Chapter 1

*The Year is 102 ACC*

Hands yank Salaun from sleep, rough and unyielding. He flails, striking out at shadows; a voice hisses in his ear—urgent, threatening—but the words are a jumble. “Who—” Salaun starts, but the words catch in his throat. Harith is already at his bedside, a wicked grin flashing in the dim light.

“No time for introductions,” Harith says, yanking Salaun from the bed. “Move!”

Salaun shouts, his voice cracking with fear. Salaun twists in the grip of his captor. “Help!” Salaun cries. “Guards!” Harith tightens his hold, crushing Salaun’s slender frame against his chest.

“Quiet,” Harith growls. “You’ll wake the whole enclave.”

“Let me go!” Salaun demands, his voice on the edge of panic. “I’ve done nothing!”

Elizabeth smirks. “It’s not what you’ve done. It’s what you will do.”

They drag him from the bedchamber; Salaun fights harder, kicking at Harith’s shins and biting at his hands. The hallway is dark, the flicker of enchanted torches casting eerie, shifting shadows on the stone walls. “Why are you doing this?” Salaun pleads, breathless from his struggle. “Who are you?”

Harith and Elizabeth exchange glances. " You are coming with us,” Elizabeth says, her tone almost bored.

They reach the main hall, its cavernous expanse eerily silent. Salaun’s eyes dart to the massive oak doors that lead to the courtyard, to the dense forest beyond. Escape. He calculates the distance and the odds, his overactive mind grasping at any sliver of hope.

Salaun twists like a serpent and breaks Harith’s grip. He sprints for the doors, bare feet slapping on cold stone.

A flash of light. A crack like thunder. Salaun’s body seizes as a bolt of energy courses through him, and he crumples to the ground, twitching, his vision a kaleidoscope of pain.

“Fool,” Harith mutters, sauntering to Salaun’s prone form. He lifts the boy by his collar, Salaun’s legs dangling uselessly. "Do exactly what you're told. That’s the only way you survive this. Your choice.”

“Please,” Salaun whispers. “Don’t hurt me.”

Harith pauses, considering. “We don’t intend to hurt anyone. But resistance—” he looks to Elizabeth, who has produced a small, crystalline device from her satchel—“is unwise.”

Elizabeth activates the device with a twist, and it hums to life, a soft, malevolent glow. “Time to go.”

***

Harith slips through the bustling market like a wraith, unseen and unheard. The stalls are a riot of color and sound: vendors shouting, children laughing, and the clatter of cookware. He moves with the grace of a dancer, his athletic frame bending and twisting around obstacles. His dark and alert eyes scan the produce stand ahead.

With a flick of his wrist, an apple floats from a crate, hovering in the air like a lazy bee. It drifts toward Harith's outstretched hand, but he doesn't slow his pace. He bites into it with a crunch, the juice spraying his sun-kissed skin. The illusion of the floating apple dissolves, and a real one appears in his hand. The bite marks a perfect match.

"Oh! Thief!" A burly vendor points a sausage-like finger, but his eyes glaze over as Harith waves a hand casually. The man's anger drains away, replaced by a confused stupor.

"Must be the heat," Harith mutters, already turning the corner. He takes another bite, savoring the sweetness, then stuffs the rest into a satchel slung over his shoulder. It's filled with fruits, all of them pilfered, all of them real.

He pauses in a narrow alley, the sounds of the market muffled but still present. He closes his eyes and takes a deep breath. For a moment, he is nine years old again, starving and alone, clutching an apple just like the one he bit into. The memory fades, and he's eighteen again, still starving but not alone.

"Reith," a small voice calls from the alley's entrance. A boy no older than eight, all bones and big eyes, runs to him. "Did you get it?"

Harith ruffles the boy's hair. "Of course, Kavi. When have I ever come back empty-handed?"

Kavi's eyes light up as Harith hands him the satchel. "The others will be happy. So happy!"

"Go on, I'll catch up."

Kavi hesitates. "Be careful, Reith."

Harith watches the boy run off, then slips back into the market. He has enough for the orphans now, but his stomach growls. Just one more apple, he tells himself. Maybe a pear.

The produce stand is in sight, and the burly vendor is now engrossed in haggling with a customer. Harith's fingers tingle with anticipation as he prepares another illusion, this one more elaborate: a shimmering mirage of himself walking nonchalantly past the stall.

He's a master of this craft, of making people see what isn't there. The mirage draws the vendor's gaze, and Harith moves in for the take, his hand reaching for the fruit—a clang of metal. The fruit doesn't budge. Harith's heart skips; his hand is caught in a lattice of enchanted wire, invisible and unbreakable.

"Got you now!" The vendor lunges, but Harith is quicker. He yanks his hand free with a burst of sorcerous energy and bolts, the sound of heavy footsteps and shouted commands hot on his heels.

He weaves through the crowd, creating phantom versions of himself at every turn. Each illusion splits off, running in different directions, confusing the guards who have joined the chase. Harith's real body moves with desperate speed, his lungs burning.

He bursts into an open square and skids to a halt. Three guards block his path, weapons drawn. He spins to retreat, but more guards pour in from the alleys. He's surrounded.

"End of the line, illusionist," one guard sneers.

The baton comes down with a sickening THUD, and darkness swallows him.

***

The night air crackles with energy as Harith and Elizabeth sprint through the labyrinthine paths of the Guilds’ enclave. The scent of ozone mingles with the earthy aroma of ancient forests. Harith's heart pounds in his chest, each beat a deafening drum that threatens to drown out the shouts and explosions around them. A metallic tang of fear pervades his mouth.

"Hold him tighter!" Elizabeth's voice cuts through the chaos with the precision of a scalpel. Harith glances back; her icy blue eyes are as unyielding as ever. She doesn’t even break stride.

In his arms, Salaun struggles, his green eyes wide with a mix of defiance and terror. Harith's grip is firm but reluctant, every muscle in his body screaming with conflict.

BAM! There is a burst of light to their left, and the ground sizzles where the bolt lands. Harith ducks instinctively, his movements fluid, almost dance-like. He casts a quick glance over his shoulder and sees three armor-clad knights, their magic guns already recharged and glowing with lethal intent.

"Down!" Harith shouts, and he dives. BAM! BAM! BAM! He rolls as a volley of bolts sears the air above them. The heat singes his hair, the smell of burnt ozone now overpowering. He comes up on one knee, hands full, and hesitates. Elizabeth doesn’t.

With a flick of her wrist, she conjures a shimmering barrier that deflects the next salvo. Sparks fly, and the air hums with the force of the impacts. Her other hand traces a swift, elegant arc, and a blast of raw energy hurtles toward the knights, knocking two of them off their feet. The third staggers but remains standing, raising his weapon for another shot.

"Go!" Elizabeth commands. Harith pauses, his eyes meeting hers. For a moment, he thinks he sees something—doubt, maybe, or the ghost of an emotion she can no longer suppress. Then it’s gone, and she turns back to the fight, her movements as calculated and cold as ever.

Harith rises and runs, Salaun jostling in his arms. He takes a sharp corner, then another, the enchanted pathways shifting and twisting as if alive. He curses under his breath; even with his talents, navigating the Guilds’ stronghold is a nightmare.

BAM! BAM! BANG! BANG! BANG! BANG! BANG!

A burst of sound behind him—Elizabeth, her robes sang, her hair in disarray. "Move faster!" she yells, closing the distance in long, determined strides. "The portal won’t hold!"

They burst into a clearing. The makeshift portal shimmers and wavers like a heat mirage, its edges flickering with unstable energy. Harith skids to a halt, his eyes darting, calculating. The portal is a gamble; it could collapse and fling them into the aether or, worse, dump them in the middle of the ocean.

"It's our only shot," Elizabeth says, as if reading his thoughts. She reaches for Salaun, and Harith pulls back, his body tensing, his mind screaming with the decision he doesn’t want to make.

"Harith," she says, her voice softer now, almost human. "We do not have time for this."

A shout from the far side of the clearing. The knights have regrouped, their weapons aimed and ready. Time slows for Harith; he sees the sweat on the knights' brows, the unsteady hands, the glint of moonlight on enchanted steel.

"Go," he says, thrusting Salaun toward Elizabeth. She takes him without hesitation, without question, and turns to the portal.

Harith faces the knights, his hands empty, his heart heavy. He raises one hand high, a sparkling illusion of a dragon forming above him, its roar drowning out the night as it swoops toward the knights. They duck and scatter, buying the precious seconds he knows they need.

He turns just in time to see Elizabeth step through the portal, Salaun in tow. The unstable gateway collapses behind them, a rush of wind and pop like a bursting bubble.

Harith stands alone in the clearing, the knights' shouts growing closer. He closes his eyes and takes a deep breath, the cool night air filling his lungs, his mind, and his soul.

And he knows that even if he walks out of here, he will never truly be free.

***

Harith sits in the dank stone cell, its walls weeping with moisture from the sea. Chains clink as he shifts, the iron biting into his wrists. Slow and deliberate footsteps echo down the corridor. The key grates in the lock, and the heavy door swings open with a creak.

"Comfortable, Mr. Vasu?" Archmagi Luke stands in the doorway, tall and severe, a warden surveying his quarry.

Harith squints against the light from the corridor, its flickering Aether lamps casting shifting shadows over Luke's angular features. "I've had worse accommodations," Harith says, his voice hoarse but defiant. "Why the courtesy visit? Came to check if I'm still breathin’?"

Luke steps into the cell, the door closing with a metallic clang behind him. He crosses his arms, regarding Harith with a mix of amusement and disdain. "The Council has sentenced you to death, you know. It’s a shame, really. You had such potential."

Stolen from its rightful place, this narrative is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

A knot tightens in Harith's stomach. He knows Luke is toying with him, but the words still land like body blows. "It's just fruit," he says, desperation creeping into his tone. "People don’t usually die for fruit."

Luke's lips curl into a half-smile. "You're not going to die because of the fruit, Harith. You're going to die because you're dangerous."

Dangerous. The word hangs in the air, heavy with implications. Harith slumps against the wall, the weight of Luke's words crushing his last reserves of hope. "Ain’t dangerous."

"No," Luke concedes, "you are not. But desperate men can become dangerous. We can't afford to take that risk."

“I'll change," Harith says. "I can—"

"You can do exactly what you're told," Luke interrupts, his voice now a cold, hard thing. "That’s the only way you survive this."

Harith leans forward, the chains stretching taut. "Please," he says. "I’ll do anythin’."

Luke uncrosses his arms and takes a step closer. "Anything? You’re in no position to bargain, Mr. Vasu. But perhaps there’s a way for you to be useful."

Harith's stomach knots.

The silence stretches between them, thick and suffocating. Harith breaks it with a whisper.

"What do I have to do?"

"The council requires the assistance of a boy named Salaun, who is currently being held captive by our enemies. Deliver Salaun to me," Luke says. "Alive and unspoiled. You have half a year."

Harith's head snaps up. "That’s it? If I brin’ him to you, I’m free?"

Luke laughs, a short, sharp bark. "Free? No. But you’ll be alive, which is more than you can hope for otherwise."

Harith swallows hard. "And if I fail?"

Luke raises a hand, and a soft, blue glow surrounds it. The light dances on the cell walls, casting eerie, shifting patterns. "I’m going to place a spell on you, Mr. Vasu. It's a curse, really. It will ensure your… motivation. If you don’t deliver Salaun in the time allotted, the spell will kill you. Slowly."

The blue glow intensifies, and Harith feels a prickling on his skin, like static before a lightning strike. "Wait," he says, panicked. "I haven’t agreed—"

The spell arcs from Luke’s hand, a tendril of energy that snakes through the air and burrows into Harith’s chest. He convulses, a silent scream contorting his face, then collapses in a heap as the chains rattle and settle.

Luke turns to leave. "Oh, and Mr. Vasu," he says over his shoulder, "if you succeed, there will be great fortune for you. And protection from the Council. Remember, I value resourcefulness."

The cell door opens with a screech, then closes with a definitive, crushing THUD. Harith lies motionless, his body a shattered glass, his future a dark and swirling void.

***

ARRRRRRR! The alarm bell tolls, a deep, resonant clang that reverberates through the stone corridors. BAM! Harith ducks as a bolt of searing blue energy sizzles past his head, scorching the wall behind him. "We need to move faster!" he shouts, yanking Elizabeth down a side passage.

"We wouldn't be in this mess if you'd just—" Elizabeth starts, but the heavy THUD! THUD! THUD! Of armored footsteps cut her off— three Guild enforcers round the corner, magic rifles leveled.

BAM! BAM! BANG! "Down!" Harith tackles Elizabeth as the first volley crackles over them, filling the air with the sharp tang of ozone. He rolls to his feet, hands weaving a quick spell. A burst of green light erupts from his fingertips, striking the enforcers and sending them sprawling.

Elizabeth glares as she stands, brushing dust from her robes. "Your spells are getting weaker."

"I'm saving my strength," Harith retorts. "We're not out yet."

They burst into an expansive courtyard, the night sky above flickering with warding spells. Enclave buildings loom like dark, enchanted monoliths. Harith scans the area, eyes landing on a small skiff docked at a pier. "There," he points.

There is a shout from behind. More enforcers pour into the courtyard, a tide of glinting steel and crackling energy. Elizabeth raises a hand and mutters an incantation—a translucent barrier shimmers to life, absorbing the first few blasts from the enforcers' rifles.

"Go!" she commands. "I will hold them."

Harith hesitates, then dashes for the pier. The skiff is a sleek, enchanted craft, its hull lined with runes that glow faintly. He jumps aboard, untying the mooring lines with frantic hands. He looks back to see Elizabeth flick her wrist, and a wave of force knocks the enforcers back like bowling pins. She sprints for the skiff, dodging return fire.

She leaps aboard as Harith activates the skiff's control crystal. The craft hums to life, lifting from the water's surface on a cushion of aetheric energy. A bolt from a magic rifle strikes the hull, and the runes flare brightly, absorbing the impact.

"That was too close," Harith says, breathing hard.

"We're not safe yet," Elizabeth snaps. She points to the shore, where a larger vessel is already in pursuit, its deck bristling with enforcers and cannons.

Harith curses under his breath. "Can you teleport us?"

"Not with the wards up," Elizabeth says, her voice tight. "And not that far, not anymore."

The skiff speeds through a narrow channel, the forested shoreline a blur of dark green. The pursuing vessel gains on them, its enchanted sails billowing with unnatural wind. It turns to face them. A cannon. Thoom!! And a fiery projectile arcs toward the skiff. It explodes in the water beside them, drenching the craft and sending it skidding sideways.

Harith fights the controls, his knuckles white. "We need a plan!"

Elizabeth's eyes narrow. "We need bait." She moves to the back of the skiff, where a figure lies bound and gagged. Salaun, a sedative spell keeping him subdued. Elizabeth removes Salaun's gag.

"What the hell? Are you doin'?" Harith demands.

"Giving us a chance," Elizabeth says. She mutters a spell, and Salaun's eyes flutter open. "Your people are going to kill us all, Salaun. Is that what you want?"

Salaun's green eyes, groggy but defiant, take in the scene. He says nothing.

"Tell them to stand down," Elizabeth commands.

Harith starts to protest, but Elizabeth silences him with a fierce look. The pursuing vessel is nearly upon them, its crew preparing to board.

Salaun clears his throat, then shouts, "Hold fire!"

The captain of the pursuing vessel shouts, "Salaun! Are you injured?" His voice and senses are amplified by a supernatural spell, allowing him to hear and communicate from greater distances.

"I'm fine," Salaun lies. "Let them go. The Council will not harm me."

The captain looks unsure but signals his crew. The vessel slows, falling back.

Harith can't believe it. "They're actually—"

"Not for long," Elizabeth says, cutting him off. "We bought some time. That's all."

The skiff emerges into open water, the horizon a jagged line of distant mountains. The pursuing vessel lingers at the mouth of the channel, its crew in tense deliberation.

Harith looks to Salaun, then to Elizabeth. "So what's the real plan?"

Elizabeth's face is a mask of cold determination. "We get far enough ahead, then we cut the wards and teleport."

"And him?" Harith nods to Salaun.

Elizabeth doesn't answer. Harith swallows hard.

The skiff speeds across the lake, its runes casting a ghostly glow on the water. The larger vessel resumes its pursuit, slowly closing the gap.

Harith takes the control crystal from Elizabeth. "I'll handle this. You prepare the spell."

Elizabeth hesitates, then moves to the front of the skiff, her hands already tracing arcane patterns in the air. Harith watches her for a moment, then he focuses on the controls.

Salaun speaks, his voice a rough whisper. "She's lying, you know."

Harith glances at him. "About what?"

"About everything."

Harith doesn't respond.

The skiff hits a patch of rough water and stirs, Salaun's body shivering.

"Why do you serve them?" Salaun asks. "You don't seem like a true believer."

Harith's jaw tightens. "It's not your concern."

"Is it for the money? The power? Do you even have a choice?"

"Shut it," Harith says, but there's no heat in it. He remembers the curse now embedded in his chest, a ticking clock he can't see or hear but feels in his very bones.

Salaun falls silent, his eyes closing as if to conserve what little hope he has left.

"Got it," Elizabeth says. Harith looks to see her holding a small, glowing orb. "This will cut the wards for a few seconds. Long enough for me to get us out."

"How far?" Harith asks.

"Far enough."

The pursuing vessel is within cannon range again. Thoom! And the projectile whistles over their heads, missing by mere yards.

"Do it," Harith says.

Elizabeth crushes the orb in her hand. A pulse of energy ripples through the air, and the distant shore flickers as if seen through a heat haze. She begins to chant, her words a lyrical, otherworldly cadence.

Thoom! A cannon fires. The shot strikes the skiff's stern, and the craft lurches violently. Harith is thrown against the side, his head ringing with the impact. He sees Elizabeth stagger, her spell interrupted.

The skiff starts to sink, its runes flickering and dying. Water rushes in through a gaping hole in the hull.

Elizabeth's hands blur in desperation. "Elizabeth!" Harith shouts

***

The Shifting Balance of Power in Atherton: A Delicate Dance of Magic and Politics

By Hildegard Eisenhardt, Senior Fellow at the Aetheric Institute of Global Affairs

Date: 21/02/0102

In our tumultuous world of Atherton, where the scars of the Great Wizard War still run deep, we find ourselves at a critical juncture. The delicate balance between the Council of Magic and the Guilds of Unbound Sorcery has never been more precarious, and the implications for global stability are profound.

The Council's Iron Grip: A Double-Edged Sword

Since its inception in the aftermath of the cataclysmic events of 0 ACC, the Council of Magic has positioned itself as the guardian of peace and stability in our fractured world. Their mission to democratize magic through technology while restricting dangerous forms of sorcery has undoubtedly prevented another Great Wizard War. However, we must ask ourselves: at what cost?

The Council's ever-tightening regulations have stifled innovation and pushed many talented sorcerers underground or into the welcoming arms of the Guilds. The invasion of Amir Island in 86 ACC, while justified by the Council as a necessary step to neutralize the growing threat of unbound magic, has only served to deepen the divide and radicalize moderates.

The Rise of the Guilds: Freedom or Folly?

On the other side of this magical Cold War, we have the Guilds of Unbound Sorcery. Headquartered on Amir Island under the protection of House Lancaster, these organizations present themselves as bastions of magical freedom and innovation. The allure of unfettered magical research has drawn many brilliant minds to their cause.

However, we must not be naive. The Guilds, particularly the enigmatic Helical Guild, who are obsessed with the mysterious Helix artifact. Poses a significant threat to global stability. Their willingness to delve into forbidden magics could unleash forces beyond our control, potentially triggering a second Great Wizard War.

The Lancaster Dilemma

At the center of this powder keg sits House Lancaster and the island nation of Amir. Count Abner Lancaster's decision to offer sanctuary to the Guilds has placed Amir in a precarious position. The events of 86 ACC, where Helical Guildmaster Horn summoned monstrous creatures to repel the Council's invasion, demonstrate the dangerous power at the Guilds' disposal.

The recent abduction of Salaun Lancaster, heir to House Lancaster, adds another layer of complexity to an already volatile situation. While details remain scarce, this event could serve as a flashpoint for renewed conflict between the Council and the Guilds.

A Path Forward?

As we navigate these treacherous waters, it's clear that neither the Council's rigid control nor the Guilds' unrestrained pursuit of magical knowledge offers a sustainable path forward. What we need is a middle ground – a way to harness the innovative potential of magic while maintaining safeguards against its misuse.

Perhaps the solution lies not in choosing sides but in fostering dialogue. The Council must loosen its grip and acknowledge the value of magical diversity. The Guilds, in turn, must recognize the dangers inherent in unrestricted magical experimentation and agree to certain oversight measures.

Only through compromise and mutual understanding can we hope to prevent another catastrophe on the scale of the Great Wizard War. The fate of our Atherton hangs in the balance, and it is up to us – scholars, politicians, and citizens alike – to chart a course toward a more stable and prosperous future.

As we move forward, we must remember the lessons of our past while not allowing them to shackle our potential. The magic that once nearly destroyed our world may yet be the key to its salvation – if we have the wisdom and courage to wield it responsibly.

*Dr. Hildegard Eisenhardt is a renowned expert in magical geopolitics and the author of "Spells and Statecraft: The Role of Magic in Global Affairs." The views expressed in this column are her own and do not necessarily reflect those of the Aetheric Institute of Global Affairs. *