Duels.
At first, Elaine never understood their appeal.
Persons hailing from all walks of life—prideful and arrogant goldbloods, lowborns with empty pockets, rib cages tightly compacted against their diaphragms—would swarm at these events, much like fire pixies around a lantern or griffins on the cliff sides of Diamer Coast. But in time, slowly, she unearthed the truth.
There was undoubtedly a thrill to combat, one that couldn't be imitated. It was pure, it was fire, it was bright. People chased that feeling, hoping to catch it in their hands, even if they could only hold onto it for a few fleeting moments. Perhaps it was an indicator of how mundane their average lives were. Or maybe this was just a definitive and undeniable characteristic of human nature, creatures that they were, scrounging after the corpse of a spectacle.
It wasn't hard to decipher the beginning of a duel, as there always tended to be an unmistakable atmosphere charged with tension. Set in the heart of a sprawling meadow, this small countryside town was cut off from the clamor and intrigue of noble society, creating an air of simplicity and isolation. The crisp winter air, tinged with the scent of frost and pine, compounded the gravity of such confrontations. During the winter months, when the days were short and the nights long, Page typically didn’t entertain visitors for long; most travelers knew better than to overstay their welcome in a town where the warmth of the hearth could quickly turn cold with suspicion.
This day, in particular, felt like an ember flickering defiantly in a relentless blizzard; a small pool of warmth nestled in an otherwise frigid and desolate dystopia. The dim light of a gray, overcast sky hung low and the ground was bare, the last remnants of snow long since melted away, leaving behind patches of slick earth and glistening stones. Yet, if she squinted her eyes, focusing intently on the jagged edges of the crumbling walls, she could still discern heaps of black-stained powder strewn about, remnants of a winter that once had the power to coat everything in white.
But there was a duel going on. Yes, an especially loud one. There was magic in the air...No, what was it called? Essence. That's right, Essence, the lifeblood of every living creature on the planet. Some possessed more than others, and the shadows weren't lucky enough to receive Aeris' Gift; the mages and the dullards. Elaine was the former—a mage—and she tasted the particles of Essence as they floated in the evening sky.
Heaven above was one colossal canvas, and it had been brushed over with silky violet as pink clouds rolled. There were only a handful of stars, but they were supposed to be home by now. Ellend was supposed to be home.
His absence only meant one of two things: he'd either nodded off in the Silver Dragon again—his face buried in a textbook as was the case whenever she was forced to march in there and grab him—or he was in a duel.
The clapping of hands. Men shouting and bickering over who they predicted would win, a fist filled with duls or bronze. Profane phrases spitting off someone's tongue. Yes, there it was. That feeling. That special, blood-pumping, eye-splitting feeling of a duel. Elaine was little, and so if one of the many familiar strangers shoved their thigh or hip into her, surely, she'd stumble to the ground. And she couldn't have that, she'd just washed this dress. Her mother would be furious. Aeris, save her. Nothing could stop that woman when she was upset. But Elaine considered herself somewhat of an expert when it came to navigating across these mazes of faces. A step there, a pivot to the right, a slight shuffle forward.
She gasped sharply as she pushed her head through the throng in the front row. Here, the infectious excitement buzzed like electricity in the air, reaching a fever pitch. The crowd had formed a sizable ring around the two combatants, a blend of eager spectators and anxious onlookers, all of them acutely aware of the danger that lurked within the arena. They had to maintain a safe distance; a stray spell misfired could easily convert a thrilling spectacle into a trip to a Medical Mage tent for one of the unprepared. Naturally, Elaine's eyes were riveted on her brother, watching intently as he maneuvered with both skill and determination, his expression a mix of focus and exhilaration.
He was losing.
Ellend was a well-put-together lad, tall and slightly lanky, with a mop of unkempt chocolate hair that often fell into his brown eyes. He had just turned fifteen a month ago, marking him one year older than herself. Known for his warm smile and easy laughter, he was fairly popular in town, effortlessly winning the affection of his peers. The boy possessed a remarkable gift for Spellcasting, often demonstrated when he conjured small bursts of light or summoned breezes that delighted those around him.
Every now and again, she’d catch him in the fields, chuckling with a local farmgirl, their laughter carried on the wind, or helping Lacy—who clearly had eyes for him—with carrying heavy sacks of hay into her family's farm. Ellend had managed to capture the hearts of nearly everyone, his charisma and kind nature extending as far as the village market. On occasion, she would see him practicing his magic at the edge of the woods, the energy radiating from him like sunlight breaking through the clouds, illuminating the dull background and making it seem alive with possibilities. His magic shone as bright as the sun, enchanting all who witnessed it.
The narrative has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the infringement.
But he was...losing?
There he was, crouched on one knee, a hand firmly gripping his simple commoner's wand, worn smooth by months of non-stop training. His tousled chocolate hair spilled over the sides of his head, catching the afternoon sunlight and glinting with hints of auburn. His eyes, bright and resolute, were fixated ahead, brimming with determination as droplets of sweat trickled down his freckled cheeks, causing them to glisten. Approaching him was a figure bearing no familiar face from the neighborhood; the boy was an unmistakable outsider. Clad in elaborate garments that spoke of noble heritage—rich, deep colors and intricate embroidery—he contrasted starkly with the simplicity of his surroundings. The refined attire suggested a life of luxury and privilege, a world far removed from the rough edges of common existence.
"Had enough, lowborn? Or are you just going to keep blubbering in the filth?" He spoke in a harsh, abrasive tone of voice, his words cutting through the air like shards of glass, each sentence erupting with intensity, as he shouted nearly every other word. And that condescending glare he wore made Elaine want to dart into the dueling ring and slap him in the face. She didn't. If she broke the terms set by this duel, then she'd technically be wrong. "I have to say," the noble smirked, "when I heard a tough sorcerer was around, I thought they'd at least be talented. But you barely put up a fight. How incredibly disappointing."
Disappointing? Elaine thought, her eyes wide with shock, and she didn't even realize her fists were trembling at her sides. What was this stranger talking about? Ellend was undeniably the most powerful sorcerer in their quaint town. Yet, as she pondered his words, the enormity of Incante, a sprawling country teeming with diverse cultures and formidable magic users, loomed in her mind. Did being the best in such a small, seemingly insignificant domain really hold any weight in the grand tapestry of a nation filled with untold power and ancient secrets? Until this moment, Elaine had never even considered that possibility.
Ellend spat something red into the dirt, which drained over his bottom lip and down his chin. As he muttered to himself, the boy somehow mustered the strength to rise to his feet. The tip of his wand glowed faintly with the light of magic, golden sparks sputtering out. "You talk too much, sulmo," Ellend replied in a punctured tone, a hand cradling his stomach.
The noble grinned at him. "You're just a glutton for punishment, aren't you? Very well, have it your way."
Wh...What is that?
His green eyes burned bright as arcs of violet lightning crackled around him in ribbons. There was also a certain kind of humming sound that tickled her ears, accumulating steadily like an approaching storm. As he pointed his wand towards Ellend, the noble sorcerer shouted a strange phrase she'd never heard. "Lightning Magic: Fulmeno Pisto!"
In a flash, a brilliant bolt of screeching electricity surged from the noble's intricately designed blue wand. The crackling energy zig-zagged through the air of the small dueling ring, a confined space, and with an explosive intensity, the bolt arched and struck Ellend directly in the waist, the impact echoing with a deafening crack that reverberated in her chest. Elaine watched, heart racing, as the energy enveloped him, bright and fierce, and a horrific, pain-filled shriek left his throat. Elaine gaped, and a strange sensation consumed her. The noble had won. He laughed triumphantly as his peers gathered around him, singing his praises. The smell of burnt flesh—a thick, acrid stench—permeated her nostrils as Ellend lay there motionless on the ground, dressed in a coffin of charred clothing.
The audience collectively gasped in astonishment, yet, among the murmurs of awe, Elaine discerned the occasional snicker and even a few cheers, as if some had not grasped the magnitude of what just transpired. She felt a flicker of frustration—why hadn’t anyone truly noticed the depth of the spectacle? Were their eyes simply not attuned to the extraordinary, or were they blissfully ignorant of the mystic arts that danced so vividly before them?
The spell the stranger had cast, it was so...beautiful A breathtaking tapestry of shimmering Essence. Elaine could hardly blink as she soaked in the spectacle, her eyes pooling with unshed tears of wonder. Her heart pounded fervently against her chest, a wild rhythm of excitement that coursed through her veins. This was not just magic; it felt like a revelation.
She couldn’t shake the burning desire to experience it all over again. If she approached the noble sorcerer, if she asked just right, would he be willing to cast the spell once more? The thought fluttered in her mind like the delicate wings of a butterfly. And what if, in a moment of generosity or curiosity, he decided to enlighten her on the secrets behind his formidable power? The mere idea was intoxicating. She felt as though she stood on the precipice of discovery, yearning to unravel the mystery and learn the art of such breathtaking sorcery for herself. That knowledge couldn't be ignored. If she asked, would he—
Wait! What am I doing?!
Elaine shook herself out of the trance, and she sprung for her brother. "Ellend!" she shouted, kneeling beside him, a hand cushioning the rear of his scalp. His eyes were closed, his chest raised and lowered with each heavy breath, and there was a nasty, discolored mark running over his mouth and across his left eye. The electricity had singed him well. But he was alive. Thank Aeris, he was still alive. Miraculously, he hadn't let go of his wand—it slumbered with him, enclosed inside his fist. Elaine glanced upward at the figure of the noble again; he strode confidently away, flanked by a cadre of equally well-dressed companions. The sight of him leaving in such a casual manner, completely disregarding the fallen sorcerer on the ground, stirred a mix of emotions within her—disappointment, anger, and a touch of sadness.
It didn't surprise her much, however. In this world, power and status were dictated by the ability to wield magic. The whispers of the gathered crowd echoed her thoughts; if one couldn't master their Gift, then a bleak fate awaited them. Despair was the only companion left for those who failed to harness their magic, and the noble’s callousness was a stark reminder of the ruthless hierarchy that governed their lives.