The Patriarch watched as a trio of polished blue white stones crumbled to little more than sand. Such destruction belying the vanishing of the intended occupants’ very souls. Those stones weren’t the only ones to crumble. Half of the arrayed set had turned to sand as well. The rest glowed a faint blue while orange wisps sloughed away into the ether.

“What does this mean?” An attendant asked, a spark of concern in their voice.

The patriarch’s tail lashed beneath their ornate robes. This excursion, however avoidable in hindsight, had set them back centuries. Three masters, and several score adapts and journey mages along with every elemental that was present there. Gone. Alongside incalculable resources wasted, artifice gear, the siege weapons, observation constructs… What kind of spell could undo the leashing end of heart stone binding? A troubling development.

Just… To… Kill… One blasted mage. Admittedly an old foe, who has proven crafty, resourceful, disgustingly persistent. But despite all that, Ren should have died there in that fight. They had the power; they had the numbers. It meant nothing.

If Ren was still this powerful after so many centuries. This lethe and vigorous. The Patriarch, fifth of his line. Had gravely miscalculated. An Ayre native could live seven hundred years, give or take, through careful choices. But they were long out of their prime before they reached that age.

This story originates from Royal Road. Ensure the author gets the support they deserve by reading it there.

Did she turn to lichdom to keep this pointless spat going? Or was it something more? He’d have to investigate the histories for an answer.

“This was a setback.” The Patriarch said to his attendants. “An expensive, time wasting setback. Dravian, Asher and Cedric will be replaced in time. Suitable candidates will be found.”

“And replacing the lost elementals?”

“Maybe we could harvest from the clans. No one would notice or care.” A different attendant spoke.

“Only living souls that willingly accept the leash can be harvested. Do Not suggest it again.” The Patriarch grew annoyed with his subordinates. “Besides, we have a reliable stream of minor elementals. We’ll have to raise a new stock of mages ourselves. We have time on our side.” The word somehow rang hollow. The Patriarch did not have time, he was growing old himself. “Harvest the surviving soul stones.” How long was this vestige of the past going to hound them? Ren must be running on pure ego and spite by now.

The Patriarch shook his head. One person is not going to stop the plan that was set in motion so long ago.