When I woke for my watch, I waited until the forms of Alverd and Sheena had settled into the steady rhythm of sleep before I hatched my plan.

I wanted to speak to Deotra, and I wanted to do it face-to-face. What she pulled back in the Valley could’ve gotten us all killed. The least thing she owes me is an explanation. Maybe if I’m lucky there’ll be an apology in there too.

On the other side of the campfire from me, Yuzuruha poked at the fire, and fed a fresh bundle of sticks she’d collected into it. She sat facing the Valley’s entrance, staring at it over my shoulder. Since she’d been roused from sleep, she’d never taken her eyes off it, even when she would gather more fuel for the fire.

I could tell the stress was getting to her. She apparently hadn’t slept at all during her down time, her head nodded and bobbed and I caught her closing her eyes multiple times, but she never succumbed. Under normal circumstances I’d go over there and dump some cold water on her head but this might actually work out better for me.

When her eyes drooped shut, I waved my hand, whispering softly. Drawing power out of my staff, I invoked the power of enchantment to help Yuzuruha drift off to sleep. Before I was rubbish at stuff like this, but with the Staff of Farewells I can probably manage it. My hand completed the motions, and I directed the spell towards her.

She yawned, loud and obnoxious, her hand coming up to cover her mouth. Then she swayed left, right, then fell over backwards, asleep before her head hit the ground. I was now the only person awake in our camp. Standing up, I tiptoed away from the fire and made my way towards the monument at the entrance to the valley.

The valley itself was now eerily quiet, the ghosts having been sent scurrying away by our display of magic and might. Standing beside the monument, I opened my mind to that of my familiar, addressing her mentally rather than with spoken words. “You and I need to talk, Deotra. About what happened in the valley.”

I felt her fear and anxiety in my mind, and could almost imagine her with her head hung in shame. Her presence recoiled away from me, scurrying away in my mindscape in her meek little fox form. Oh no you don’t. Come out here right now. We are going to have a conversation. The fox yelped and ran away faster, burrowing into an imaginary hole in the equally imaginary dirt. Her glowing eyes peered at me from the safety of her hidey-hole, but I wasn’t letting her off the hook.

I’m going to count to three. Deotra shrank away, still cowering in her den. Extending a projection of my arm forward, I beckoned for her to come out. One. She made a series of tortured mewling noises, like she wasn’t sure what to do. Two. Her tail covered her face, her body quivering in the dark. Thr-

Then I was slammed in the face by some unseen force. I fell over backwards, staring up at the starry sky. Wincing, I leaned forward and picked myself up, and found I had new company in our little camp.

Seated on a log near the fire, where Alverd had perched himself during his watch, was a woman. She had unbelievably long, silky blonde hair that fell down her backside and past her waist, crimson eyes that stared at me accusingly, and a form-fitting red and gold gown that left little of her hourglass figure to the imagination. She didn’t possess an abundance of finery or jewelry but sitting on her head in a cheeky tilt was a small crown with several embedded rubies.

The woman herself had to be in her late twenties, young enough to still be beautiful but old enough to look wise and learned. Her skin was of a tan shade slightly darker than Alicia’s but utterly flawless, unmarked by any sign of physical exertion or damage. She was scowling at me, her eyes filled with disgust. When she spoke, I recognized the familiar tone of disdain from all the times she’d spoken to me prior.

“Leave her alone. If you would speak, then speak with me, boy.” Drache growled in her low, menacing tone. My mouth fell open, and I was so in shock at first that I didn’t have anything to say. “You’ll attract flies. Close your mouth. You look even more idiotic than you normally do.” With effort, I pushed my jaw shut with my hand and then sat cross legged in front of the log I’d been seated on, unwilling to chance falling off of it again.

Finally, after working up my courage I spoke. “So you’re Drache. I honestly expected you to look a lot more demonic.” She folded her arms gracefully, never taking her eyes off me.

“What you expect is irrelevant. It is no fault of mine that you allow your imagination to run off on you.” She took in a breath and let it out, which I found odd given she was likely not even truly sitting before me.

“Again, leave. The. Girl. Alone. She’s already in a bad way after what happened, and she does not need you berating her while demanding answers.” Wait. Is Drache… defending Deotra?

“What’s it to you? As far as I can tell Deotra is just a means to an end for you. As am I.”

The woman scowled at me again, her immaculately trimmed eyebrows furrowing. Despite everything, she is rather beautiful, in a melancholy sort of way. Her eyelashes make her look delicate, her bearing is regal. If she smiled, she’d probably look like a typical noblewoman, maybe even a queen. But of course I have to question how much of this is real and how much is a fabrication. This entire persona she’s showing me could just be her way of lulling me into a false sense of security.

“Can one not develop fondness for something they fancy? You mortals keep pets and develop sentimental attachments to inanimate objects. It’s not that different, I believe.” There was a hint of smugness in her voice, and then her thin lip curled up at one end in a visible smirk. “Both you and the little vixen are endearing when you’re not questioning me. I find myself entertained by your antics.”

This bitch is trying to get a rise out of me but I’m not playing her game. “I’m nobody’s pet. And I’m no one’s slave either. So let’s get something straight, you treat me like an equal or we both get nowhere.” I put some steel in my voice. Maybe it was still the adrenaline from the events of a few hours prior still flowing in my body but I wasn’t about to back down, even if it was Drache making light of me.

Her eyes narrowed even more, becoming almost mere slits. Her pupils seemed to glow in the dim light, and for a minute my foolhardy courage faltered. Another growl escaped her lips, and it sounded far more animalistic than human. Then she stood. “I have no desire to speak in front of your associates. Come with me.” She then walked towards the valley’s opening.

“Are you crazy?” I whisper-shouted at her. “We just busted our asses trying to get out of there and you want to just waltz right ba-” The woman glided across the stone, her dress flowing over the ground without friction, ignoring me entirely. I knew it. Whatever I’m seeing, it’s not really there. Drache is speaking to me, but it’s a projection. She can’t actually hurt me.

When she was in front of the opening, she looked over her shoulder at me with her contemptible eyes. “You’ve figured it out by now, haven’t you? If not, you’re slower than I gave you credit for. The ghosts will not come back. And even if they do, you bear the Staff of Farewells. You’ll be fine.” She waved her hand impatiently. “I do not have all night, boy. If you desire answers then you’ll have to dance to my tune. You should be well acquainted with that notion by now.”

Ugh, she’s got you there. But if she’s willing to talk, even if most of it will be at me, I might learn something. I pushed myself off the ground and strode after her. As I grew near, Drache crossed the threshold into the valley. Taking a deep breath, I walked in after her.

The atmosphere inside the valley wasn’t as suffocating as before, which was likely due to the ghosts having fled. Still, I could sense the scars of our recent battle, the residue of Sheena’s spell hanging in the air like morning fog. I took a sniff and could even detect traces of the ectoplasm left over by the ghosts, even though the entire pool had dried up or disappeared.

Drache stopped about ten paces ahead of me, then spread her arms wide. Her fingers hooked like claws, she raised them, and around her images appeared. Smoke-like energy coalesced into the familiar forms of my companions, each frozen in place in the heat of combat. The monstrous ghost began to reform as well, but I had no reason to panic. It too was merely a projection, created as part of the spell Drache was weaving.

I had to step off to the side when one of the smoke beings materialized in front of me. Before my eyes, the cloud of otherworldly haze took the form of Sheena wrestling with me for the Staff of Farewells. But the smoke added another detail: on top of Sheena’s head was an angry fox, her paws dug into the half elf’s hair and hanging on for dear life.

“So it was Deotra. I could sense her attacking Sheena, even if I couldn’t see her with my eyes.” I walked around to the other side, observing the fury in Deotra’s tiny eyes as she tried to get a solid enough grip to try and bite Sheena’s head. Instead she settled for wrapping her long tail around Sheena’s neck and attempting to tighten it like a rope to suffocate her.

As the scene played out around me, Alverd and Yuzuruha struggling against the ghost and with me trying to corral Deotra, another unforeseen detail came to light. Deotra was forcibly removed from Sheena’s neck by some invisible force, propelling her back to me and into my cloak. When I felt that happen I thought it was because she obeyed my command. But it was Drache?

Slowly I looked at her. “So that was your doing?” She nodded grimly.

“Deotra was being overprotective. And she was misinterpreting my instructions. I told her that the Staff of Farewells is to remain in your possession at all times, and that no one else is allowed to wield it. Unfortunately, she can be a bit simple minded. She did as she was told, but not as I asked. It was only after I reminded her that her attempts to interfere with the Witch-Queen’s plan were putting your life in danger did she relent.”

The scene played out to the point where Sheena had utilized the Staff of Farewells to carry out her plan. Through Drache’s neat little trick I could see the flow of magic, the intricacies of Sheena’s spell, and the intent and execution of said spell. “Quite a clever solution. Her power still requires training and refinement but there’s no doubt she could be quite a talented velenskir in time.”

You could be reading stolen content. Head to Royal Road for the genuine story.

The word was both familiar and yet odd to my ears. “Velenskir?” I asked.

“An old Ishratan word. You call them spirit contractors. In my age, velenskirs were just starting to emerge among the people. It was the culmination of several generations of flourishing magical study during a golden age, the distillation of the brightest minds and talents of my people into a select few.” For a second, the hostility in Drache’s voice gave way to something more like awe, as she hovered mere inches away from Sheena, examining her face closely.

I suspect it, but better I confirm it just to be sure. “In your age… are you Ishratan?”

She made a scoffing sound. “I still am. The fall of an empire does not diminish the blood that flows in my veins. An empire is its people, not its buildings or even its legacy. Even the girl who suffers from Deotra’s curse bears the blood of Ishrati within her, and someday she might awaken to its potential. Anything is possible.”

I opened my mouth but Drache waved her hand. “Again, do not fault Deotra. I ordered her to erase certain memories so that the girl would not reveal anything to your companions. Secrecy is the means by which we have survived and old habits are hard to break. But if you wish, I will ask her to face you.”

Guess I should take advantage of how agreeable she’s being. I don’t want to be too harsh on Deotra, though. “Fine. Bring her out.” Drache motioned with her hand. “Come out, little vixen. We must have a little chat. Time to face the sun with heads held high.”

A sudden weight in my coat fell onto the ground. The little ball of fluff made her way over to Drache’s side, then behind her before morphing into the form of my familiar. She was still so very tiny in comparison to Drache, who towered over both of us. She hid behind her like a child would hide behind her mother when meeting strangers, trying not to make eye contact with me.

She only said a few words. “Are you mad at me?” There was a hitch in her voice, like she was trying to be brave but was ready to falter like a dam about to burst. I sighed.

“No, Deotra. I’m not angry. I’m just frustrated that you didn’t tell me what was going on.”

She gripped the side of Drache’s dress, shrinking against the taller woman. “I was just so confused. I had my orders but I also saw your life in danger, and I knew I couldn’t intervene without revealing myself. And when Sheena tried to grab onto the Staff I just reacted. I didn’t mean to endanger you.” She was already crying, tears flowing down her face.

Godsdammit. Even I can’t stay mad after that. “Look, stop that. I promise I’m not mad.” She peeked her head out from behind Drache’s body. “I was in that fight, and I didn’t know what to do other than what Sheena told me. As far as I knew you were trying to kill her. But as long as we cleared up the misunderstanding and nobody got seriously hurt, then there’s no issue. Although someone needs to explain to me if Alicia is going to be alright.”

Deotra finally came out from behind Drache, standing apart from her while still looking extremely nervous.

“She’ll be fine,” the little fox squeaked. “The curse isn’t so much a curse as it is a way to make her memory loss seem more natural. She’ll think it was just the trauma of the event, rather than being forcibly made to forget me. Sheena will twist herself into knots trying to undo it, but that’s because she still thinks it’s a curse. Confirmation bias will lead her down the wrong path and by the time you find a cleric able to address the issue it’ll no longer be detectable.”

That’s concerning. A spell that allows one to modify memory and leaves no trace of the tampering? As if reading my mind, Drache spoke. “You wonder if I’ve used such a spell on you at any point. It would be fruitless to convince you that I didn’t. After all, I’d have no way to prove it. So suffice to say that I’ve never seen a reason to, because even though we’re had a fair amount of animosity between us I gain nothing by messing with your memories.”

It sort of makes sense, but I’ll have to look into ways to counter such magic in the future, just in case Drache decides to change her mind about it. “Fine. We don’t have to make a big deal out of it now. What I want to know is why you need that artifact so badly.”

Drache scowled. “I thought I told you that you didn’t need to know about that.”

I stood my ground. “If you expect me to cooperate even when I know you could just rewrite me any way you want, you have to give me something to work with. Besides, if you feel like I’ve learned too much you can just remove it later. So what’s the harm?” I smirked as I tightened the noose around Drache’s argument.

She sighed. “Very well. Then let us start from the beginning.” She waved her arm and the figures around us collapsed like statues crumbling into dust. From that same dust rose tall spires, solidifying into greater detail as they elongated into the sky. Deotra clung onto Drache, who stood amidst the chaos without any ounce of concern.

The spires became buildings, the buildings became streets, the streets gave way to monuments and people who shambled into existence from the magical dust. The dust became gold, giving color to the people, structures, and atmosphere. Before me stood a window into the distant past. It was Ishrati at the height of its golden age.

We stood on the balcony of a grandiose palace, overlooking the city as it expanded out in every direction. People toiled in fields on the outskirts of the city that shimmered like gold, and I realized they were massive swaths of wheat. So in the past Ishmar was capable of producing its own food on a scale necessary to feed its people. That alone contradicts everything the Ishmarians claim about their history.

The outer ring of the city was protected by a wall that was less of a wall and more of a massive aqueduct that ran through every district, bringing water to every section of the outer city. Dragons similar in size to those ridden by Ishmarians lounged lazily on the aqueduct, while others lifted heavy burdens or even assisted in tilling the fields. Squads of dragon riders flew through the sky in tight formations, patrolling for any sign of danger.

The middle city was filled with sprawling monuments, each placed before modest yet expansive buildings that upon closer examination I realized were centers of learning. Everything from stone masonry to jewel-making to the study of the sciences was considered a sacred institution; each building was its own testament to the importance its people played in Ishratan society. I counted no fewer than nine different magical academies.

Bet that detail would anger some Ishmarians. Begs the question though, if Ishmar was built upon the ruins of Ishrati, then how did the kings and queens pull the wool over the eyes of the people for so long? Why bother doing it? If the modern day Ishmarians embraced who they were in the past, they could stand on equal footing with the Algrustians.

At the heart of the city was the palace we were standing on. To say it was extravagant was an understatement. Carved of the same volcanic rock that so many of the structures in the city were made from, the palace nevertheless seemed to glow as though it were infused with magic, as if the builders had worked magic into every step of its creation. I could almost feel palpable pulses of dormant power slumbering in the stones.

By chance I looked at Drache and nearly fell off the balcony in shock. Gone was any of the hostility I’d seen before. Instead she looked wistful, like someone gazing at a portrait of a lost loved one with longing and sadness. She was wringing her hands, her breathing erratic and short. It doesn’t take a genius to know this affects her. How much of it is true though? Is this some calculated ploy to try and earn my trust?

Deotra crossed to me and hooked her arm in mine. “Come over here. Drache wants to tell you everything this time.” I allowed Deotra to guide me to the railing where Drache stood, overlooking her home.

“It’s glorious,” I said. “It really does seem like the Ishratans were living lives most can only dream of. And I can see that magic had a large role to play in that.”

She pointed out at the fields again. “It’s true that we owed much of what we were to magic. But let it not be said that those without it didn’t carry their share of the burden either. We had a saying in Ishrati: ‘a palace needs many hands to shape the bedrock upon which it is built’. It meant that no one’s labor was taken for granted, and everyone’s contribution, no matter how small, mattered.”

Another sigh, this one longer and heavier, escaped her. “Of course, that eventually gave rise to the idea that perhaps some mattered more than others. And naturally, it was the rich and powerful who felt that way. Those who had influence, those who could speak words of ill intent where they would have the greatest effect. Namely, the ears of the King of Fire.”

Suddenly another person materialized on the balcony. A woman with features very similar to Drache’s manifested next to me, startling me. The woman’s hair wasn’t quite as long as hers, but her crimson eyes and tanned skin matched. Signs of age were visible on the woman’s face, from the wrinkles around her cheeks to the crow’s feet around her eyes.

“Is that…?”

Drache nodded. “Yes. My mother. Evros, the King of Fire, last ruler of Ishrati.”

Again my jaw dropped. Evros. As in the dragon that the Ishmarians worship. How did a monarch that presided over a kingdom of magic users get so distorted by her descendants that we got what Ishmar is today? I looked over at Drache.

“Why show me this? What is your aim?”

Above me, the sky darkened. Clouds twisted and swirled, dust coming together to form a structure that I’d seen only once in a religious text. A manmade island floating in the sky, a chunk of volcanic rock enchanted to fly with a temple wrought of prideful gold, brought about as a testament to the hubris of mortalkind. Divernia, the place from which the end of the world would begin.

Drache’s voice carried over the din of the sounds of creation, clear in my ears like a ringing bell. “I believe that the ability to choose for oneself is a great gift. The only real freedom any person has is the ability to choose their own fate. Even if that fate is an illusion, even if fate is actually predetermined, a person can choose to believe in their path to the bitter end. I will not tell you the full scope of my goal only because I wish for you to arrive at your own conclusions, boy.”

Three objects floated down to the balcony, and I recognized one of them as being the Staff of Farewells. The other two were a knife and heavy tome, and I could already guess what they were. The Hand of the Usurper and the Tree of a Thousand Branches. The holy relics given by the goddess to end the War of the Five Kings.

“One should never mistake a burden for a gift. A sacred duty is not a calling, but a weight upon one’s shoulders, just as a crown is a weight upon one’s head. A kingdom eager to lift you up is also a weight firmly secured around one’s ankles, ready to drag you down when it falls.”

Drache’s voice became bitter again, bringing a familiar edge to her tone. “A burden is more unbearable when one is forced to shoulder it because another more deserving refuses it. And thus, if you find me insufferable, now you know why.”

The Staff fell into her waiting hand as if it belonged there. “I have waited hundreds of years to be given a chance to share this burden, and unfortunately you have little say in it. The sooner you help me undo it, the sooner we all get to the happily ever afters we seek.”

I gawked at her. “You understand that you’re coming across like a raving lunatic. Speaking in half-statements isn’t going to convince me you’re telling me the truth, or anything at all.” Drache glared at me, her crimson eyes seeming to smolder like burning coals.

“That’s because I don’t intend to tell you, boy.” She reached out her other hand, palm up. “I wish to show you, if you’ll let me.”

Deotra tightened her grip on my arm. “I know it’s a lot to ask, Kuro. But she did this for me too. Once you see what Drache has to show you, everything will make a lot more sense.” I looked her straight in the eye. If I have to agree to this, then I can at least make sure I’m not being played. And I know just how to do it.

“You aren’t lying to me, are you?” This is another low for me. Taking advantage of Deotra’s feelings wasn’t something I wanted to do right now but this might be the only way to know if Drache is baiting me. I watched Deotra for any sign of distress, any subtle change in her facial expression or posture that would indicate discomfort.

To my surprise, her face remained determined. “I promise you, Kuro. Drache isn’t trying to deceive you. I swear to you on our sacred bond as mage and familiar that no harm will come to you. Please trust us.”

Deotra doesn’t seem like the kind of girl who could succeed at lying to me without giving me some kind of tell. She’ll also be here in case Drache tries something funny. I hate having to let so many unknowns slide but I’m also really curious to get a glimpse of what Drache wants. If she really is up to something nefarious, then this is the best way for me to find out. Even if everything she shows me isn’t true I can still make some guesses about her motives based on what she does and doesn’t show me.

My wizard brain was telling me to go for it while my common sense once again took a back seat to any decision making process in my head. It’s a calculated risk. I stand to gain more than I could lose, I think. I reached forward and put my left hand in Drache’s, wrapping my fingers around her hand and gripping tight. “Alright, Drache. Show me.”

There was a rush of light, as though everything around me spiraled down and became a tunnel. The sensation of falling backward as though gravity had somehow ceased to exist caused my organs to somersault in my body and I felt sick at first, but I didn’t want to close my eyes. Centuries of history passed by me as I was propelled backwards in time, things I couldn’t fully understand rushing past me in a blur. I caught one image of what I thought were two humanoids with massive white wings racing through the blackened, storm-wracked sky, bearing weapons of light.

Then I felt my back slam into something hard, and in my sudden pain I squeezed my eyes shut. Time, direction, sense and reason lost all meaning as I tumbled forward and then back, finally ending up with the feeling of something soft beneath my back. I was lying on something, encompassed in softness and feeling warmth on my face.

Slowly I opened my eyes. I beheld a ceiling made of volcanic stone, the jagged black edges sparkling with soft magical glints of gold. I was lying in a truly lavish bed made of solid gold bedposts and finely carved wood, with cotton sheets. I sat up, looked down, saw the unfamiliar tone of the skin of my hands. On the far side of the room was a balcony overlooking the capital of Ishrati, and in the sky was a gaudy temple built on a floating stone platform. I knew what was going on instantly.

I was Drache. I was looking through her eyes. And I had woken up on the last day of the kingdom of Ishrati, the end of her entire world.

“Well,” I said, and Drache’s voice came from my lips. “Shit.”