adding in a couple of fallen leaves, my disguise was perfect.
“Ugh…”
“Okay, take a deep breath, you will get over it.”
“... Step three, decide on an appropriate measure to address the situation at hand.” I was feeling glad that I didn’t spend all of my time just lazing around the last few weeks. Going through Silvia’s memories in search of any information that might help me survive, was proving to be a particularly worthwhile effort, as the knowledge obtained from the crisis management manual was of great value to me right now. And they used to tell Silvia how useless those things would be in a real pinch.
“I should get away…” is what I would have liked to say at that moment, and even more so loved to do, but it was deep at night, and various predators roamed these woods at such a late hour. Moreover, the man had somehow managed to sniff me out, and that ‘somehow’ part was really bothering me, because unless I found out exactly how he was doing it, I could end up getting caught off-guard later.
I was faced with a dilemma. On one hand, it would be incredibly risky to go, and try to figure out the secret behind the creep’s undoubtedly unnatural newfound stalking talents, but on the other hand, it would be downright dumb of me to just let it slide. Time was ticking, and staying in one place while weighing my options was yet another addition to the streak of horrible ideas I could come up with tonight.
The only course of action, that wouldn’t practically equal suicide while at the same time allowing me to keep an eye on the enemy, was to find a good hidden vantage point, and play the waiting game.
As I was stealthily climbing up a particularly tall maple tree about twenty meters away from the old nest, the wind carried something interesting to me. It was the sound of conversation.
[Did you honestly think she would just reveal herself?] a voice I haven’t heard before said with a surprisingly gentle tone.
“Weird, I thought the man came alone... No more optimistic assumptions!”
[I shouted to startle the pest, and force her out of hiding!] replied the mage with an obvious hint of irritation in his voice.
[Well, bravo. And how did that work out for you, if I may ask?] a sarcastic reply came in response to his indignant attitude, but for some reason, I couldn’t really feel any animosity towards the man in the voice.
[We should just burn down this whole forest. Screw getting my powers back, if we don’t stop her-]
[Have you gone completely insane?! People hunt in these woods! What would you do if someone innocent got caught up in th-]
[AS IF I CARE!!! SHE CANNOT BE ALLOWED TO EXIST!]
[...] an uneasy silence filled the meadow, before the other voice sighed loudly and proclaimed with an iron clad resolution, [I know you are under a lot of stress because of the visions, but if you suggest something RETARDED like this EVER AGAIN, consider our partnership forfeit.]
There was a brief pause in the voice’s speech, as if it was allowing the mage some time in order to let the message sink in, before ushering a command:
[Now haul that lazy ass of yours back to the tower, so that we can find her again, you big moron.]
There was no further interaction between the two, as silence laid claim over the clearing once again.
“Well, well, what have we here?” I chuckled internally, as my mind processed the bounty of information gained from the conversation.
“I think I just overheard something really~ interesting.” I mused, remaining motionless as the sound of footsteps faded into the distance.
It would appear, that whatever they had used to find me, remained in the tower. That meant, that I was safe for now, unless all of this was some sort of trickery to lure me out.
“Why didn’t they just bring it with them. Or could it be that they couldn’t?” I played with the thought, before discarding it.
“No. No more wishful assumptions.”
I could only derive one definitive conclusion from their conversation: they had a tool with which they could track me down easily. And that meant, that I had to put as much distance between us as I possibly could.
“If I can’t hide from him, I will run. I will keep running for as long as it takes, and once I have gathered enough strength to face him, then I will run no more.”