Tomean paced the halls of the tower, his mind unable to settle. Something gnawed at him inside, a feeling of wrongness he could not shake. It had started when Fillas was sent on a solo mission. The three had been inseparable since joining the order, having quickly established a reputation as working better together. Until now, that had been respected. Shortly after Fillas had departed to the mountain nation of Amna, Cortain had been assigned a solo mission to the sands of Ghalafein.

The timing struck Tomean as odd. But as his brothers were quick to point out, his paranoia rarely panned out into something substantial.

Still, it bothered him. As members of the Elemental Order, they hadn’t risen high enough in the ranks to refuse an order. While Arakar was master of their tower, he wasn’t the only master within the order. Tomean hadn’t learnt who had assigned his friends, and when he checked, the scroll of directives could not be found. His growing suspicion that there was, in fact, a conspiracy afoot and they were at its centre left him uneasy.

Everyone knows we work better together. Blast them.

But the days passed, and he had yet to be assigned a mission. He had his own studies, of course, but he struggled to concentrate. Instead, he spent the time prowling the corridors of the tower, lost in thought. The configuration of the structure was such that he rarely walked the same route twice. From the outside, that should have been impossible. The tower didn’t look big enough to hold many halls, but looks could be deceiving, especially when the Power was at play.

Enhanced by arcane spells, the inside of the tower existed in another phase of reality. Tomean had yet to grasp the intricacies of how it worked. He lacked understanding but knew it involved the twisting of dimensions. However it was achieved, it allowed for an almost limitless capacity for sprawling corridors and endless rooms.

As he wandered, he brooded. He thought of his childhood and family home in the city of Werross. They had fled the city when he was a boy. It was a perilous time for them. His father knew they risked him falling under the influence of the gangs or being conscripted into the army. Both were undesirable prospects and likely to end in an early grave for them all. Instead, they left, taking their chances elsewhere. With the absence of Fillas and Cortain, his thoughts of that distant city ignited a desire to see it. A wave of homesickness hit him as it had when he'd he first joined the Elemental Order.

It's not all bad here. I still have certain privileges.

“Maybe it’s time I used them,” he muttered.

Due to constant war all over the globe, nowhere was safe. He kept tabs on his family, sending them money when he could. Last he'd heard, they intended to move back to Werross. That had been some time ago, and he didn’t know whether they still lived.

“But do I really want to go there?” He asked himself.

His recollections of his childhood were hazy, and they weren't good memories. His parents had lived in fear. From what he'd heard, though, a lot had changed over the years, transforming Werross into a a safer city.

“Maybe safe enough for my family.”

Without thinking, he conjured up a map of the known world. The illusion wavered as it floated before him. He closed his eyes for a moment, savouring the energy flowing through him. He never closed himself off to the source as the others did. It was a part of who he was. Opening his eyes again, he focused on the translucent map hovering before him. He had studied the land and committed it to memory, but what he'd created before him was more than that. His complex weavings allowed him to add details and bring the topography to life. Enlarging details at will, he could zoom into an area and study it at greater length. His only limitation was his knowledge of the world.

He studied an area of the world known as the Patchwork Territories. A loose collection of city states, the boundaries of the territories changed every generation. The stronger the ruling Lord or Lady, the more land they could hold on to. The region had resisted becoming united under one rule. A tenuous balance existed, but the area had been stable for some years.

He brought up the land around Werross, visualizing and planning the route he would need to take. Once a path appeared, he made his decision. He would visit the city and see if he could find his family. The map unravelled behind him, the lines of colour drifting away as he made his way back to his rooms. He would leave immediately.

He entered his room and donned his armour, including his twin bladed claw gauntlets. Flexing his hands, he held up the polished weapons to the mage light burning above him. The edges were razor sharp and capable of causing catastrophic wounds. It wasn’t an elegant weapon, but something about the way it rent flesh appealed to him. They were close-quarter weapons, but if he needed to fight from a distance, he had his magic.

Taking care not to slash his belongings with the twin blades, he surveyed his room as he stuffed clothes in his knapsack. It was a simple affair: a bed, a wardrobe, an armour rack, and a writing desk. He closed his spell book, his grimoire. It was a tool all mages used to further their study. He added it to his bag, planning to read it as he travelled. Ready in minutes, he dispelled the ball of light floating under the ceiling, leaving the room in darkness.

The quickest way to get to Werross was via a sea gate, and that meant travelling by ship. Informing no one of his intentions, he slipped out of the tower and into the stables. Less than twenty minutes after deciding to leave, he was on horseback heading to the port to find passage through the nearest sea gate.

* * *

Arakar watched as his student left the tower before dispelling the vision. As busy as he was, he was still Master of the Tower, and he made it his business to know what happened under its roof. After sensing Tomean’s unease, he had scanned his mind, skimming his pupil's thoughts. For once, he agreed with Tomean’s notions of conspiracy, or at least, he gave the idea enough credit to merit further investigation. Strange things were afoot, and he would need to tread carefully. It was good that Tomean was leaving. Staying would only involve him in whatever sinister plot had been planned.

Tomean, Fillas, and Cortain had become a fearsome trio, and already their fame had grown across the lands. Arakar had kept tabs on them ever since they'd arrived, and since the testing, he'd paid particular attention to Tomean and his addictions. Over the years, he had eavesdropped on Tomean's thoughts, monitoring him daily. If Tomean fell too deeply into madness, Arakar would need to intervene. The last thing the world needed was a powerful, insane mage on the loose.

Stepping onto his balcony, Arakar focused his power, bending the air into a viewing portal. Vibrations in the air marked the effect of his spell as the surface shimmered before him. He frowned as the surface remained blank. Concentrating, he shifted his focus, but again his scrying was met with the same interference.

Banishing the spell, he stared after Tomean, toward the sea. For a moment, he considered calling the young man back to the tower, but that wouldn’t help him uncover the truth.

“Let’s see if between us, we can uncover this plot.” Arakar retreated back into his study.

* * *

The trip to Fertoss didn’t take long; the sea was only a few hours' ride. Getting a ship wasn’t a problem, either, but it did cost him more than he'd expected.

Damn war, driving the bloody prices up.

The only ship he could berth was a sleek courier vessel called The Queen’s Cutter. The design was new, one of the latest from the fabled shipyards of Karth. With its prow shaped like a dagger, Tomean imagined it parting the waves with ease. He saw strength imbued in its timber planks.

It will take a god-sent storm to sink this ship.

After boarding his horse at the local stable with instructions to return it to the tower if he was not back in seven days, he made his way on board. The captain spared him a nod as he came aboard, but promptly proceeded to ignore him as she tended her ship. Not wishing to crowd the already cramped deck, Tomean retreated to his cabin below decks.

He dozed for another hour before the captain woke him as she shouted her muffled orders. At her command, he felt movement, and a flare of magic dissipated throughout the ship. The wooden beast slipped her collar to surge forward as if eager to race across the sea; Tomean slid off his bunk and hit the floorboards with a solid thud. He groaned as he rubbed his backside.

“Bloody sea magic.” Tomean had never liked the way captains used the Power to aid them in sailing; to him, most sea magic had a clunky execution that often resulted in shuddering ships and sore bums. Powered by the wind magic the captain had employed and by its sleek design, the ship sped out to sea.

He had been on ships before, but The Queen's Cutter felt different. Tomean returned topside to find a space by the railing where he would cause the least disruption to the crew as he watched the coastline fade. Another structure was growing on the horizon in the opposite direction: the sea gate.

It was, of course, one of many identical cognitones of astonishing power and mystery. No one knew for sure who'd built them, but they were ancient. They allowed for instantaneous translocation from one gate to another. There was a network of these structures off the coasts of various landmasses. That something so vast could be built and then knowledge of its origin forgotten, lost to the mists of time, fascinated Tomean.

At shouted orders from the captain, the crew adjusted the sails and angled towards the sea gate. Even at this distance, it was big. He’d been through it once before, but its sheer size was still mind blowing.

What manner of craft was this built for? He wondered, not for the first time.

The gates themselves were massive, circular stone structures, half submerged under the choppy waves. He’d read conflicting information of their history. One book spoke of an ancient race of architects while another source named the sea gates as portals from the gods. He doubted anyone would ever discern their true beginnings. For all the skills and knowledge of the present age, the true mechanisms behind ancient workings eluded even the brightest minds.

For something so massive, they only needed a small amount of magic. Even the lowliest beginner would be able to draw enough magic to activate them.

Tomean skimmed the minds of the crew as they approached the translocation gate, gauging their reactions. None were interested. As experienced sailors, they had seen the gates many times. He felt the captain draw in magic as she cast the requisite spell to trigger the gate's operation.

He attuned all his sensed to observe the gate as it thrummed to life. Ancient runes engraved on the weathered stone lit up one by one. Once all the runes were active, the gate drew in more magic of its own accord, becoming self-sufficient. The energy flowing through it could burn out a hundred powerful mages and served as a humble reminder of the might of those who'd lived long ago.

Power arced across the opening, causing a ripple effect. Tomean could no longer see the waves beyond as a grey void shimmered in the once-empty space. The sea gate was open.

Tomean strained to feel the changes in reality that played across its event horizon, but just like his first journey through a sea gate, the infinite void evaded his attempts to understand it.

The Queens Cutter angled toward the centre. It felt like an age before they were passing under the arch of the gate. He felt no resistance as the prow of the ship touched the shimmering, vertical surface. In the space of moments, the ship was gliding through the eastern seas. The only indication anything had changed was the slight difference in colour of the waves below.

“Remarkable.” He smiled.

The captain issued new bearings, and the crew stepped lively, adjusting the sail. Tomean left them to their work and retired to his cabin to wait.

* * *

Janus watched the guards patrol the battlements of the keep. He knew their routine, their patterns, and their vulnerabilities. He would have no difficulty getting past them. Still, he watched and waited, deep in the shadows beyond the wall. The keep was the centre of the city; buildings of all shapes and sizes surrounded it in ever-expanding rings.

He waited patiently, counting the time it took patrols to pass by on the keep's wall. They met like clockwork, pausing to talk every time they passed one another.

Pulling his cloak tight about his shoulders, Janus sprinted, a blur in the dark of night. He didn’t stop as he reached the base of the wall, instead using metal spikes to scale its height.

Janus froze below the top of the of the wall as footsteps approached. Clinging to the spikes, motionless, he ignored his burning muscles. In those few agonizing moments, he felt the chill of the wind cut through him as his cloak loosened. Now wasn’t the time for it to flap about.

The steps receded. Unable to hear anything, he resumed his climb. He ensured no sharp blades waited for him before he raised his head above the parapet. Satisfied, he sprung over the crenelations and crouched low. Seeing no one close, he pressed on, his soft boots almost soundless in the night.

If he was discovered, Janus would hang. Of that, there was no doubt. Flitting from the shadows, he made his way along a route he'd mapped out days ago. He scaled one of the shorter towers of the keep to perch on a windowsill and peer inside.

“Has everything been prepared?” A voice spoke out of the dark, emanating from a chair, back turned to the window.

“Yes, milord. The army marches as we speak,”

“Ensure they make safe passage through Thuna, as promised. See to it personally. You can never trust those Thunians when gold's involved.”

“Anything else, milord?”

“No, just keep to the schedule. Take some carrier birds with you. If you encounter any problems, let me know straight away.”

Janus bobbed his head in a show of respect, still perched as he was on the sill. The audience was over before it had begun. Hiding his irritation, he moved.

All that effort for so little?

It wasn’t the first time he had been summoned, only to be dismissed so quickly. It was the lord's way of exerting power over him. A simple letter would have sufficed.

Preoccupied, his foot slipped as he descended. Reflexes kicked in, and he scrambled to safety. Hiding within a pool of shadows, Janus listened for signs he'd been discovered, but no alarm was raised. Cursing himself for a fool, he took care extracting himself from within the boundary of the keep, doubts about his purpose plaguing him the whole way.

* * *

Once Tomean made landfall, the journey became monotonous. The muddy roads were almost empty, and those travellers he did come across were wary.

After being put to shore in the port town of Whitebury, Tomean had sought the local stables to purchase a mount only to find the stalls vacant of mounts. Every horse was being used in the war effort. With no prospect of hiring passage on a wagon heading inland, he had purchased supplies and set out on foot.

He wore his armour instead of carrying it in bags, preferring its protection. As he walked with supplies strapped to his back, his attention wandered. He daydreamed of better days, before the Infernals had started all the madness.

Krashta Balglamon and her horde of demon-slaved warriors had won the latest battle. The Infernals were no longer content to strike from the shadows. Thankfully, they were a long way from total victory.

Tomean sighed; he'd heard plenty of tales about the wars and about the glories of great battles. Imagining those adventures brought a bit of bitterness as he looked ahead to endless days of travel..

Even a bandit or two would make a welcome diversion right now.

He laughed at the thought. It was just like him to wish to be ambushed by brigands instead of enjoying the rare moments of peace the world offered. In his experience, the rest wouldn’t last; there was no need to rush its end.

He stopped and conjured his map again. Marking his position as best he could, he considered his route. If he continued at his current pace, he could be in Werross in two weeks, less if he could hitch a ride along the way. He adjusted his bag before continuing on his way which did little to relieve the strain on his back.

“Least it's not raining.”

Tomean looked inward to pass the time, examining old memories and his time in the tower. He knew he was mad. He had been ever since the testing. The Lapistra Stone had done something to him, fragmenting his mind and mending it at the same time. Only, the pieces had never quite fit back together. Though he'd survived, the testing had taken much from him that day. The Power became a cruel mistress to him, making him stronger yet cursing him with insatiable needs.

He no longer cared about his growing madness; it was part of him just like his need for the Power. He'd learned to cope, to keep himself in check. Mostly. And in exchange, he could do things many could not. In his eyes, the pros outweighed the cons.

The pangs of hunger urged Tomean to search for a place to break for a meal. He spotted a fallen tree and sat, digging a rationed meal from his bag. The sweet, sticky bread was gone too quickly. He was still hungry; he could finish off every bit of his rations right then and there.

This won't do.

Closing his eyes, he created multiple simulacrums of his ethereal body. The ability came naturally to him. It had surprised him to learn every spell caster he knew only had one simulacrum

Another reason I would not change what happened at the testing.

By splitting his consciousness into several parts, he could scout great distances. Tomean projected slivers of himself into the world, his spectre forms moving like blood hounds eager to find a scent.

In his disembodied state, his connection to currents of magic was keener than ever. As his essence spread across the land, he developed seeking tendrils. That was another skill it seemed only he possessed. He cycled through his simulacrums, observing the world. As always, he left one of them nearby, protecting his mortal form.

Like a spider sitting in her web, he waited until he felt a mental tug. When it came, he followed the trail to see what he had found.

* * *

“Look, what I’m saying is we can’t stay here for long, we're running out of food!”

“Shut up, Pait. If you didn’t bloody eat so much, we’d have plenty.” Jac poked his brother in the belly.

Pait roared. “It's my food!” He swiped at his brother's finger. “I stole it fair and square.”

Jac smiled at how easy it was to rile up his brother. “We can’t wait on this stretch of road hoping something to eat just comes along.”

“Why not?" Pait asked. "We’ve been doing it for months.”

“I know that, and everyone else knows that by now, too." Jac crossed his arms. "Unless you want that gut of yours to shrink, we need a new spot.”

Pait scratched his head. The bigger man relied on his strength to get what he wanted, but his brains didn't always match his brawn. Jac preferred a slyer approach, and he was always the one coming up with their plans. Still, he and his brother were two sides of the same coin. Murderer’s through and through.

* * *

Tomean watched with interest. The two bandits continued to argue amongst themselves. He ignored their words, instead listening to their minds, sifting through their memories like grains of sand through his fingers. They were both rotten to the core, thieves and murderers. The roads would be a safer place without them.

Seeing enough, he returned to his body.

“Time to have some fun.” He grinned and retracted his mental slivers, save one. He slung his pack across his back and followed the trail.

* * *

“Look, Pait, we have enough food to last us two, three days if you didn’t eat so much. I mean, think for once, will ya?” Jac thumped his brother on the back of the head.

“That's all right for you to say," Pait said while rubbing the spot. "You eat less than me. Rationing doesn't affect you!”

Jac pursed his lips. Maybe he’s not so slow after all.

With unexpected speed, Pait lunged forward and began stuffing his mouth with great handfuls of food. Cheese and bread disappeared into his greedy mouth.

“Oi!” Jac shouted and grabbed his brother.

Pait pushed Jac back with one hand as he stuffed even more food into his gullet. Jac twisted, wrenched free of his brother's grip, and launched himself onto Pait’s back, wrapping his wiry arms around Pait's bulging neck. Jac clung tightly to his brother as Pait stood, thrashing about, trying to dislodge him.

Pait threw himself backward, slamming Jac to the floor. Jac let go of his brother's neck as Pait tried to roll over to face him while keeping him pinned. The manoeuvre didn't work, and Jac was able to scramble free. But as quick as he was, Pait got a firm hold of his legs and pinned him a second time. Jac howled in frustration.

“Fine, fine, you win!" Jac shouted. "You big oaf. Let me have some food, then, if tonight’s gonna be our last meal.”

“Try your last meal ever.” An unknown voice interjected.

Both brothers scrambled to their feet. Jac grabbed his short sword and turned to face the newcomer. It was a bald warrior clad in metal armour. He squinted at the strange symbol engraved on his chest plate but didn’t recognise it. The stranger wore bladed gauntlets that made Jac wary.

The warrior waited while Pait armed himself with his rusty axe.

* * *

Tomean announced his presence. They posed no threat to him, and if he wanted to, he could have ended their lives with a spell. But he craved a more personal touch. The boredom of walking had been too much. He could see the family resemblance and didn't need to skim their minds to know they were brothers. Having already sampled the cesspools of their minds, he had no desire to do so again; he had seen enough. With a smile, he waited until they were both armed: Jac, the skinny one with a blade, and Pait, the fat one with an axe.

“Who the hell are you, baldy?” Jac asked.

“Do you not know, Jac?”

“How does he know your name?” Pait frowned.

Tomean smiled. “I know lots of things, Pait.”

Jac narrowed his eyes. “Who sent you?”

Tomean gave a slight shake of his head. “No one sent me. Though I daresay you have your fair share of enemies.”

He enjoyed the confusion on their faces. For a second, he considered using a Firebane spell on his claws. There was something satisfying about the smell of charred flesh. It excited him in ways that should have brought revulsion.

But I'll have to save that one for another day.

Flexing his hands within the gauntlets, he waited. As much as he had orchestrated this confrontation, the Order insisted on neutrality. He would have to let them make the first move.

They just need some encouragement.

“So,” he said, eyeing their weapons, “are you ready yet?”

“Ready for what?” Jac's frown deepened.

“Ready to prove you have more courage than a Yanzie. I mean, there's two of you and only one of me.”

“What’s a Yanzie, Jac?”

“He’s calling us cowards, Pait.”

“What?” Pait shouted and pointed his axe in Tomean’s direction.

Tomean sighed. He had overestimated their intelligence. Should have gotten straight to the point.

“Do you even know how to use that axe, tubby?”

Pait’s face turned red as he ran forward, waving his axe in the air.

“No! Stop!” Jace shouted, but he was too late.

Tomean parried Pait's clumsy attack and stepped out of the way. Jac lunged forward to thrust his short sword at Tomean's middle.

Finally. I can have some fun.

* * *

The fight didn’t last long. Even two against one, there was little sport. Pait attacked with wild swings of the axe, whereas Jac tried a more measured approach. But, the skinnier of the two was no swordsman. It was easy for the brothers to maraud farmers and untrained townsfolk, but their reign of terror would have been short-lived if they had come across any trained warriors.

Tomean dragged the fight out as long as he could, toying with them, raking his claws over their bodies, strategizing so as to keep them alive as long as possible. .

In the end, Tomean impaled Jac through the chest. His claws bit into flesh, and Tomean dragged the blades up through bone and meat, slicing vertically though his face, making ribbons of the man.

Pait sobbed as he scrambled backwards across the scarlet-covered ground. “Why?” he cried.

“Do your victims not ask the same question?” Tomean advanced, towering over the bandit. “Do you see the irony of your begging?”

Tomean slashed Pait's throat and then surveyed the scene. The ground was slick with blood as was his armour and claws. But none of it was his. Blood didn’t bother him.

He spoke a Word of Power and his armour pulsed with light as the blood misted away. As the glow faded, the metallic surface appeared as if freshly polished. It was a useful spell. There was nothing worse than cleaning dried blood out of the grooves.

The fight had been too easy; he hadn’t even broken a sweat. Sighing, he ignored the mess of the camp.

He left with a small supply of bread and cheese. He glanced back to see the crows gathering. One by one, they landed, hopped to the bodies and began to pick them clean.

* * *

The remaining journey was uneventful. He stepped through the old gates into the outer limits of the city and stopped to survey his childhood home. His memories of Werross were vague, having been too young when his family had lived there. It was not how he remembered it.

People thronged the streets. Slipping through the crowd, Tomean wandered the cobbled streets. On one side, the row of houses and buildings looked clean and sturdy, yet opposite them were buildings which had fallen into disrepair. He walked the border between rich and poor. Further exploration confirmed the conditions became worse to one side and more extravagant on the other.

“The rich get richer, and the poor get poorer,” he muttered.

Along the border street, as he called it in his head, he saw travesty beyond belief. Two armed guards beat a man senseless on the ground as they taunted him for being a foreigner. Everyone turned a blind eye except for him. They parted around the trouble, not sparing even a glance.

It’s not right.

His attention did not go unnoticed by the guards. One nudged the other, and they faced Tomean.

“You got a problem?”

Tomean appraised the guard. His boiled leather armour needed urgent repair. The shoulder pauldrons and vambraces had almost fallen off, and the chest piece looked barely serviceable. The others weren't much better.

Wiping his greasy mouth on his sleeve, the guard sneered at Tomean. “What you looking at, eh? New in town? Another foreigner!” He spat the last word, though luckily for him, it missed Tomean.

Tomean gave the man a penetrating stare as he curbed his rising anger. The other guard joined his companion, a worried look on his face. He pulled him to one side.

“Fool!” he hissed. “Can’t you see what's on his chest? He’s an Elemental!”

The first guard frowned as his eyes narrowed to the emblem displayed proudly on Tomean’s chest plate. He paled as he realised his error.

“S-sorry,” he stammered, backing away.

Tomean narrowed his eyes as the guard cringed away from him.

Coward.

Still, he couldn’t let the slight go unanswered after they had recognised him and the Elemental Order's emblem. He filled himself with the Power, allowing his eyes to shine golden. It was enough to frighten them. The pair backed up and tripped over each other before falling to the ground.

Tomean took one step forward as they scrambled to their feet with a yelp. Without further challenge, they unceremoniously ran away, leaving the beaten man lying in a heap. The old man rolled over as he eyed Tomean, who locked eyes with him. His skin and attire marked him as from the east. With a sigh, Tomean approached, offering him his hand.

“They’ve gone.”

The old man took his hand, and Tomean pulled him to his feet. As the stranger adjusted his clothing, Tomean noted he was fit for a man of his years. It was clear why the guards had singled him out. Dressed in the customs of the east, he wore a dark turban adorned with patterns which symbolised his clan. But he was without weapons, the favoured tulwar of the sand people absent.

“If you carried your tulwar," Tomean said, "I doubt they would have bothered you.”

“I bear the mantle of Shimla," he said. "I fear no weapon of man.”

“I beg to differ.” Tomean shrugged. “But to each their own.” He nodded to the man and turned to walk away.

“Wait! Let me thank you for saving me.”

Tomean shook his head. “I didn’t save you, old man.”

“Oh, but you did. Just your mere presence stayed their hand, may Shimla shine on you.”

Tomean considered the words. He knew little of Shimla, except she was a goddess of the east, one of five deities they worshipped. But he took no stock in the gods.

“I don’t need your spice goddess to shine anything down on me.”

“Shimla sees all." The man gestured to his own eyes. "I have the gift of sight. Please, let me read something of your future as repayment for your help.”

Something in the man’s tone gave Tomean pause.

What harm could it do?

The man invited him closer. Tomean offered him his hand, and the tribesman took hold of it. His fingers were dry as old leather. Straining his senses, Tomean tried to feel the man’s aura.

Is he a charlatan, or can he divine the future?

He knew, from his own studies, how capricious the tides of the future were.

Even as he strained, he didn’t expect to feel anything. Reading the future required no spell or incantation. While it was intrinsically linked to the weavings of magic, one didn’t need to be a mage to possess the ability. It was an innate gift, granted to few people, and even then, it wasn’t always reliable.

They lived in an age of wonder where man could reach almost god-like status through the wielding of magic, and yet some things were unreachable. Life hung on to its many mysteries. Tomean had thirsted for more ever since the Lapistra Stone had given him that first taste of the unknown on the day of his testing.

"Very well. Let's see what you can do." Tomean nodded, and the old man shuffled closer, grasping Tomean's hand with more vigor.

Tomean frowned as the stranger's eyes changed, the whites overwhelming the iris to give him a milky stare. Tomean sensed nothing, but leaned forward, watching.

The seer's aura changed, pulsating with each breath. Transfixed, Tomean saw coloured patterns swirl in his white eyes as if the old man was seeing the infinite possibilities of the future. Soon, the milkiness dissolved, revealing the dark of his eyes again. The man took a shuddering breath and dropped Tomean’s hand as if it pained him. Stepping back, he had a fearful look in his eye.

“Well? What did you see?” Tomean demanded. “Tell me!” It seemed the man was no fraud, and he was desperate to know what he'd seen.

“The impossible.” The seer stammered. “Your path is shrouded. It remains a mystery, but one future stood out from all the others. It carried conviction that made no sense to me.”

“Show me,” Tomean ordered.

The seer nodded in acquiescence, not saying a word. Tomean clasped his head, using the contact to assist his delve. Once inside, he immersed himself in the proffered vision. He gasped in shock, as if doused in icy water, as the vision took hold of him in its powerful embrace.

He tumbled through the cacophony of visions that assaulted him. Try as he might, he could not latch onto any of them. The strength of his will was negated, and he was powerless to stop it. As the world around him righted itself, he materialized in a strange place. There were no landmarks he recognised, and when he looked down, he realised he was there in spirit form only.

Why does this surprise me? Try as he might, he could not recall his most recent memories. Is this real?

A dong pealed through the air, drawing his attention. Tomean tried to find its source, to fathom its meaning, but instead he was drawn to a wave of energy surging across the horizon. It distorted everything in its wake. He thought to flee, but his limbs betrayed him, immobilizing him. As it crashed into him, the landscape changed. There, in the middle of the vibrant grasses of the plain, the land was scarred. The earth was sundered as if a monstrous god had plunged his blade deep into the earth, wounding it.

Tomean frowned at the wound in the land; the Power bled from it as if the flow of magic were its life force. It drew him in, the allure too strong to resist. The vision shifted with a snap.

Tomean was now underground, deep below the earth.

Did I fall through the wound in the ground?

The environment was thick with magic. Its residue coated every surface, but it felt wrong, tainted. It left an oily taste in his mouth. Corridors cut into the rock led deeper into the abyss, snaking through the earth to an unknown destination. He followed the path, powerless to stop himself.

The deeper he went, the greater the rot of magic. It assaulted his senses. Along with the clammy touch of this strange magic, the heat rose as if he was at the world's molten core. The vision became reality, as if he were really there. Panic crept it.

Mopping sweat from his brow; the air rippled from the heat. A distorted figure appeared in front of him. Tomean's control wavered. The man came into focus; he recognised him, but not as he was now.

What? It can’t be!

He stared into his eyes, seeking confirmation. Swirls of madness spun there, confirming it. He was looking at himself, only much older. His mind recoiled, and the world rocked around him again. His perspectives shifted, and he was now looking down on what was a mighty confrontation about to take place. To his dismay, he recognised all the players. Unable to resist, he was pulled into the body of his future self. He could see and hear everything, but he could not interact or change it. He was merely a passenger.

Older versions of his two best friends and Arakar, the Master of the Tower, faced him. However, he appeared unchanged, his features timeless.

What is this? He tried to speak the thought, but unfamiliar words left his mouth.

“Do you really think you can stop me?” He sneered.

“We must,” Fillas said.

“You have fallen too far. Your madness needs to end,” Cortain said.

Both Elemental Mages held onto vast amounts of power, more than he remembered them capable of holding.

“Fallen too far?” Tomean laughed. “Who are you to judge? I am me; this has always been me. You both knew it. So did he.” He sneered at his old master. “He knew, ever since the testing. He was happy to leave me like this as long as it benefited him.”

Tomean tried to make sense of his older self but to no avail. What is he talking about?

His hands rose of their own accord. Tomean formed a triangle with the thumb and forefinger of both hands, and he felt the pull of Power. But it was not the Power he knew; it was the Power of the enemy. He had sided with the Infernals!

Never!

Power flared on all sides, and thick waves of powerful energy crashed into him. The resounding clash of magic exploded outward, casting him out of his future self's body. Back in control, he willed himself to rise high over the battlefield. The flare of the raw power each mage brought to bear was too much for mortal eyes. Turning away, he was drawn to something else within the magical conflagration. A vast vortex of Power shimmered in the air behind Tomean, growing with each expel of energy from the mages.

Whatever it was, it defied logic. Turning away from the explosive release of spells below, he focused on the strange creation. Waves of what he could only describe as pure chaos washed over him. If it was magic, it was a kind he had never encountered before. It resisted his attempt to read it, and he could not stare at it long. It reached out for him, gripping his form as it tried to unravel him.

For a fleeting second, it connected with him, giving him a glimpse into the void of eternity. It took every ounce of his strength, but he wrenched himself from its grip and fled from its embrace. Shaken to the core, he withdrew to the farthest reaches of the cavern. Its power was unbelievably strong, but also chaotic, unbalanced. Wrong.

The four combatants below hadn’t moved, but the surrounding landscape was torn up from the magic they had unleashed. The destructive energies of their spell work had scorched and cratered the rock. But as the fight died down, Tomean realized it had only moved into the metaphysical dimension.

How could I become strong enough to resist an Elemental Master and two powerful mages?

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Now able to study each of them, he marvelled at how much the older Tomean could hold his ground. The power emanating from him was beyond anything he had felt before, but he could also feel the taint of the Infernals. He'd long ago vowed never to align with them, and yet, there he was in a possible future he'd never thought possible.

Enough. I’ve seen enough. He tried to end it, to will himself from the vision, but nothing happened. He was trapped, forced to watch what unfolded.

As strong as he was, the three mages pushed him back using a combination of mental and physical assaults. They forced him toward the swirling vortex growing behind him.

“On me!” Arakar cried.

In that moment, Cortain and Fillas channelled all their magic into Arakar, which he then used to blast Tomean. It was too much. In a flash of light, it was over. They released an explosion of energy that propelled Tomean's future self into the hungry maw of the vortex. Waves of every colour imaginable crashed into the edge of the shimmering chaos, disrupting the vortex until it winked out of existence.

With that, the battle was over, and so was the vision.

Snapping his eyes open, Tomean returned to his body in the present time period. Disorientated, he blinked against the bright glare of the day. He was still in the city of Werross. Face pale with what he had witnessed, he clutched at the seer's hand.

“Lies! Tell me it's all lies?” he cried.

“I can’t. I… I do not control them. They are a gift… or a curse.”

“No, I don’t believe that!”

The seer, his eyes sad and his expression stricken, looked Tomean in the eyes. “I am sorry, my son. I have never seen a vision as powerful as yours, and I've never seen a false future. May Shimla strike me down if I lie.”

Tomean stepped back, releasing his grip on the seer. There was much he didn’t know, and the future was a precarious place, forever shifting, its course not fully set yet.

No. It will not happen. It won't. He vowed.

He considered the implications. His future self was tainted by dark magic. He could still sense the demonic scent. But there was also the strange vortex.

A portal? To where? And… what kind of magic could create such a thing?

Whatever it was, it had the foul workings of the Infernals written all over it.

I will not side with those fiends in their quest for ultimate power!

Stammering his apologies, he pushed a few coins into the protesting hand of the seer before walking away. For the first time in a long while, he needed a stiff drink. Pushing thoughts of the seer behind him, he walked in pursuit of finding a dingy tavern somewhere.

* * *

Janus surveyed the savages' camp from afar. His lip curled in disgust as he watched them frolicking and sharing skins of strong spirits. They had barely assigned sentries, a few distracted men keeping a messy perimeter. It was almost as if they were inviting an attack. The camp spread across the grassy plain, a sea of unwashed bodies cavorting around thousands of fires. They were Congorians, a barbarian horde from the north, and they acted the part. They were two days out from the unsuspecting city of Werross, thanks to his intervention. He had silenced the city scouts and patrols with his blade, ensuring no warning was sent. He hated himself for it. His actions alone had doomed the city.

The Congorians were bought and paid for; they would do anything for gold and the chance to rape and pillage. When they were done, they'd return to their lands of ice and snow. And with their savage ways and great numbers, they would do plenty of damage.

Janus rued the day he'd been caught up in the scheme to use the Congorians against the city.

Tales of their savagery were infamous across the land. They swarmed over their enemies, butchering without mercy. The fallen were the lucky ones. He had heard stories of what they did to the survivors.

Pushing the dark thoughts aside, he tried not to dwell on the fate of the innocent. The city would burn, but the promise of what was to rise from its ashes was all that sustained his fragile moral compass.

And besides, to disobey his master was a death sentence, and above all, Janus wanted to live.

* * *

Tomean wandered the city in body only. His mind dwelt on the vision. Normally, he would put little stock in these things. Instead, he put his faith in his friends and Arakar, the Master of the Tower who had put his faith in Tomean. But his confidence was all in tatters, and he was full of self-doubt.

It felt so real. How can I just ignore it?

Falling back on his basic lessons, he looked at it objectively and without emotion. The vision was but a glimpse of what could be. But that’s all it was, a glimpse.

Fate and the future. Is it already written?

The words of Master Pelexian came to him from a lesson on prophecies:

We know that the future is changeable, but to what degree? Do we have free will? What is fate? Who has ordained our path in life, the gods or something else? A creator? Maybe.

But consider this: by putting stock in a prophecy, you give it strength. You give it belief. You make it important. Does this then influence every decision you make? Does this now become a self-fulfilling prophecy?

There is no wrong answer here. But what we know is everything we do causes a ripple in time. There are masters and oracles who, throughout the ages, have claimed to have interpreted the future. They teach that some things can become fated to happen. But equally, they teach that one pebble, one decision, can change the course of history.

My advice? Be that pebble. But do it for what's important to you. Make that decision freely, and not because of vague words and meanings from a bygone age.

The lesson resonated with him. But what he'd seen and experienced in that vision had made it personal. It was real, too real. The pain, the betrayal… it wasn’t fake.

He had to decide. Would he be that pebble for himself? Even as he dwelled on it, he knew he needed more information, specifically about the vortex? He didn’t know its true name, but that was as good as any for now.

Aimlessly, he wandered the city, dipping down alleys, crossing streets, and weaving around market stalls. He saw, but he didn’t see. Eventually, he stopped. A quick glance at the sun told him he had been walking for hours. But his parched mouth and hollow stomach could have told him that.

He found himself in a poorer quarter of the city, but he didn’t mind. It would take a brave street thief to accost him, and if they tried, they would be in for a shock. The throng of people were absent from these squalid roads. The few that were about gave him skittish looks and didn't tarry. He didn’t fear them. If not for his family leaving Werross and his gaining a position within the order, he would have been one of them, or worse.

I’ve wandered enough.

A sign for a local tavern caught his eye. It was as neglected as the rest of the buildings in the area. The sign was barely more than peeling paint on wood, the lettering undecipherable. But he needed a drink, and it would do. The door sagged on rotting hinges as he entered, and the smell of unwashed bodies and stale beer accosted him. It was a welcoming sting, and a fitting stench for his mood.

The lighting was dim, leaving dark nooks and crannies, which played to his preferences quite nicely. Ignoring the barman's questioning glance, Tomean walked straight to the back of the place and found a seat against the wall. He had a view of the door, and no one could sneak up behind him. With no immediate threats, he waited for the serving girl to approach. She was a pretty little thing, and normally he’d take notice, but he was in no mood to be flirtatious.

“Food or drink?” she enquired.

“Ale. Strongest you got,” he said, ignoring her frown.

She returned with his drink but left with a scowl after he pushed a coin across the table, ignoring her forced smile. Eyeing the frothy drink, he doubted its quality. But he drank deeply, anyway. It was warm and bitter, but it would do. In seconds, it was half full. The taste only grew worse as he neared the bottom of the mug.

I’m better off trying my luck elsewhere than trying to drink another one of these.

The vision had spoiled his joy at seeing his family again, but he would try to make the most of it after journeying so far. Eyeing the brown liquid, he finished it in one go, grimacing at the taste. As he set the mug down, a light-headedness fell over him.

It must have been stronger drink than I thought.

Wiping his mouth, he tried to stand only to fall forward, hands flat on the table.

What is going on?

Gripping the table's edge, he pushed himself upright to take a staggering step toward the door. He lurched into another table, knocking a chair over. His thoughts became mired in mud as he struggled to control himself. He reached for his reserve of magic, but it eluded him. He panicked; the Power was always within his grasp. He'd not been without it since the testing. He needed it. His vision faltered, and he landed hard on the straw covered floor. Even the pain felt distant.

“The ale…” His tongue was too thick for the words to from correctly. As he stared at the rough wood of the ceiling beams, he felt a heaviness descend upon his mind before he passed out, eyes rolling to the back of his head.

* * *

Two figures watched as the Elemental drained the spiked ale.

“The damned fool didn’t have to drink the whole bloody thing in one go. I suppose we’re gonna have to carry him now,” Duzod said.

Ittok laughed. “There's no ‘we’ about it. I outrank you. You will carry him.”

Duzod's jaw dropped, and his eyes went wide, but he didn’t say a word. Rank was rank.

Muttering under his breath, Duzod approached the Elemental. The barman looked away as the serving girl locked the front door, not that it would stop someone determined to get in. The door was little more than a few rotting planks pieced together. The other patrons looked away as well. They knew who Duzod and Ittok represented.

Duzod gripped the mage under his armpits and started lifting, but the mage was twice his size. “Bloody hell, he’s heavy in this pissing armour.” He dragged the Elemental toward the door, grunting as he strained himself.

“Not the front exit, you fool!” Ittok hissed. “Use the alleyway exit, and I’ll go get the wagon.”

Duzod froze, a sneer halfway across his face before he stilled his features to neutrality. Keeping his comments to himself, he changed direction and dragged the body towards the side exit.

In his most guarded part of his mind, Duzod uttered words where no one could ever overhear.

One day, I will see you dead!

* * *

A steady beat drummed in Tomean’s mind. Consciousness returned to him slowly as he attempted to peel his eyes open. He lay on his back in the dark, hard rock floor underneath. His body ached, and he had a mighty craving to be nourished, not just in body but in soul.

What’s going on?

As his vision cleared, he raised his hands to rub his temples only to have them jerk to a halt. He recognized the weight and snug fit of shackles around his wrists. He yanked at the chains, the jingle of metal against the stone floor making his blood run cold. It didn't budge; he was securely bound. Gathering himself, he stood on protesting legs and stomped his feet to generate some body heat.

Nothing felt right. His magic was gone; it was as if someone had cut away a limb but worse. The Power was still there, all around him, teasing him. But he would have better luck cupping air with his hands than he would channelling magic in his current state. Something prevented him from touching the nectar of the gods, and his body was not taking the deprivation well.

Tomean tried to focus on his surroundings despite the slight tremor rolling over him, despite the cold clamminess of his skin. At least he was still clothed. Whoever had captured him had taken his weapons but left him his armour.

He willed the darkness to yield, to reveal anything about his prison. He yearned for the light of magic, and panic began to fill the hole the Power had left behind. Tomean's breathing became too quick, and his stomach churned at the sound of his own whimper.

Control yourself!

The Elemental Order had trained him better than that. Most mages were nothing without their magic, but not the Elementals. They were more..

Remembering his lessons, Tomean concentrated on what he knew. Whoever had captured him had known who he was and had taken the necessary precautions to prevent him drawing on his magic. But the fact he still lived meant they wanted something from him.

Closing his eyes, he explored the limits of what he could sense, reaching out toward the barrier that cut him off from his arcane arts. Once he found it, instead of withdrawing, he scrutinised it. Whatever it was, he could find no beginning or end. There was no seam to exploit, no weakness through which he could escape.

Coming back to himself, he utilized his mundane senses. It was dark and cold, reminiscent of a cellar or perhaps even a dungeon. The air was stale and musty. And in the silence, if he focused, sounds came to him out of the dark: an easy, steadied rhythm of breathing, the sound of fabric rustling, the faint swish of someone rubbing their hands together. He was not alone.

“Who's there?”

There was no answer. A great shiver wracked his body. Someone was watching his distress, perhaps revelling in it. Rage filled Tomean, and he lashed out toward the barrier. It only resulted in his body revolting. He moaned at his futile attempt, his soul thrashing at the barrier like a caged animal.

“See?" A voice sneered from the shadows. "Take away their magic and these Elementals are nothing.”

Tomean froze, using every ounce of control he still possessed to speak calmly. “Who are you?”

A tsk was followed by a reply oozing contempt. “Even cut off from his power, this one is still arrogant. He still thinks he is in charge. Just listen to his voice, so commanding.”

Tomean fought the blind panic that threatened to engulf him. The dark abyss of eternal madness had always been waiting on the edges of his consciousness, but now it was a pit beneath him, and the line of sanity on which he balanced was too fine a rope.

“Now, observe him. See the tell-tale signs. He barely controls himself, pushing down the panic he feels at not being able to find his magic. He longs to use it to free himself and punish us.”

Tomean swallowed hard. Have they breached my mind? Would I even notice without access to the Power?

Tomean forced himself to focus and work through his options. His close-range eyesight had improved, and he could make out some details of the bonds on his wrists and the chains leading back to the wall. They appeared normal — no runes or sigils of magic that could be responsible for the barrier.

Could it be what they put in the ale, then?

He had never heard of any substance that could neutralise a mage so quickly, but that didn’t mean it didn’t exist. Nothing was impossible.

Think you fool! Think.

His mysterious captors believed he was useless without his gifts.

We shall see. If only I could get them to come closer…

His years in the tower and his adventuring beyond had taught him other skills. There was more than one way to skin a dragon, as the saying went. Tomean straightened his back and breathed deeply, looking inward, focusing on his pulse as he sought clarity of mind.

Control. A powerful mind enables a powerful body.

“Look at his stance! So arrogant! The fool believes he will find a way out of this." The man cackled and at last addressed Tomean directly. "You may die this day but hear this and know: your precious Elemental Order won’t be far behind you!”.

“So, you are an enemy of the order, yet you slink in the shadows like vermin. How quaint,” Tomean said. “Why don’t you reveal yourself?”

A long maniacal laugh answered him. “Not today, mage. Instead, I think I'll watch a city burn to the ground.” After a short pause, the voice continued speaking to whoever they'd brought with them. “Come. A Congorian horde swarming the masses isn't something you want to miss. Their efficiency never ceases to amaze.”

“What about him?” The second voice spoke for the first time. He sounded young, perhaps inexperienced.

“Leave him. The Congorians will stumble across him. Once they do, they will have their way with him. He is no longer our concern.”

“Why don't we kill him?”

“I have not commanded this one’s death nor has it been ordained. Don’t worry. We shall spill our fair share of the order’s blood.”

Footsteps were followed by the creak of hinges, and then the conversation faded as a door was shut and a bolt was slid into place on the other side.

Wherever he was, Tomean was alone.

* * *

Janus descended from the daylight into the dark using one of many access points across the city. His feet sloshed through dirty water, following a well-worn path known only to him.

Years before, he had found an abandoned sewer tunnel which had led to a wealth of hidden rooms and chambers. He had repaired and secured a section to create his stronghold.

Years later, his hard work would keep him safe as those above perished. Wary of being followed, he took a circular route, eventually satisfied as he heard no sounds of pursuit. He made his way through a series of locked gates until he arrived at his inner chambers. He lit a waiting torch with a flint contraption he kept in a pouch and walked to his armoury. Safe, he stripped off his weapons and armour, hanging them carefully in their places before retiring to the comfort of his favourite armchair in his bedroom. Closing his eyes, he leaned into the soft embrace of the cushions as he tried to will the tension to leave his body.

But guilt crept in.

I had no choice. He told himself again. I am bound.

His first oath had been sworn to one incapable of inflicting the coming atrocities, but Janus had been disgusted to discover they had no issue transferring his servitude to one who was more than capable. Those bound by oaths had no choice but to follow orders. It didn't matter that his order didn't sit well with him. He either obeyed or died.

Janus could only hope the horde would lose interest in the city above after a day or so. Then the real work could begin, and in the words of his Lord, it could be done properly.

Properly. Janus shook his head, doubts plaguing him. He gritted his teeth. Was this truly the only way?

The torchlight flickered, and Janus hardened himself to his conscience. “To disobey was to die.”

He knew he should rest, but only nightmares waited for him on the wrong side of consciousness. Instead, he waited for death to descend on the world above.

* * *

Krimdam stared into the fire, watching the flames undulate across the wood. His mind was blank, free to drift from place to place. It was a ritualistic state he liked to indulge the night before an attack.

The fur of a wolf from his homeland was draped over his shoulders, the pelt large enough to cover his broad shoulders. The nights were warm compared to home, but he wore the wolf as a mark of his prowess. It was no easy feat to kill a Congorian Wolf alone, but he had, and he was proud. He took every opportunity to display it.

He alone commanded the horde, through might and right. Krimdam's father had been a clan chief, as his father had been before him. Their clan had been one of the largest, one of the oldest, but where his father had been content with their lot, Krimdam had not. When he'd taken the mantle from his father, Krimdam had united the Congorian people under his banner. Those who'd resisted his rule did not live long enough to cause much trouble. He had created a mighty force out of their fractured people. But the Congorians still had an independent spirit, and while Krimdam worked toward gaining enough power and support to declare himself their king, the time was not yet right. His people weren't ready to reach their full potential. There was still more loyalty to clans than to Congor.

I must show them the way, gain their loyalty. They will not resist me as their king once I have brought them riches, once they see I can lead them to lives of pleasure.

Krimdam sat alone as he schemed. The city would fall; all who faced the horde fell. But he was not naïve as to why they were here, in Werross, far from their border. He'd been lured by the promise of an obscene amount of gold and the chance to loot and pillage.

The lord who'd paid for him to rally his people against Werross had been convincing. His emissary had been a timid man with a snake's tongue. But the gold was good, and Krimdam hadn't been able to disregard the possibilities. Of course, he was no fool. Once the city fell, the lord would no doubt turn on the Congorians. He probably planned to defeat Krimdam and claim he'd saved Werross from the horde.

But you won't be defeating any of us.

He would carve a new and unexpected path home. Krimdam would lead a campaign of terror as he ravaged the lands south and east of Werross before returning northwards, ripe with glory and plunder.

Krimdam couldn't keep a smile from his face as the last few hours of night passed in idle fancy. When dawn's light flickered over the horizon, he hadn’t slept, but he felt restored as he rose to his feet. The pale warmth of the sun touched the camp, and his sleeping warriors stirred to life. There would be no breakfast besides a helping of battle broth, a concoction to increase their senses and bolster their strength. It would fuel them longer than any meal. They would feast after the battle.

Krimdam took one last tour of the camp, and it pleased him to see his warriors eager for bloodshed. They struck camp and lined up in loose formation as their hedge wizards administered the battle broth and rites before battle. Once finished, Krimdam gave the signal, and the horde advanced toward the city.

* * *

Nill had early morning guard duty on the wall. Stifling a yawn, he stomped his feet to wake himself up. He'd slept poorly and already felt the strain though his shift had started less than an hour prior.

The Werross city wall was formidable, the tallest and widest of its kind in all the surrounding lands. The army could also field enough soldiers to man it, if called upon, but they only kept a skeleton crew on duty posted along the wall in intervals. There was talk of changing things, of fulling manning the wall due to trying times, but Nill was glad the council hadn't decided to do so yet. Other cities were at war, not Werross. Adding duties would only wear Nill and his fellow soldiers to the bone and take away all their free time.

Another hour passed in boredom. Nill counted the stones underfoot, his eyelids heavy. That only made his yawning more persistent. So, he whistled a tune his favourite tavern bard enjoyed playing, and he tapped his fingers to the rhythm.

But then a different rhythm, distant and unruly, carried to him with the breeze. At first, he thought his imagination had gone wild again, but…

That's real, I think. Nill cocked his head. What is that?

He stepped to the wall's edge and squinted at the horizon. A treeline stood in the distance, undisturbed as ever. He strained his ears.

Am I losing it?

But, no. With each passing second, the sound grew louder.

Frowning, he leaned over the chilled stone rampart. Birds fled the forest in the distance, and his frown deepened.

Is that a stampede? What could be stampeding through the trees?

And then the rhythmic pounding was joined by another, more terrifying, instantly recognizable sound: the battle cry of hundreds, maybe thousands, of men.

Panicking, he sprinted to the signal bell, one hand on his helm, the other on his weapon sheathed at his waist. Skidding to a halt, he picked up the sounding hammer hanging next to the metal symbol, and drummed the bronze disc, raising the alarm.

“Man the walls! Man the walls!” He shouted, though he wasn't sure anyone could hear his voice.

He was relieved when the sound of more gongs along with wall joined his own desperate alarm. Soldiers began filtering up to the top of the wall from the barracks. They looked outwards, much the same way as Nill had, turning away with pale faces as they began rushing about to ready themselves.

Nill’s heart beat louder than the alarm. His worst nightmare was brought to life as the fabled fur-bearing barbarians of the north emerged from the cover of trees in the distance and charged the wall. Some carried long, wooden ladders. Others carried large shields to turn aside volleys from the city's archers.

What do I do?

He'd never seen a battle; he'd never even been in a real fight. His training fled him, and his mind went blank. All he could do was bang his hammer against the gong. His arms were tired, but he swung over and over, hoping the message of the alarm was heard by everyone.

Citizens hide! Soldiers, come to fight!

Only when a ladder sprouted along the battlement right next to him did Nill's fear give way to his instincts for survival.

He dropped the hammer, drew his short sword, and thrust the blade into the first head that appeared above the stonework. The blade slid into the wet meat of the warrior's face, lodging itself into his skull. Nill gasped and pulled back his trembling hand. He'd never killed anyone before. In his mind, he'd pictured beasts overrunning the wall, but the shocked eyes that stared back at him were human. They were even the same colour as his own. Nill watched the life leave him. As the skin of his face sagged and his eyes dimmed, the barbarian fell backwards off the ladder and out of sight, taking Nill's blade with him.

Nill cursed.

Hands shaking from adrenaline, he grasped at his waist as he drew his secondary weapon, a long dagger. It was not his weapon of choice for defending the walls, but it was all he had. He leaned over the wall to see how close the next man up the ladder was. A grinning barbarian, face painted red, stared up at him. The barbarian smiled at him, the sight of Nill seeming to renew his vigour as he clambered up the ladder.

Nill gripped the top of the ladder with one hand, the other grasping the hilt of his dagger in case his enemy got too close. The wood was rough, but he pushed against it anyway, ignoring the splinters stabbing his palm. The barbarian's grin faded as the ladder slipped sideways, falling to the ground, taking him with it.

Nill let out a hoot as the ladder hit another, knocking both to the ground, crushing a few barbarians beneath their weight.. But then a little way down the wall, the barbarians began steadying their ladders at the bottom, securing them so that the same trick failed as other soldiers tried to follow Nill's example.

His stomach twisted with fear. The plain between the wall and the forest was crawling with barbarians. There were too many of them. More and more ladders appeared against the wall, quickly followed by the ferocious, fur-clad barbarians. With the wall breached in many places, Nill couldn't get rid of the feeling that they were doomed.

He rushed to the other side of the wall. The city boasted barracks at every entrance. Reinforcements from the other side of the city were making their way through the city wards, but they would be too late to help prevent the breach. They were outnumbered, regardless.

Clutching his dagger, Nill charged the nearest barbarian. He would do his duty; he would do what he could to protect the city, even if it cost him his life.

* * *

Janus sat in the dim light of his chamber, wincing as the sounds of fighting seeped through grates to echo through the underground tunnels. Each scream wounded his soul as his guilt built to unbearable levels. He could no longer sit it out. Shaking, he stood and took deep breaths as he tried to calm himself, but the screaming continued, raking against his hard-won walls of indifference, weakening his resolve. Eventually, his walls tumbled, and he no longer had a choice. Buckling on his weapons and armour, he vowed to do something to stop what he'd brought upon the city or die trying.

* * *

Tomean tested his chains, pulling and yanking them, hoping to find a weak spot somewhere. He knew the odds were against him but tried anyway, to regain access to the Power urging him on. He'd never missed anything so much in his life. It had been his lifeblood, his identity. Now that he'd lost it, its absence resounded deep within, revealing how core it had become, how essential to his ability to function.

That's not how the Power is meant to be. I must do better..

The iron chain refused to bend to his attempts of brute force. He wouldn’t be able to free himself using only his physical strength, so that left the power of his mind.

Think, Tomean. Is there anything my captors revealed that can help me now?

They'd been able to neutralise him in the tavern and bring him to his prison in broad daylight. Yet they let him live, unconcerned with his fate.

Why did one forbid the other to kill me? They didn't want me interfering with what was to come. They should have done away with me. They had left his fate up to chance. He did not recognise the voices, but then again, he wouldn't, even if he'd run across them in the past. He had made many enemies in his lifetime, and none would have passed up the chance to exact revenge.

There must have been a grate nearby, as Tomean could hear the sounds of fighting and screaming drifting closer by the second.

If I can free myself, I can help. Think, damn it, think!

* * *

Janus flitted through the shadows, his sword dripping blood. Twice, he had intervened to save citizens from small groups of barbarians.

It was chaos on the streets, but this gave the city hope. The barbarians poured through on a tidal wave of blood, but there was no cohesion or battle tactics other than overwhelming resistance with pure numbers. Smaller bands split from the main body, the streets their hunting grounds as they looked for easy prey. Discipline proved to be as much of an enemy to the Congorians as the city soldiers.

As skilful with a blade as Janus was, he could not take on many of them at one time. Instead, he fought from the shadows, wearing them like a cloak, stepping into the light only to plunge his blade into the soft spots of the fur clad barbarians before departing again. He only engaged in full combat when forced.

He was waiting for his next opportunity to strike in the shadow of a narrow alleyway when two figures emerged from a nearby house. He frowned at the sight of them, and leaned deeper into the shadows. Tense, he waited, knife in hand. Their clothing marked them as foreigners, and the calm way they moved, as if the fighting in the streets was of no concern to them, made his skin crawl.

They’re no barbarians, but they’re not innocents, either.

The pair stopped, as if they sensed him skulking in the shadows. He held his breath. After a few tortured seconds, the men continued on their way. The thought of following them crossed his mind, but he decided against it. Instead, he gave the house they had left his full attention.

It was a house much like the others lining the streets, but it was lacking any personal touch. The windows were all shuttered, there were no flowers or greens in the planters, no chips in the paint on the front door, and it was too… untouched. It felt as cold and wrong as the two men who'd left it.

He darted out from the safety of the alley and crossed the road to its door to have a listen. It was quiet. His instincts told him to investigate further. It was almost as if those men knew what was coming, the way they left the house like it was time for a nice midday stroll.

Janus tested the door handle, easing it down, waiting for the resistance of a lock. Instead, he was able to pull it wide open; its greased hinges made no sound. Frowning, he stepped back and looked down the street both ways. It was deserted, but the sounds of fighting were only a few streets away. The area wouldn't stay safe for long.

Knowing my luck, this is probably a gang's safehouse.

Every major city suffered from organised crime, and Werross was no exception. The wars had done little to curb the opportunists from seizing more power; it was in their nature.

Weapon ready, Janus crept inside. His suspicions were borne out. One look told him no one lived here, at least not anymore. There was no furniture in the living spaces, and the home had a musty smell. When he peered into a bedroom, he found pallets on the floor but no proper beds.

In the dim light, he ventured into the kitchen. The dust indicated it had been a long time since food had been prepared there. A door on the other side of the hearth drew his attention.

There’s always a cellar in these places.

For a moment, he considered leaving. But then he wouldn’t know what the two men had been doing. If the cellar had an access point to the sewer system, which he'd found over the years to be common, he needed to know. He opened the door, but it was too dark to see. No sound filtered up the staircase. A lantern hung unlit at the top of the stair, and he found a flint striking stone next to it. Committed, he lit the lantern and ventured downward.

* * *

Sweat beaded Tomean's forehead and dripped down his face. No matter how much he cleared his mind or how he poked and prodded at the barrier, he continued to fail in acquiring access to his magic. His resolve weakened, and he strained against his bonds to little effect. Breathing hard, he descended further into madness. Muffled sounds of fighting and screaming became the backdrop of his near existence. He almost hoped to be found and be put out of his misery.

But his mind kept coming back to that of his family. He needed to know their fate, needed to aid them if possible, and he couldn’t do that locked away. For their sake, for the sake of the innocent of the city under threat, he could not remain neutral. But he had to save himself before he could come to their rescue.

Berating himself again for being captured, he searched again for any sign of weakness.

What's that? A displacing of air, perhaps… someone approaches.

He froze, both in mind and body, as he strained to sense more details. Alert, like a hound with a scent, he watched and waited.

* * *

Janus reached the bottom and paused at the door, listening with his ear close to the crack. Nothing. Taking a deep breath, he gently pushed the door open and stepped through, lantern first, ready to dodge at a moment's notice. The light cast a pool of light around him and touched on a figure, leaving the man mostly still in shadow. Janus frowned as he stepped closer, and then he stopped, jaw dropping at the sight of a man chained at the wrists, secured to the wall. He contemplated leaving the poor wretch.

Do I want to get mixed up in whatever this is? He might be safer down here, for now, anyway.

The figure peered at him with squinting eyes, blinking rapidly at the sudden light. Janus studied him. He was bald, covered in a sickly sheen of sweat, and clad in pristine armour with a host of blue symbols engraved on his chest.

Magic sigils… he’s probably a mage of some sort. Great.

The meaning of the engravings was beyond Janus. His knowledge of magic was confined to those orders linked to the city, and he tended to avoid them. He wasn't able to place the man's armour, though, which meant he came from elsewhere.

Some sort of warrior order then?

He watched him further but felt no squirming of fear stirring in his stomach. His sharp instincts were quiet for once.

The enemy of my enemy is my friend.

Steeling himself, he stepped forward.

* * *

Tomean's eyes slowly adjusted to the light, but even when he could see better, he stayed still and silent, observing whoever had entered the room.

“Hello,” the man said. As he stepped closer, Tomean could make out fresh blood stains gleaming in the light, soaking his dark clothing and armour.

He doesn't seem like he's with my captors. And he looks like he knows how to use that blade.

Tomean acknowledged him with a wry smile and a slight bow of his head, but never lost eye contact. His lack of reply was a test, an assertion of his dominance, keeping things on his terms. He didn’t let a trivial thing like being bound to the wall stop him.

The man’s facial expression changed, his jaw tightened, and his eyes narrowed.

“Look, we don’t have time for games. In case you didn’t notice, barbarians are overrunning the city as we speak. Tell me who you are and why I should try to free you and make it quick.”

Tomean considered his words and sighed.

I guess I have nothing to lose.

“My name is Tomean, and I'm of the Elemental Order. Simply put: I’m not looking to die today.”

“That’ll do, I suppose. I’m Janus. I’ll try to free you. Just don’t kill me afterward. You lot can be… unpredictable.”

Tomean smiled. “I think you have my Order confused with another. The Elemental Order walks the path of neutrality. Killing a rescuer wouldn’t fit that ideal.”

Janus tipped his head. “That’s good to know. Here let me look at those chains.” The man set his lantern on the ground nearby and examined the restraints. “You’re lucky,” Janus said. “These are just simple clasps. I’ve seen locksmith-wrought manacles you’d never free yourself from without a key.”

Tomean's heart skipped a beat. “But you can free me?”

“Just… gimme… a… there. It’s done.”

Free of the manacles, Tomean rubbed his wrists and forearms. Without pause, and with great trepidation, he reached for the source of magic. The barrier was still there, but weaker and incomplete. With relish he drew what he could, a feeble trickle compared to what he was used to holding, but it was enough to sooth the raw edges of his nerves.

“Ahhh.” Tomean closed his eyes and basked in the sensation of magic again. When he opened his eyes, his rescuer had taken a step back, watching with wide eyes. He grinned. “My thanks.”

Tomean picked up the discarded manacle and inspected its design, leaning near the lantern light. Etched on the inside of the cuff was the faint light of a rune. With his finger hovering above it, he delved into its design. Objects were easier than living, breathing things when it came to infiltration. The runes themselves were weak, too weak to have held him alone. That fact irked him; it meant that the spell worked in tandem with whatever they put in his drink. It meant there was still a very important question left unanswered.

I'll have to figure out exactly what they used in my drink some other time.

Free of the rune's influence, he could access magic again. Even the paltry trickle was enough to invigorate him. His full power would return as the drug wore off; of that, he was sure.

If it weren't for the full-scale attack, he would have returned to the inn to demand answers, but that was a consideration for another day.

Instead, Tomean glanced at Janus and skimmed his mind.

That’s interesting.

There were some… odd facts and thoughts drifting to the surface, but underneath that, Tomean sensed Janus was trustworthy. And he sensed the man sought redemption. That desire in and of itself was a powerful tool.

He conjured mage light and located his gauntlets on a nearby table. His two abductors hadn’t even felt the need to take them. He was thankful, though it only left him with more questions. Tomean felt more himself as he slipped the gauntlets onto his hands. Once his magic fully returned, he would be whole again.

“Come on, Janus,” he said with a smile. “Let's see if we can save your city.”

Once onto the streets, Janus stopped the Elemental. “We can’t fight them all. Trust me. They are an army; we are but two.”

“That didn’t stop you prowling the streets fighting them before you found me.” Tomean shrugged. “You're right in that we can’t fight them all hand-to-hand. But as my powers grow, so do our options.”

“Things will get messy; will those be enough?” Janus nodded at Tomean's double claws.

Tomean held up his twin gauntlets, letting the light of the sun catch on the blades. With a smile, he spoke a Word of Power. A blue nimbus manifested around the blades, mimicking them in shape. With a flourish, he raked the air in front of Janus so he could hear the sizzle as they sliced.

“Point taken.” Janus said. “So, what do we do now?”

“We break them.”

“Break them? As in the barbarians? How long were you locked up down there?”

Tomean flashed his teeth in a grin. He knew little about these barbarians, but he knew how people thought and these men would be no different. With his full powers, he could rout any army, as long as his magic was unopposed.

“Do they number any spell casters in their ranks?”

“I don’t know.”

Hmmm… still worth a shot.

“Where’s the highest point in the city? I need the best view of the invaders.”

“The old Oracle's Tower is the tallest building in Werross.”

“Where is it?”

“On the other side of the city.” Janus pointed. “Right through the middle of the horde.”

“It’s only a few thousand to carve up." Tomean rolled his shoulders to loosen them. "Shouldn't be too difficult.”

“Are you serious?”

“Come on. It'll be fun!” Tomean welcomed the excitement of battle after being cooped up and deprived of magic for so long. He nodded toward the sounds of fighting. “Better than standing around here doing nothing, anyway.”

* * *

Janus was running on pure fear and exhilaration. Tired and bone-weary, his arms felt like lead weights from the fighting. For the hundredth time, he cursed himself for not practising more with his sword. He didn't have the stamina for this. That was something he vowed to remedy if he survived.

Somehow, they had almost made it to the Oracle's Tower. The streets were chaos; the horde swarmed everywhere as the soldiers fought to withdraw through the muddy, blood-soaked streets.

Janus was glad the Congorians had a wild, savage fighting style. It was the only thing giving the city hope. If they had marched through the streets fighting in formation, the battle would have already been over. But in smaller numbers, the barbarians could be slowed by the defensive tactics and discipline of the better trained troops. Janus tipped his hat to whoever was coordinating the defence.

Catching his breath, he marvelled at Tomean's fortitude as he had gone from strength to strength, bringing the fight to the Congorians. He was a fearsome sight as his powerful claws cut through any resistance. No barbarian could stand up to him. No weapon could deflect his claws, and he gutted anyone who tried.

Janus had to rein him in in order to progress. The young man seemed to forget their direction when he got too caught up in the slaughter. They'd fought through what remained of the morning and into late afternoon, but there seemed no reprieve from the carnage. As bloody as their path had been, there were less contenders the further they fought into the heart of the city.

Is that his doing? Are the Congorians avoiding us?

“You look like you’re enjoying this far too much!” Janus said.

“You telling me you’re not?” Tomean said with another grin. “Come on. Let’s finish this before I grow bored.”

Janus shook his head. “Lead on.” he said, pointing his knife down another alley toward the tower.

* * *

A group of fur-clad, axe-wielding, hard-faced men guarded the front entrance of the Oracle's Tower.

“We can take them,” Tomean whispered.

Janus crouched down next to him. “Probably. But can’t you use some of that magic of yours?”

Tomean shook his head. “It’s fast returning, but I’m not at full strength. As much as I would love to tear them apart with a few well-placed spells, we have to do this the old-fashioned way.”

“I thought you might say something like that." Janus shrugged. "Shall we?”

Tomean stood with a nod and walked toward the entrance. The barbarians seemed glad to see him. With wicked grins of their own, they spread out, bouncing wicked-looking axes in their hands as if they were looking forward to some good sport. Tomean smiled back. This was his kind of fight.

Bringing his claws to bear, he broke into a run as he met the first one, claw on axe. Deflecting the curved blade of the axe with one gauntlet, he raked the other across the bearded northerner’s face, gouging ribbons of wet meat from the fat of his cheek and neck. He fell with a cry, and Tomean stepped over him, still grinning.

The remaining men charged, shouting incomprehensible war cries. Hacking and slashing, Tomean dodged sharp edges as he carved his way through them. Within moments all were dead, and Tomean was drenched in blood, his face crimson except for the whites of his eyes.

Turning back to the tower, he cast a small spectral scout and sent it racing into the building. Even that small effort taxed him. The reports were as he feared; more barbarians waited inside. They weren't as stupid as he'd hoped; they had to have seen the tower as the important high ground that it was. He dispelled his scout, he would need every scrap of magic he could summon for what was to come.

“There’s too many of them inside for us to make it to the top in a timely fashion,” Tomean said. “We’ll have to use another way up. Guard my back for a moment, will you?”

Not waiting for a reply, he flexed his mind and drew in what magic he could, pushing himself to his limits. So far, the magic he'd conjured had been simple but effective, and he hadn't needed his full strength. While whatever he'd ingested was wearing off, it was doing so slowly. He drew in more power than he'd been able to hold since being drugged, but he wouldn't be able to hold it long. Still, he couldn't help but savour it as his skin tingled, as his inner urges were satisfied. His eyes snapped open as they blazed with an internal light. He revelled in the Power as he completed the spell.

The earth beneath their feet trembled and shook itself free. As if an invisible blade had carved a circle around them, they rose, carried upon invisible currents of Power. His spell combined elements from both Earth and Fire. Janus stepped closer as the mud fell away and, piece by piece, the circle became smaller as they gathered speed on their upward trajectory.

Tomean grimaced. “I might have used too much Power.” He should have known that the spell would be too much for his current state.

“What?” Janus stared wide-eyed at the streets below them.

Tomean cast a critical eye over the hardened piece of mud and cobbles they stood upon before looking up at how much further they had left to travel.

“Hm… This might be a little close.” Tomean said.

Janus stared up at the fast-approaching tower edge, the fear on his face speaking for him.

“Janus," Tomean said, urgency in his voice. "Get ready! Jump in one, two, three — now!”

They half jumped, half fell from the now disintegrated piece of land they had ridden on, their momentum enough to carry them over the uppermost balcony railing of the tower. Sprawled in a tangled heap, Tomean rolled onto his back, laughing.

“What's so funny?” Janus asked.

“Me. I just realised if I had just used a hardened airbase instead of mixing my elements, we wouldn't have nearly fallen to our deaths.” He continued laughing, ignoring the look on his rescuer's face. "It wouldn't have strained what little resources I have."

“This is why I don't do magic,” Janus grumbled under his breath as he got up, brushing dirt off himself. “What now?” he asked.

Tomean stood up and joined Janus by the railing, staring down across the city.

“It's beautiful.”

“What do you mean? All I see is death.” Janus gave him a strange look.

“Look past the destruction,” Tomean said. “Look at the barbarians as they swarm the streets. Look at how they move, like a wild torrent of a rushing river. From here, there is no death. Only beauty.”

“But we know what's going on down there.”

“We do, but this is about perspective. Up here, we have a different view. I daresay the poor soul who lies dying on the bloody ground, alone and scared, feels differently as their hopes and dreams end with their last breath. But just as you can find death in everything, so, too, can you find beauty. This is such a moment, Janus. Breathe it in.”

Stepping closer still, Tomean rocked on his feet as he savoured it. He held no fear of falling, only fear of failing. Closing his eyes, he concentrated. He didn’t need to see them with his mundane senses, but his other ones. His mind would lead the way now.

“Guard my back, Janus. Don’t let anyone disturb me.” Tomean closed his eyes and concentrated. He had to clear his blood and his mind of the last vestiges of the concoction that had taken the Power from him.

He had an idea, but he needed his full strength. Using a meditation technique he'd been taught long ago, he sought out the poison in his system and eradicated what was left of it. Then, he allowed the meditative state to take over, and his well of magic began to fill once again.

He wasn't sure how long he stood there before his full might was returned to him, but part of him was aware of Janus fighting off the enemy at the door to the balcony. Tomean's plan was bold; he wasn't sure he could even do it. But the height afforded him an advantage as it brought him closer to the sky he intended to manipulate.

Relaxing his muscles, Tomean transferred his consciousness into that of his ethereal simulacrum. With a slow exhale of breath, he expanded his consciousness as he projected himself up and away from his body.

He saw the entire battle unfolding beneath him. His full strength returned, he drew on the vibrant natural magic around him until he reached his limits. His very lifeblood sang with energised power, and he smiled.

He formed a complex vortex of runes in his mind's eye and spun them together, urging them to greater speeds as he added layers to his magical construct. While the theory of what he was attempting was common enough, the execution wasn’t. He'd only read of a few mages in history able to pull off the spell.

Tomean transitioned the spell from the mental to the physical realm. Sigils projected upward, blazing with a life of their own as they drew on the surrounding elements. Heavy storm clouds formed, blocking the sun and casting the land below in shadow. It transformed the calmness of the sky into a raging maw of unrivalled elemental power.

Harnessing his creation became a thing of danger. Left unchecked it would grow, gorging on the raw power of the sky until it burst. But Tomean would not allow it to do so. Madness lay in the very heart of such an endeavour, and it matched the madness in his own heart. He had harnessed the raw Power of the very elements themselves. It was all about control. Stopping the monstrosity in the sky above was now out of the question. Swollen with energy, it was on the point of eruption. Tomean could only hope that he could control it. If left to rampage unchecked, it would destroy more of the city than the Congorians ever could.

The true dance began.

* * *

Janus watched in wonder as his very skin tingled with the raw power forming above him. He'd struck down yet another barbarian moments before, and he had just a moment of peace before he expected more to rush through the upper level door. Storm clouds continued to grow, angry and dark and full of energy. His wonder soon turned to fear as the first rumble of thunder rolled across the sky, loud and deafening.

The realisation of where they were standing hit him. Whatever Tomean intended to do, they were directly underneath it. Janus's knees tremble. As the power built, so did the urge to run. Fighting his own inner battle, he held fast. He would stand tall with the Elemental Knight and guard his back.

* * *

Tomean had never attempted a spell of this magnitude. But he was committed, the power was unleashed, and there was no stopping it. Crushing his inner fear at the scale of what he attempted, his resolve hardened. Now was not the time for doubt, not if he wanted to save the city.

If I reach for the stars, I better be prepared to crash to the ground.

At one with his creation, he could feel the deep rumble across the sky as the thunder boomed. When the clouds could no longer contain the energy, he was there to guide it.

The first lightning bolt ripped out. Without hesitation, he reached out with wraith-like fingers and guided it to the ground. It zig-zagged down, a blazing bolt of white Power, incinerating a large group of barbarians. For a second, their outlines flared brightly, and then they were gone, disintegrated. The sizzle and stench of burnt flesh were as if he stood within an arm's length of the dead. He was the cloud, the lightening; he was the Power itself.

Strike after strike rained down on the enemy, and Tomean lost himself in the assault. His life became measured in the moments between strikes. Nothing else existed. He walked along a razor's edge, too much one way or the other, and he would lose himself forever, falling prey once and for all to the Power, consumed by it completely.

Time disappeared. But as fatigue set into his physical form, he felt his spell weakening. As it did, he started to come back to himself, to his limit-bound human self. Still, he held on, guiding each bolt.

The barbarians were weaker now, but the ruin they'd caused scarred the city. Once the last vestiges of power dissipated, Tomean slumped over, spent. The sensations of the flesh became a heavy cloak, and eyelids heavy, he longed for nothing more than the sweet embrace of sleep. Fighting it, he forced his eyes open and looked down at what he had wrought. Through the fire and smoke, he could see that most of the city still stood. The horde was fleeing, decimated by his magic.

A memory came to him of an enemy spell caster trying to counter what he had done, but they had been nothing more than smoking corpses once he'd spotted them. They could not shield themselves from his fury.

The day was won.

Rolling to his back, he stared up at the now clearing sky. A light, cool rain washed over him. His limbs were like dead weights as he concentrated on breathing, and for many moments, he didn't have the capacity to focus on anything except basic function. But then he remembered his companion..

Janus! He thought with a start.

Turning his head, he saw a body lying on the ground nearby.

No! What have I done?

But then he noticed fur-rimmed armour. Relief flooded him, and he looked up, frowning, looking for the man who'd freed him. Janus sat leaning against the railing, breathing heavily, covered in blood. The floor of the room beyond the balcony told a harrowing tale of how the old man must have held the hordes at bay while Tomean worked.

“You okay?” Tomean asked.

“Yeah. I’m fine. He isn’t. How about you?”

“I’m fine.” Tomean managed to sit up.

Janus hauled himself to his feet. “You don't look it.”

“I'm not the only one.” Tomean said as his laugh turned into a coughing fit.

Janus grunted and held out a hand. “I have seen nothing more terrifying in my life, but I thank you for what you have done this day.” Janus helped Tomean to his feet.

“Bah.” He waved off the compliment and nodded to the dozen dead. "I wouldn't have been able to do it if you hadn't watched my back."

Sparing the city another glance, he bowed his head. While the city burned, it would survive. He had spared most of its people from a fate worse than death. None would know or believe the role he'd played that day, but he didn't care.

A pattern of magic rippled through the air at the top of the tower.

“Um, what now?” Tomean groaned, but he relaxed as he recognised the signature of the spell.

Janus turned toward the growing rift in the air as a grey-robed figure stepped out to join them on the tower balcony. Janus shrieked, and he reached for his weapon. But then he froze, his body rigid in an unnatural sort of way. Tomean smiled. He'd experienced the same freezing spell more than once.

Arakar spoke calmly, his tone almost amused. “Please don’t draw your sword again, Janus.”

Janus stepped back as his body went lax again. He looked frightened.

“Don't worry Janus," Tomean said. "We're safe. I know him.”

“Oh, he's a friend of yours, then?”

“Well, something like that. Janus, meet Master Arakar of the Elemental Order.”

Arakar inclined his head at the introduction.

“Master?” Janus asked.

“Not just any master, my master.”

“Very impressive display, Tomean," Arakar said, "but you could have just told me you had grown in skill and power. You didn’t have to destroy half the population of the Northlands to do so.”

Tomean shook his head at his master's attempt at humour. He couldn't help but smile. “How did you travel from the tower? I didn’t think an individual could translocate so far without the aid of the gates.”

“A master does not reveal his secrets." Arakar sniffed and folded his hands in front of him. "However, we have to go now. You were right.”

“Right about what?”

“There is a plot afoot as you suspected, and Fillas and Cortain need some help.”

At the mention of his friends, Tomean pushed aside his earlier fatigue. Ignoring the pang of guilt at their names in relation to his vision, he stepped forward.

“What about my family? I never had a chance to seek them out.”

“They’re not here.” Arakar said.

“What? But–”

“I keep track of many things, your family included. They are safe, for now. But Fillas and Cortain are not.”

“I’m ready when you are then.”

Arakar turned to Janus. “I require one other. Would you be willing to do another good deed?”

Janus paused and looked out over Werross for several long seconds. "This city is my home." Something like guilt flashed across his features, and Tomean frowned at that. But it was masked just as quickly as it had come. "I think," Janus said, "doing some more good is exactly what I need."

“Don’t worry about your former master," Arakar said. "We will talk about him later."

Janus took a step back. "You know of what I've done?"

"I know what you were forced to do," Arakar said.

Tomean had the feeling what they spoke of had something to do with what he'd skimmed from Janus when they'd first met. He hadn't gone very deep. He didn't know everything, yet. But if Arakar had gone deeper and found the trustworthy aspects of Janus to be enough, Tomean would continue to trust him.

Arakar raised his eyebrows. "I very much want to meet the man who dragged you into this mess."

"Is it so easy to read one's mind?" Janus asked, eyes wide.

Arakar shrugged. "We do need to work on your mentalism. You need to be able to hide some things if you'll be working with us.”

Janus just nodded, his expression dumbstruck.

“Don't worry. You will be fine.” Arakar opened another gateway.

Tomean prepared to translocate halfway around the world.

They had a plot to foil.