The ancient Haliae Buccaneers used the region’s many caves to hide their plundered treasures in ages past. Often those treasures included stolen daughters and wives, chauvinistically called ‘booty.’ Alexia found an aperture in the cavern wall sealed shut with an ancient and rusted gate. Behind the gate, a young boy sobbed while an adolescent girl tried to comfort him. Several others huddled in the shadows, each vying to be as far from the gate as possible. Alexia stared at the simple chain lock in disbelief. Never in all her studies had she heard of ogres like the ones in this cavern.
Soon there would be time to analyze the truth of these ogres. She already had hypotheses clawing their way through more immediate concerns.
Alexia channeled Celegana’s strength, breaking a chunk of stone from the cave wall, and with Zafrir’s power, she hurled it at the lock. The chain shattered, the gate groaned open and slammed against the stone wall.
Stepping through, Alexia smiled at the prisoners, shining light and trying her best to radiate hope. There were six of them: two small boys, a girl about her own age, an old man, and two grown men. Their wide-eyed disbelief melted into joy as they realized they were saved.
The teenage girl was the first to approach, her voice lacking the rural accent of most commoners. “Oh, Leverith! Are the monsters dead?”
Alexia met her gaze and, for once, found words easy to locate. “Yes. I’ve come to take you home.”
The girl’s face lit up with relief, and the others erupted in gasps and cries of joy. “You hear that, Wyl? We’re saved!” the girl exclaimed, hugging one of the boys. Alexia saw the resemblance between Endrei and his son and bit down on her trembling lip, fighting back tears.
The boy, Wyl, managed a small smile, and in that moment, every hardship she endured felt worth it. She would relive this day a hundred times over for that smile.
The girl turned back to her. “We held on to hope that a hero would come. I kept telling them, ‘The Savior herself will come for us. She won’t let us rot here.’”
Alexia’s heart ached. Keeping her mask on was an epic struggle, but she bit her lip harder, willing herself not to cry. She couldn’t speak without breaking. Be the Second Great Wizard, she reminded herself.
Wyl’s small voice broke through her thoughts. “Are ye ‘Lexia?”
Her chest tightened. The weight of their expectations made her want to hide, to quench the light and disappear into the darkness. But this was her purpose, and she knew that she needed to step into this fear. She straightened, her voice steady but emotionless. “I am Alexia Bluerose. Endrei of Fritjof told me people had been taken, and that the ogres would return for more.”
Wyl beamed. “That’s my pa!”
“Your father is brave,” Alexia said, kneeling to Wyl’s height. “He was going to come here alone if he hadn’t found us.”
The boy, too overjoyed to contain himself, ran up and hugged her tightly. The awkwardness felt like the prickle of a thousand tiny needles, yet there was also warmth, and the feeling that she had done one thing right today.
As the group began to speak amongst themselves, exclaiming their gratitude, Alexia forced a smile, but inside she felt the familiar discomfort of being the center of attention. For years, she had managed her fame by keeping her head down, waving, and moving quickly past the fanfare with a forced smile or a stoic mask. But today, there was no escape. She reminded herself constantly of her purpose. She could push through the discomfort—she had to.
Alexia analyzed their wounds. With their open gratitude and adoration, she found it easy to channel Leverith’s loving spirit. The dismal cave glowed softly as she worked, mending cuts, bruises, and more serious injuries. The warmth of Leverith’s power filled the space, transforming the atmosphere from one of despair to hope as she led them toward the exit.
Timmeck had organized the ogres’ loot, binding it securely, while Maleon meticulously collected ogre teeth—valuable components for potioneering. When Timmeck saw the survivors trailing behind Alexia, his jaw dropped in astonishment.
“These are my companions,” Alexia introduced. “Sir Timmeck Eckhard of the Seekers of Sin, and Master Maleon Stonebreaker. They helped me defeat the ogres.”
The rescued group murmured their appreciation. Alexia kept a close eye on Maleon, curious how he’d handle the sudden attention. He deflected the praise back to her with a grin. “It was Master Alexia who believed you could still be saved and insisted on taking on the ogres. Once the fight began, she kept us alive.”
Timmeck nodded in agreement. “We’re all blessed by Leverith’s grace, thanks to her.”
The second wave of gratitude washed over Alexia, making her just as uneasy as before. But amidst the awkwardness, a glimmer of hope sparked within her. For the first time, she saw herself not just as a dreamer, but as someone capable of leading.
As they prepared to leave the cave, Maleon placed a hand on her shoulder. “Believe it, Alexia. This is who you are—and it’s only a glimpse of what you’ll become.”
She turned to him, touched by the depth of his words. “Blink twice if that’s really you, Stonebreaker.”
He humored her with two quick winks. “I thought everyone else wanted to force the most magnificent of circles into becoming a square; I thought I was doing you a favor by trying to help you accept yourself. But I was wrong. You can be whatever shape you want to be—and you’ll be great at it.”
He pointed toward the survivors, now following Timmeck through the dark, rainy forest. “Despite my doubts, despite me fighting you every step of the way, you stood your ground. How can I not believe in you now?”
Alexia’s ears harvested every word as he built her confidence. She met his gaze, tears coalescing in her eyes.
“You inspired their love, their hope,” Maleon said, jabbing her shoulder gently. “You can become anything you want.”
Her eyes dropped, unable to hold his without crying. “Thank you, Maleon.”
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Lifting her chin, he brought her gaze back to his. “Head up, hero. You’ve changed the most stubborn among us—but your work isn’t done yet.”
Alexia fought back the tears, but they came anyway. Maleon’s warm smile never wavered. “Good,” he said softly. “You don’t need that mask with me. Or with anyone. Be Alexia, and you’ll be everything anyone ever needs you to be.”
She nodded, letting the tears fall. “I’ll try.”
“I know,” Maleon replied. “And if I know you, you’ll succeed.”
As she moved to catch up with the rest of the group, Maleon’s hand lightly touched her shoulder again. She turned, nerves fluttering.
“Alexia, I’m sorry for letting you down earlier. That was inexcusable. It won’t happen again.”
“I understand,” she muttered, before hurrying after the others.
On the road, they plodded through the rain, the horses trudging through thick mud. The teenage girl rode with Alexia, while Maleon and Timmeck took the younger boys. The misty air clung to them, visibility reduced to just a few feet ahead. Rain fell steadily, a muted rhythm against the earth.
Every now and then, Alexia glanced at Maleon. He was talking to Wyl, making the boy laugh—his joy a small but bright light in the otherwise dreary evening.
Alexia tried her best to make conversation with Lucille, who preferred to be called Lucy. She cautiously steered the discussion toward the ogres, needing to collect data for her hypotheses about their uncharacteristic behavior. The conversation was painful, guilt gnawing at Alexia as she dragged Lucy back into a nightmare. She had no choice; Leveria’s future depended upon the answer to these questions.
Lucy had been abducted from her father’s mill three days ago. Her best friend, Ysabet, had been taken with her. They were thrown into the cage by the silver-eyed beast, who returned each day to select two captives. Ysabet had been chosen today. It was her bones Alexia heard crunching when she entered the cave.
Lucy’s story confirmed Alexia’s deepest fear—these weren’t the ogres she’d studied in the Arcanium’s Bestiary. Ogres were simple, obsessed with shiny objects, entranced by their own reflections, and stirred to murder at the mere presence of a woman. They weren’t organized, cunning, or equipped with magic. Yet the ones Alexia had faced had none of the ogres’ usual traits. The treasures they hoarded weren’t reflective, they were sorted methodically, and they utilized items like the golden bracelets that blocked her magical abilities. They didn’t keep women in cages, patiently waiting to feed on them, or restrain and release them. Most of all, those silver eyes that cast light and canceled cognitive-affectomancy—they didn’t belong to an ogre.
There was only one conclusion that fit the data, and it was by far the worst possibility. Certain as the moon chases after the sun, the ogres had been tamed. In particular, the silver-eyed ogre was tamed by a man who also possessed the capabilities of an Isihlan lightseer. She saw the Chimaera—a force of destruction long believed confined to the far-off lands of Vesarra where each other power had fallen, including fabled Isihla. The conclusion was too terrifying; Alexia battled against it.
As they neared Fritjof, Alexia’s thoughts drifted to her father’s favorite theorist, Darle, and his Theory of Pragmatic Inheritance. Could the ogres’ behavior be some bizarre evolution or mutation? No. The changes were too radical. Nor could they be accounted by things in nature, like dotar toxin. The most narcissistic, misogynistic, and dunderheaded of beasts who shrieked at images of themselves reflected in metal didn’t suddenly become clever from any herb. Even the mystical metamorphs of Kavova couldn’t explain their intellect, not having returned to human form upon dying. Alexia tried hard to deny reality, but reality had a way of proving itself and becoming stronger with each disproven theory.
The small settlement of Fritjof came into view, a collection of simple farmhouses and a logging mill along the Sapphire Road as it approached the Haliae River. Alexia felt uneasy, being in Haliae territory. Throughout history, the Buccaneer lords were pirates who harassed the Eagle and Haliae rivers while retreating, denying, and bowing each time a Leverian or Sapphire king came to place them in check. Worst of all, she mistrusted them for their role in Vara’s Annals of an Anathema. Maddeck Eckhard—a kindhearted cognitive-affectomancer persecuted for loving men—happened to be one of her greatest idols, and his struggles with the Haliae of Weiss were worth many chapters.
She glanced at Timmeck, hoping he had more of Maddeck in him than Jorreck, but she’d never tell him, or probably anyone, that given the choice she’d happily take Azurianna over Halius.
Her eyes cast over the destruction of Fritjof. Roofs caved in; walls torn apart. The ogres had been here, their violence leaving deep scars on the land. Alexia dismounted, helping Lucy down. Rain drizzled from the clouds, and a flash of lightning startled the survivors.
Lucy turned to Alexia, her voice soft but determined. “We owe you our lives.”
“You owe me nothing,” Alexia replied, averting her eyes.
Lucy’s voice hardened. “Because of you, we can see a future where our fathers, lovers, and sons won’t be sent away to never return or to come back not themselves anymore. You’ve done more than save my life, you give me hope. We are yours, not the king’s, and certainly not Archlord Haliae’s. Remember that.”
Alexia’s breath caught in her throat. She felt the weight of holding the hopes of every woman born beneath the silver and blue banner, and with the knowledge that the Chimaera was attacking, the stakes had never been higher for forging peace. She had to believe that people like Lucy would support her, that men like King Gideon and Eron Bluerose would hear her pleas, that those born to hate her would heed her before it was too late. There were no Maddeck Eckhards, Tuya of the Hollows, or Zyryxas to save the world from the Chimaera this time. The task fell to her, and she felt awfully alone with it.
Alexia clenched at her sternum, struggling to find her voice. “I will not forget,” she whispered.
She watched Lucy walk away toward the mill, a small figure in the rain, and felt the crushing weight of such responsibility. She wondered how her namesake, how Queen Alexia Leveria had felt, alone and trapped by three armies that agreed on one thing: her demise and the fall of the Leverian Dynasty. What of Maddeck Eckhard, staring down his brother and choosing to fight for goodness in a world that hated him? Even silver-eyed Tuya who gazed deep into the eyes of the same three-headed beast Alexia saw today, knowing that she was alone against the mightiest power in the history of the world? How had these people done the impossible beneath such crushing weight and with so much set against them?
The answer came to her in the least expected of places.
Maleon touched her shoulder, channeling Celegana and spreading that divine energy through her, grounding her rising anxiety. Alexia realized then—heroes didn’t face their battles alone. Tuya had Yaha, Maddeck had Larina, even Linus Peacemaker didn’t forge his peace in solitude, nor did the Love Queen wander alone when she spread her melody of peace to every corner of this world.
“Thank you, Maleon,” she began, her voice wavering.
He squeezed her shoulder, infusing the touch with Celegana’s stubborn and wholesome flow. “Sing your song, Alexia. The world needs to hear your voice.”
She inhaled deeply, held the breath, and exhaled. She nodded. Ahead lay the path to Mirrevar and beyond. It was filled with uncertainty, but she wasn’t walking it alone. She thought of the stories where broken people lost themselves and put themselves back together again, always with the love of someone who understood and cared about them. She would be that person for Maleon Stonebreaker, just as he was for her.
“Zamael tries to send heroes down dark paths,” she said. “He corrupts until they are no longer heroes, but bitter remnants of their former selves. I know they can come back though. Zamael can never fully extinguish the hero’s light, only hide it beneath layers of darkness. If they accept Leverith as their guide, if they embrace love, they get to become heroes again.”
Maleon averted his eyes, gazing at the road ahead. “I hope that you’re right.”
I am, she thought, praying that the road to Mirrevar followed the path of Leverith and not Zamael. She closed her eyes and saw a throne of earth and tree sitting atop the spire of a goddess. She would need Maleon when the Chimaera came—as a hero, yes, but more importantly, a friend.