Darian Voss
The faint glow of Stormwatch’s walls appeared in the distance, silhouetted against the darkening sky. The group’s pace quickened as the promise of rest drew nearer. The air was heavy with the tang of saltwater and the cries of gulls, signaling their proximity to the coast. After a week of relentless travel, even the sight of a city was enough to lift their spirits.
Aeryn Silvershadow, riding slightly ahead, was the first to break the silence. “There it is,” she said, her voice carrying just enough excitement to turn heads. “Stormwatch. Finally.”
Bruna, trailing slightly behind, let out a short laugh. “I thought I was hearing things. You? Optimistic?”
Aeryn turned in the saddle, smirking as the wind tugged at her short-cropped hair. “Don’t get used to it, Bruna. I’m just looking forward to collapsing somewhere with four walls and no bugs.”
“Somewhere with actual beds,” Thalrus rumbled, his deep voice carrying over the sounds of hooves on the dirt road. “I don’t care if the food’s cold or the sheets are scratchy—so long as there’s no dirt.”
“Agreed,” Orlen chimed in, his voice laced with weariness. “This refreshing spell’s doing wonders, but I’m one missed syllable away from passing out. I swear, if I have to cast it one more time—”
“You will,” Darian interjected with a faint smile. “We all will.”
The group fell into a brief silence, the exhaustion they’d been holding at bay pressing on them once more. Brother Kaelen broke the quiet, his voice calm and steady. “The magic keeps us moving, but it doesn’t replace true rest. The toll is still there, even if it’s not as visible. For us and the horses.”
Darian nodded, glancing at his own mount, which was moving with unnatural stamina. “It’s not sustainable,” he said, his tone thoughtful. “We’ve been pushing hard, and magic can only carry us so far. That’s why it’s important we make it to Stormwatch tonight.”
“Archmage Voss, ever the voice of reason,” Orlen quipped, his tired grin returning. “Still, I wouldn’t mind if you conjured up a feast. Or at least made the last of these rations taste like roast duck.”
Darian smirked but didn’t take the bait. “If I start enchanting your food, Tareth, you’ll never settle for normal meals again. I’m not setting that precedent.”
“He’s got a point,” Bruna said, her tone playful. “You’re already high maintenance as it is.”
Orlen placed a hand on his chest in mock offense. “High maintenance? I’ll have you know I’m the glue that holds this team together.”
“The loud glue,” Aeryn muttered under her breath, earning a chuckle from Thalrus.
“Alright,” Darian said, cutting through the banter but not unkindly. “Let’s focus. Stormwatch is just ahead. We’ll find an inn, something decent, and get the rest we need before heading to the docks in the morning.”
“Decent?” Bruna scoffed. “We’ve earned better than decent. We’ve been pushing ourselves and our mounts non-stop for days. I say we go for the best. Somewhere with big rooms, hot food, and proper ale.”
“Sounds like you’re thinking of The Azure Lantern,” Kaelen said, his lips curling into a faint smile. “I’ve stayed there before. It’s pricey, but it’ll meet all your demands—and then some.”
Orlen’s eyes lit up. “The Azure Lantern? I’ve heard about that place. Big feather beds, private baths, food served on silver trays. Now that’s an inn.”
“Silver trays won’t matter if you’re too tired to keep your eyes open,” Thalrus grumbled, though the corners of his mouth twitched in amusement. “But I wouldn’t say no to a proper bath.”
“Then it’s settled,” Darian said. “We’ll head to The Azure Lantern. We’ve earned it.”
As they drew closer to the city, Stormwatch’s grandeur became clearer. The towering walls were reinforced with iron bands, and the faint glow of torches lit the battlements, their light reflecting off the sleek lines of warships in the harbor. Even from this distance, the city buzzed with life, the sounds of dockworkers shouting commands mingling with the distant crash of waves.
Orlen let out a low whistle. “Never gets old, does it? Stormwatch—one of the busiest cities on Aldranis. Makes you feel small, doesn’t it?”
Bruna raised an eyebrow. “Speak for yourself. I’ve got more important things to think about than feeling small—like how much ale I can get before we set sail.”
Aeryn chuckled softly. “You’re all thinking too far ahead. Let’s focus on getting through the gates first.”
Thalrus nodded in agreement. “She’s right. Keep your eyes sharp. Cities like this can be just as dangerous as the wilderness if you’re not careful.”
Darian glanced back at the group, his expression calm but warm. “Relax, Thalrus. Stormwatch is as secure as they come. And we’re not exactly unknown—we’ve been through here enough times to recognize half the faces at the gates.”
“That doesn’t mean I’ll let my guard down,” Thalrus replied, his tone unwavering. “But I’ll take your word for it.”
As they approached the gates, the guards stepped forward, their polished armor catching the torchlight. One of them, a tall man with a scar running down his cheek, held up a hand.
“Halt. State your business.”
Darian dismounted smoothly, retrieving the Concord-issued seal from his robes. “Archmage Darian Voss, traveling under Concord orders. We’re here for urgent business and will be departing on the morning tide.”
The guard inspected the seal, then nodded sharply. “Welcome back, Archmage Voss. The gates are open to you. May your stay be brief and your business successful.”
The gates creaked open, and the group passed through into the city. The wide streets of Stormwatch stretched before them, bustling with activity even at this late hour. Merchants hurried to close their stalls, and sailors crowded around taverns, their raucous laughter spilling into the night air.
Kaelen slowed his horse slightly, glancing at Darian. “The Azure Lantern is near the central square, if memory serves.”
“It is,” Darian replied. “Let’s not waste time. The sooner we’re there, the sooner we can rest.”
Orlen chuckled, nudging his horse closer to Aeryn. “Think they’ll let us into a place like that looking like this? We’ve been on the road for days, with hardly a rest.”
Aeryn smirked. “I think the amount of gold between the lot of us will make them overlook a little dirt.”
Darian allowed himself a small laugh. “Let’s hope you’re right.”
As they made their way through the city, the group’s spirits lifted, the promise of a hot meal and a good night’s rest pushing their exhaustion to the background—if only for a little while.
The Azure Lantern was a beacon of comfort and luxury in the heart of Stormwatch, its polished brass fixtures gleaming in the soft glow of enchanted lanterns. Inside, the inn buzzed with activity, the warm atmosphere carrying the hum of lively conversation and the clatter of fine dinnerware. The private dining room reserved for the Silver Flame exuded elegance, its walls adorned with intricate tapestries and its long oak table set with a lavish feast that even seasoned adventurers couldn’t help but admire.
The table was laden with roasted lamb glazed in honey, spiced root vegetables, freshly baked bread with creamy butter, and goblets filled with fine wine or frothy ale. The group ate heartily, their spirits visibly lifted after the grueling week of travel. For the first time in days, they allowed themselves to relax, the camaraderie forged through years of shared trials filling the room with easy laughter and conversation.
“This,” Orlen Tareth said, raising his mug of ale with a smirk, “is why we do what we do. The treasure’s nice, but this? This makes it worth it.”
Aeryn Silvershadow chuckled softly, picking at a piece of bread. “I’m sure the treasure has nothing to do with it, right?”
“Of course not,” Orlen shot back, feigning indignation. “What kind of adventurer do you think I am?”
“The kind who complains about everything until there’s a drink in his hand,” Bruna Stoneflare quipped, her sharp grin flashing as she reached for another slice of roast duck. “Just like the rest of us.”
Thalrus Ironhide leaned back in his oversized chair, his deep voice rumbling with satisfaction. “The Azure Lantern knows how to treat a guest. My room is big enough for me to actually stretch out, the bed feels like it’s stuffed with clouds, and the bath? One of you humans could swim in it.”
Bruna snorted into her drink. “You? Complimenting human accommodations? I must’ve heard that wrong.”
Thalrus smirked, his dark eyes gleaming with humor. “Don’t get used to it. But credit where it’s due. That bath alone might be worth the coin.”
“I’m half-tempted to sneak into your room just to see this legendary bath,” Aeryn teased, swirling her wine.
“You’re welcome to try,” Thalrus replied with mock seriousness. “But only if you bring your own towel.”
Orlen leaned forward, a grin tugging at his lips. “Let’s be honest, though. That bath does sound tempting. Meanwhile, I’ll probably end up with a tub barely big enough to soak my feet.”
Thalrus let out a low laugh, raising his mug in mock acknowledgment. “Then maybe next time, you should grow bigger feet.”
The table erupted in laughter, and even Darian couldn’t suppress a faint smile as he leaned back in his chair. Watching the group banter, their bond clear in every exchange, reminded him of why he respected the Silver Flame. Their professionalism didn’t come at the expense of their humanity—they were a family as much as they were a team.
As the conversation turned to the journey ahead, Brother Kaelen’s calm voice brought them back to the task at hand. “The Windcutter leaves at first light. It’s the fastest ship in Stormwatch, enchanted from bow to stern. If the weather holds, it’ll get us to Valcrith in two weeks.”
Aeryn nodded, her sharp green eyes thoughtful. “The ship’s sleek. Crew looks competent, too. With a bit of luck, it’ll be a smooth journey.”
Bruna tilted her head, raising an eyebrow. “Two weeks on the water. I hope the captain stocked better provisions than what we’ve had lately.”
“I checked the cargo earlier,” Aeryn replied. “Plenty of supplies. And Captain Lyara doesn’t strike me as the type to cut corners.”
“Lyara’s one of the best,” Kaelen agreed. “She runs a tight ship. We’ll be in good hands.”
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Orlen shrugged, his grin returning. “Good hands are fine, but what about good bunks? I swear, if I get stuck with another creaky hammock…”
“Stop complaining, Tareth,” Bruna cut in, smirking. “At least you fit in the bunks. Poor Thalrus has to sleep on the deck half the time.”
Thalrus rolled his eyes but didn’t argue. “The stars make for better company anyway. I’ll leave the cramped quarters to the rest of you.”
“Cramped or not, we’ll manage,” Darian said, his tone steady. “The Windcutter isn’t built for comfort, but it’ll get us where we need to go quickly. That’s what matters.”
The table grew quiet for a moment, the weight of their mission settling over them. Aeryn glanced at Darian, her lips curling into a faint smirk. “You’ve been quiet tonight, Archmage. Too quiet. Don’t tell me we’re boring you.”
Darian chuckled softly, setting down his goblet. “Not at all. I’m just enjoying watching all of you argue about baths and bunks like this is your first expedition.”
Kaelen’s lips twitched into a faint smile. “Even after all these years, some things don’t change.”
“They shouldn’t,” Bruna said, raising her mug slightly. “If we didn’t have this, what’s the point?”
Darian inclined his head, his expression softening. The camaraderie in moments like this was as important as any strategy or plan. It reminded him of the human side of adventuring—the friendships, the laughter, and the bonds that made the hardships worthwhile.
As the meal wound down, the group began to rise, the promise of private rooms and hot baths calling to them like a siren’s song. Thalrus stretched, his massive arms brushing the low-hanging chandelier overhead. “Speaking of baths, I’m done here. If anyone needs me, I’ll be neck-deep in that tub until morning.”
“Don’t flood the place,” Orlen said with a grin. “I’d like to actually sleep tonight.”
Bruna snickered, wiping her hands on a cloth. “We’ll be lucky if you don’t drain the whole water supply.”
Thalrus grinned, his deep voice carrying a playful edge. “I’ll try to leave you some.”
The group exchanged a few more parting words before heading to their rooms, their laughter and warmth lingering in the dining room long after they’d left. Darian stayed behind for a moment, his gaze lingering on the empty plates and the flickering lanterns above. Tomorrow, they would leave the comfort of the Azure Lantern behind and step into the unknown once more. For now, though, he allowed himself to savor the rare stillness and allow his thoughts to wonder back to his wife.
The night in the Voss estate was heavy with silence, broken only by the faint rustling of leaves outside the tall windows. Within the master bedroom, however, the stillness fractured with the sound of violent coughing. Liora sat up in bed, her slender frame shaking as the fit wracked her body. Her hands gripped the edge of the blanket, knuckles pale against the moonlight filtering through the curtains.
The door swung open moments later, and Margaret hurried inside. The live-in maid, a sturdy woman in her fifties with graying hair tied back in a neat bun, carried a glass of water in one hand and a damp towel in the other. Her expression was etched with concern as she rushed to Liora’s bedside.
“Miss Liora!” Margaret exclaimed, placing the glass on the nightstand and sitting beside her. “Oh, my dear, that doesn’t sound good at all. Here, drink this.”
Liora nodded weakly, taking the glass with trembling hands. Margaret steadied it as Liora sipped, her coughing slowly subsiding into shallow, uneven breaths. After a moment, she leaned back against the pillows, her face pale but her lips curving into a faint smile.
“Thank you, Margaret,” she whispered, her voice hoarse. “I’m sorry to trouble you.”
“Trouble me?” Margaret scoffed, dabbing at Liora’s damp forehead with the towel. “You’re the one who’s been suffering like this for weeks, and you still refuse to call for help until it’s this bad. That’s what’s troubling.”
Liora sighed, resting her head against the pillows. “I’ve seen healers. They said it’s just a lingering cold.”
“A cold?” Margaret repeated incredulously. “Miss Liora, this isn’t a cold. It’s been going on far too long. You need more than a secondhand tonic and good wishes. You need proper care.”
Liora hesitated, her emerald eyes flickering toward the empty side of the bed. “Darian has enough to worry about,” she murmured. “I don’t want to add to his burdens.”
“Burdens?” Margaret said, her voice softening as she sat on the edge of the bed. “Miss Liora, you are no burden to that man. You’re his entire world. If he were here, he’d be marching you straight to the best healer in the Citadel himself.”
Liora’s lips twitched into a faint smile, but the worry in her gaze remained. “You’re right,” she said quietly, her fingers brushing against the delicate silver pendant around her neck. “I’ve put this off for too long. I’ll go to the Citadel tomorrow.”
Margaret exhaled, relief softening her stern expression. “Good. The mages there will know what to do. It’s about time you let someone take a proper look at you.”
“I’ll send word to Darian once I’ve been seen,” Liora added, her tone thoughtful. “He deserves to know, but… after. Let him focus on what he needs to do for now.”
Margaret’s brow furrowed, but she nodded. “As long as you’re seeing someone, I won’t press you. But promise me you won’t change your mind in the morning.”
“I promise,” Liora said softly, her smile returning as she reached out to squeeze Margaret’s hand. “Thank you for always looking out for me.”
Margaret’s expression softened further, and she patted Liora’s hand gently. “It’s what I’m here for, dear. Now, try to get some rest.”
Liora nodded, settling back into the bed as Margaret rose and adjusted the blankets around her. With a final glance to ensure her mistress was comfortable, Margaret took the glass and damp towel, heading toward the door.
“Goodnight, Miss Liora,” Margaret said, her voice warm but firm.
“Goodnight, Margaret,” Liora replied, her voice barely above a whisper.
As the door closed softly, Liora turned her gaze toward the window, the moonlight catching the faint shimmer of tears in her eyes. Her hand moved to the pendant again, clutching it tightly.
“Come back to me, Darian,” she whispered to the quiet room. “I’ll be waiting.”
The wind outside rustled the leaves gently, as if in answer, as the night settled back into silence.
The morning light bathed the bustling port of Stormwatch in golden hues, casting long shadows over the docks as waves gently lapped against the wooden pylons. The air was thick with the scent of salt and the faint tang of fish, mingling with the calls of gulls overhead. Sailors and dockworkers moved with purpose, their shouts and laughter blending into a lively cacophony.
The Silver Flame stood at the edge of the pier, their gear packed and ready as they waited to board the Windcutter. The sleek ship stood out even among the impressive fleet moored at the harbor. Its enchanted sails shimmered faintly with a silvery hue, catching the morning breeze even while docked. Runes were etched into the dark wood of the hull, glowing faintly with a steady light that hinted at the layers of magic woven into its design.
Orlen Tareth leaned over the edge of the dock, his sharp eyes fixed on the intricate runes. “Look at that,” he said, his voice tinged with awe. “Masterwork. Every line precise, every enchantment seamless. Whoever worked on this ship didn’t just know magic—they knew perfection.”
Darian, standing nearby, nodded as he traced the patterns with his eyes. “It’s rare to see this level of craftsmanship outside the Concord’s inner circles. These aren’t just speed runes. Look here.” He pointed to a faintly glowing sequence near the waterline. “Defensive warding. Likely against storms or underwater threats.”
Orlen stepped closer, squinting as he followed Darian’s gesture. “And here,” he added, tapping a series of symbols carved near the stern. “Mana conduits. They’re feeding the sails directly from the core enchantment. That’s why they shimmer even at rest.”
“Impressive,” Darian murmured, his tone genuinely admiring. “Whoever designed this ship wasn’t just a mage—they were an artist.”
Behind them, Bruna Stoneflare rolled her eyes. “If you two are done swooning over the boat, the rest of us are ready to board.”
Thalrus Ironhide let out a rumbling chuckle, adjusting the straps of his massive pack. “Let them have their moment, Bruna. They don’t get to fawn over things like this every day.”
“I don’t see the fuss,” Aeryn Silvershadow said lightly, though her smirk betrayed her amusement. “It’s a ship. As long as it gets us to Valcrith in one piece, it could be carved from driftwood for all I care.”
Kaelen shook his head, a faint smile playing at his lips. “It’s not every day you see something this finely crafted. Let them appreciate it. We’ll be on board soon enough.”
Bruna huffed but didn’t argue further as the two mages continued their impromptu analysis. Finally, the captain—a stern but capable woman with a no-nonsense air—approached, her boots clicking sharply against the pier.
“Admire it all you like, gentlemen,” Captain Lyara said, crossing her arms. “Just don’t be late getting aboard. The Windcutter waits for no one.”
Darian and Orlen exchanged a look, both smirking faintly before stepping back. “Our apologies, Captain,” Darian said with a slight bow of his head. “Your ship is a marvel.”
“She is,” Lyara replied curtly, motioning them toward the gangplank. “But she’s not here to be admired. She’s here to sail.”
The group boarded quickly, the crew moving with practiced efficiency to stow their supplies and secure the ship for departure. Once aboard, Darian glanced around, taking in the tightly packed deck and the hum of activity. Despite its compact design, the Windcutter was a marvel of organization, every detail tailored for speed and precision.
Below deck, the group was shown to their accommodations—if they could be called that. Each cabin was barely large enough to fit a narrow cot and a small chest for personal belongings. The walls were bare, save for a single hook to hang gear. The cramped quarters were a stark contrast to the luxury of the Azure Lantern, but none of them complained. The ship was built for speed, not comfort, and they all understood the necessity.
Darian ducked slightly as he entered his cabin, setting his bag of holding on the cot and surveying the space. “Cozy,” he remarked dryly, though his tone carried no malice.
Orlen, leaning against the doorframe of his own cabin across the narrow hall, smirked. “I’d say it’s more ‘efficient.’ Just enough room to sleep and nothing more.”
“I suppose we’ll make do,” Darian replied, sitting on the edge of the cot and testing its sturdiness. “At least it’s better than sleeping on deck.”
“You mean like Thalrus?” Orlen quipped, jerking his thumb over his shoulder.
Darian raised an eyebrow. “He’s staying on deck?”
“Claims it’s more comfortable,” Orlen said with a shrug. “Something about the stars being better company than creaking wood.”
Darian chuckled softly, shaking his head. “To each their own.”
As the two mages settled in, the hum of activity above deck continued, the sound of ropes creaking and sails unfurling signaling the ship’s readiness to depart. The Windcutter was about to set sail, carrying them closer to Valcrith and the unknown challenges ahead.
The morning sun illuminated the serene Hall of Vitalis within the Arcane Citadel, its walls adorned with soft glowing runes and tapestries depicting ancient healers at work. Liora sat in a comfortable chair, her hands folded in her lap as she waited. The warmth of the sunlight streaming through the tall windows did little to ease the weight in her chest, both from her condition and the uncertainty of what she was about to hear.
Master Eryndor Velain, the Arch-Healer of the Citadel, stood before her, his white and gold robes flowing as he carefully set down a crystal that had just completed a diagnostic spell. His silver hair shimmered faintly in the light, but his expression was heavy, the usual calm assurance in his eyes tinged with sadness.
“Miss Voss,” he began, his voice steady but gentle. “I’ve conducted a comprehensive analysis of your condition, using both physical and arcane diagnostic methods to ensure accuracy. It is as I suspected: the ailment affecting you is a cancer of the lungs. It is a purely physical illness, one that has been developing for some time and has now reached an advanced stage.”
Liora’s grip tightened on her hands, her emerald eyes fixed on the healer. “And… what does that mean for me?” she asked, her voice barely above a whisper.
Eryndor took a deep breath, his gaze unwavering as he continued. “Cancer is a corruption of the body’s natural processes, where cells grow uncontrollably and disrupt the functions of healthy tissue. The damage it has caused to your lungs is extensive, significantly reducing their capacity. This is why you’ve been coughing and experiencing fatigue.”
He paused, choosing his next words carefully. “Magic, while powerful, cannot cure everything. Healing magic relies on the body’s ability to heal itself, to regenerate and restore balance. But cancer is fundamentally different. It is a part of your body, corrupted and out of control. If we were to use magic to attempt a direct healing, such as through a potion or restorative spell, it would only accelerate the growth of the cancer, worsening the situation.”
Liora’s lips parted slightly, her breath catching. “There’s… nothing you can do?”
Eryndor’s face softened, his voice filled with quiet regret. “I can help ease your symptoms—reduce your pain, improve your breathing for a time. There are spells and tonics that can provide temporary relief, but as for a cure… I’m afraid there is none. Not with the tools we have, nor with the knowledge currently at our disposal.”
She sat back slightly, her eyes distant as she processed his words. “How long… do I have?”
He hesitated for only a moment, his honesty unwavering. “If the cancer progresses at its current rate… weeks, perhaps a few months. It is difficult to say with precision. I would advise you to focus on what time you do have, and spend it with those you hold dear.”
Liora’s hand moved to the silver pendant around her neck, her fingers trembling slightly as she held it tightly. “Darian… he doesn’t know. I didn’t want to distract him, not while he’s away.”
Eryndor inclined his head. “I understand, Miss Voss. But I urge you to share this with him when you feel ready. Your husband deserves to know, as he would want to support you through this.”
She nodded faintly, her composure remarkable despite the storm of emotions clearly swirling beneath the surface. “Thank you, Master Velain. For your honesty.”
He placed a comforting hand on the back of her chair, his expression kind. “You are a woman of great strength, Miss Voss. If there is anything I or the Hall of Vitalis can do to make this journey easier for you, please do not hesitate to ask.”
“I appreciate that,” she replied softly, her voice steady despite the tears welling in her eyes. “You’ve done more than enough.”
Eryndor gave her a small bow, then stepped back, his robes whispering against the stone floor as he left her to her thoughts. The room fell silent again, save for the faint hum of the runes in the walls. Liora sat still, staring out at the sunlit gardens beyond the tall windows.
Her hand tightened around the pendant, her mind drifting to the last time she had seen Darian. His smile, his touch, the way his eyes lit up when he spoke of their future together—it all felt so distant now. Tears slipped silently down her cheeks as she whispered to herself, “Darian… I need you to come back to me. Please, come back to me.”
The morning sunlight continued to bathe the room, a sharp contrast to the quiet despair settling over her as she sat alone.
The communication wing of the Arcane Citadel was a marvel of magical ingenuity. The chamber was circular, its high walls etched with glowing runes that pulsed softly, their rhythm steady and hypnotic. Floating orbs of light illuminated the room, casting a serene glow over the polished stone floors. At the center, a large, circular platform inscribed with intricate symbols shimmered faintly, ready to channel the words of those who needed to reach loved ones across vast distances.
Liora stepped onto the platform, her shoulders squared despite the weight pressing down on her chest. The mage attending the chamber, a tall man in deep blue robes adorned with silver sigils, approached with a respectful nod.
“Miss Voss,” he said softly, his voice professional yet tinged with warmth. “The platform is ready. Once you begin speaking, your words will be carried directly to Archmage Voss. Please, take your time.”
Liora nodded, her fingers brushing against the silver pendant around her neck as she steadied herself. Taking a deep breath, she stepped to the center of the platform, and the runes beneath her feet flared to life. A soft hum filled the air, the magic attuning itself to her voice and intent.
She closed her eyes and began to speak, her voice clear but carrying the weight of her emotions.
“Darian, my love. I hope this message reaches you safely. I didn’t want to distract you, but… I need you to know.” Her breath hitched slightly, but she pressed on. “I’ve been to the Citadel healers, and they’ve confirmed what I feared. It’s… it’s a cancer. In my lungs. They say there’s nothing they can do. Nothing that will stop it.”
She paused, her hand clutching the pendant tightly. “I don’t know how much time I have left, but please, Darian, know that I love you with all my heart. You’ve always been my world. Please… come back to me when you can. I’ll be waiting for you. Always.”
As her words ended, the light around her dimmed, the runes fading back into silence. Liora opened her eyes, her emerald gaze meeting the mage’s.
“Will it reach him?” she asked softly.
The mage inclined his head. “The message will travel directly to Archmage Voss and manifest for him as if you were speaking to him in person. Rest assured, Miss Voss. He will hear you.”
Liora nodded faintly, her expression a mix of hope and sorrow. “Thank you,” she whispered before stepping down from the platform and leaving the chamber, the weight of her message now out of her hands.
High above the Citadel, in the sanctum of the Archmage Kaelus, the air shimmered with threads of magic. Mirrors floated in precise alignment, each reflecting faintly glowing strands of light that represented the countless messages being sent to and from the Citadel’s network.
Kaelus stood in the center of the room, his silver hair gleaming in the soft light as he reviewed the threads with meticulous focus. His piercing blue eyes scanned each incoming communication, seeking anything that might jeopardize the Concord’s operations or its most critical missions.
A new thread materialized before him, bearing the signature of Archmage Darian Voss. Kaelus reached out, the thread responding to his touch as it unraveled into a shimmering image of Liora. Her voice filled the room, soft yet desperate, as her message unfolded.
“Darian, my love. I hope this message reaches you safely…”
Kaelus’s expression darkened as he listened, his gaze unyielding but his lips tightening ever so slightly. By the time Liora’s message concluded, the sanctum was silent, save for the faint hum of magic. Kaelus waved his hand, dismissing the projection, and turned to his aide—a young mage standing near the edge of the room with a scroll in hand.
“This message will not reach Archmage Voss,” Kaelus said firmly, his voice calm but resolute.
The aide hesitated, his brow furrowing. “But, Archmage, it’s a personal message from his wife. Surely—”
Kaelus raised a hand, silencing him. “Surely you understand the stakes of this mission,” he said, his tone sharp but measured. “If Voss receives this message, he will abandon his post immediately. His love for his wife is unwavering—admirable, yes, but also a liability in this moment. The mission he undertakes is critical, not just to the Concord, but to the survival of thousands. We cannot afford to lose him.”
The aide glanced at the dissipating thread, his unease evident. “And Miss Voss? What happens to her?”
Kaelus’s gaze softened slightly, but his resolve remained firm. “She deserves her husband at her side, but the needs of the many outweigh the needs of the few. Darian Voss must remain focused. If he learns of her condition now, it could compromise everything.”
The aide’s shoulders sagged slightly, but he nodded. “I understand, Archmage. The message will remain here.”
Kaelus inclined his head, his expression unreadable. “Good. Ensure it is recorded and sealed within the restricted archives. When this mission is complete, we will revisit this matter.”
As the aide turned to carry out his orders, Kaelus remained still, his gaze lingering on the space where Liora’s projection had stood moments before.
“Forgive me, Liora,” he murmured softly, his voice barely audible. “But this is how it must be.”
He turned away, the threads of light shifting and reforming around him as the sanctum returned to its steady hum of activity. The intercepted message faded into the ether, its heartfelt words lost to the one they were meant for.