Ten years later

The Warlock of Canterbury reclined in his austere office within the ancient cathedral, its walls steeped in centuries of shadow. His gaze was fixed on a timeworn map of Kent sprawled across a solid oak desk. The flickering candlelight danced across penciled boundaries and intricate markers, casting erratic shadows. The candles, rendered from animal fat, gave off a pungent aroma of burning pig grease that filled the room with an oppressive scent.

Warren Orlock’s eyes settled on a particular section of the map, where he had personally overseen the establishment of a large apiary. He harbored hopes that by next year, the bees would produce enough wax to replace the repellent candles now in use.

For the past decade, Warren had dedicated himself to the arduous task of rebuilding civilization, bolstered by the arcane powers bestowed upon him by the MetaTEC device strapped to his wrist. It was a convenient lie he told himself to obscure the grim truth of the first two years of the apocalypse, during which he had cowered in terror and hoarded his magic to shield his family. He brushed these dismal memories aside as his gaze swept over the map. The Canterbury crusade had borne fruit; around four thousand souls now thrived within the fortified walls of the 14th-century cathedral. The defenses had been reinforced to withstand the threats of the 21st century. The route east was cleared up to Sandwich, opening vast tracts of land for farming to sustain the Canterbury colony. The pressing issue now was whether to push northwest towards London, seeking out other magi to bolster their numbers, or to expand northwards towards Whitstable and Herne Bay to establish fishing settlements. While Canterbury's leadership favored northward expansion, Warren believed their objectives would be achieved more swiftly with the presence of additional magi.

Despite recent discoveries showing that metal weapons—swords, axes, and the like—could inflict damage on sprites, the challenge remained to find warriors willing to risk their lives for the grandiose vision of rebuilding civilization. Furthermore, Cypher's latest missives had detailed runic circuitry designs meant to enhance weapons and armor, but convincing people to trust these innovations remained a formidable obstacle. Warren sighed, grappling with his indecision, and found his hand wandering to the pouch on his belt—the precious memento of his fallen mentor. It was becoming an irksome habit.

A sharp knock at the door broke his reverie, and the door swung open to admit a middle-aged woman. Gloria Orlock entered with an air of casual authority that only a mother could possess.

“Warren, Dad wanted me to let you know that the new wheat fields are almost ready,” Gloria announced with brisk efficiency.

Warren nodded, accustomed to her direct manner. “I’ll inform the Counsellor for Agriculture so he can organize a workforce.”

He paused, expecting her to elaborate.

This text was taken from Royal Road. Help the author by reading the original version there.

“Well, I was wondering if you’d mind lending a hand with the harvest,” Gloria said, her voice practical but laced with an undercurrent of concern. “I know it’s safe out there, but everyone seems a bit less skittish when you’re around.”

The Warlock of Canterbury allowed a small, wry smile to touch his lips. Though it was true that his presence reassured the colonists, Gloria’s request had a subtler intent. Beneath the surface, she was asking him to keep an eye on his father, who might uncover some forgotten piece of technology during the harvest—a relic from the old world that could have been missed in previous sweeps.

“Sure thing, Mum,” Warren replied, his tone carrying a touch of reluctant acceptance. “I’ll head down there. Just make sure to schedule it with my secretary.”

Gloria gave a brisk nod, her task done. “Oh, and before I forget, someone named Cypher is here to see you. Though, if you ask me, he bears a striking resemblance to your old friend, Sid.”

With that, Gloria left, neglecting to close the door behind her. Warren stood in stunned silence, blinking as the news sank in. After a decade of self-imposed isolation, Sid had chosen this moment to reappear. Anger flared within him, mingling with the weight of unresolved challenges that had accumulated over the years. Sid had been comfortably hidden away while Warren had faced the relentless grind of rebuilding and protecting their world.

Gripping his spear, Soul Piercer, which stood like a sentinel by the wall, Warren pulled his hood up and stormed out of his office. His long coat billowed dramatically behind him as he navigated the cathedral’s labyrinthine corridors, his urgency causing several administrative clerks to jump aside in surprise.

He descended the staircases with purposeful strides, each step echoing his agitation, until he reached the transept and veered towards the nave. At the base of the steps leading to the choir—the heart of Canterbury’s power—stood Siddiq Ashkar, flanked by an imposing honor guard of nearly three dozen. The sight of his old acquaintance, now surrounded by such a display of authority, only deepened Warren’s scowl.

“Cypher!” Warren’s voice cut through the clamor of the nave with the authority of a battle standard. The bustling town square fell momentarily silent as the name echoed off the cathedral’s stone walls. Cypher, caught mid-exchange with an administrative magister, turned to face the source of the interruption. The magister’s expression shifted from irritation to bewilderment as Cypher’s gaze settled on the Warlock of Canterbury.

“Ah, Warlock,” Cypher said with a faint smile, his tone laced with a mix of irony and familiarity. “As I live and breathe. You’re looking well.”

Warren strode forward, his steps deliberate, his face a mask of indecision. The old tension between them crackled in the air—should he offer an embrace or deliver a blow? He chose a middle ground, halting a respectful distance away, his spear held upright like a sentinel’s staff.

“Why are you here?” Warren’s tone was clipped, authoritative, his words a demand rather than a query.

“I have a proposal for you,” Cypher replied smoothly, his eyes glinting with the promise of something significant. “One that could greatly benefit this colony of yours.”

Warren’s response was immediate and sharp. “It is not my colony,” he said, making sure the administrative magister could overhear. “This place is governed by the council. My influence is notable, but the authority to make decisions lies with them.”

“I see,” Cypher acknowledged, his gaze sweeping over the magister with a hint of disdain. “In that case, can we speak in private? Perhaps you could forward my proposal to the council. I’m not making much headway with this one.” Cypher tilted his head towards the magister, who bristled at the implicit slight.

Warren gave a curt nod, his demeanor softening just enough to be accommodating. He gestured for Cypher to follow him. “Very well. We’ll continue this discussion in the chapter house.”

As they made their way to the adjacent building, the cathedral’s grand architecture loomed overhead, a silent witness to the renewed tension between old friends and their fractured paths.