Ashaera hesitated at the threshold, taking what seemed like a deep breath for eternity to try and calm her trembling heart. She traced her fingers along the intricately carved double doors that led into the gathering hall where she was summoned and marveled at the beautiful colors. She scuffed her boots against the doorframe and the sound reverberated down the hallway louder than she intended.

“Miss Grim? Come in please and take a seat” The voice was rich and deep and settled buried in her bones.

She grimaced at her announced arrival and shouldered the massive doors open to see a wide open room with a circle of various symbols drawn on the floor in the middle. Four of the Theurgi from yesterday morning’s introduction stood at the four corners dressed in floor-length yellow, blue, red, and green robes respective to their direction and element. Her feet slowed as her eyes roamed over the room for any hint as to what was going to happen, but the mural on the ceiling’s lips stayed sealed. The wind from a cracked open window caused the thick purple and black drapes to scrape against the glass causing an eerie screeching noise that made goosebumps rise up on her skin. Her eyes finally fell on the towering chair that was upholstered as if it would seat royalty and the silver offering bowl on a wooden table in front of it.

“Please be careful not to smudge the zikai.” A massive broad-chested, middle-aged man with thick, almost leathery skin and striking icy green eyes with vertical, wide slits for pupils motioned to the circular chalk symbols. He had long black hair half tied back behind his ears and the remainder resting on his shoulders.

Only one word came to mind when she saw this man, Dragon.

“I am Zaikos, son of Radenth the Protector of the Sky, and the liaison for the Mending personnel that are qualified to administer this test.” His voice rumbled like thunder to every corner of the enormous room and likely spilled into the hallway, though no students were allowed in the East Wing to hear him. “You are Miss Ashaera Grim of ... unknown blood to undertake the Mending, correct?”

It took her an embarrassingly long moment to get the wheel in her head turning enough to respond with a quick nod and she clasped her hand in front of her, “Yes, yes - er - sir. Yes, sir, that’s me, but I go by Ash with my friends, not that - you sir - are a friend, but it’s a good name.” She winced at the unnecessary babbling and smushed her lips together to keep her infernal nerves from spilling her guts on the floor. This was no ordinary dragon shifter, this was the heir to the Aukian throne and the next leader of Ithaeris after his father passed into the Aether, which who knows when that would be. Dragons measured their life in decades, not years.

The giant man strode toward her and loomed over her causing the air to dampen with a sense of respect and high status that almost made it difficult to breathe. He looked more like a berserker of old with his muscles straining the fabric of his leather armor and fur-lined cloak across his shoulders. His jawline likely could be used to mine the mountain itself and she caught sight of his pointed canines as he opened his mouth to speak again to her.

“What is your magical affinity, Miss Grim? Are you a water shaper, a healer -- a mind mage perhaps?” His emerald eyes peered over his nose with expectation and a human seated behind the dragon held an elaborate quill pen ready to dictate the record.

Ash swallowed her nerves, looking up at the towering man, “My powers have not shown themselves, not yet at least.” She felt a squeeze in her heart of inadequacy and a rumbling urgency to run far from shifter royalty roiled in her stomach. She was trained from the moment she stepped onto Academy grounds that your worth came from the magic in your blood or the deeds you have done. If you had neither, you were nothing.

The dragon puffed a ring of smoke from the corner of his mouth with a contemplative expression, “Your parents or familial associations are not known? What are the circumstances of your enrollment here, Miss Grim?”

Ash had anticipated this question of her magical legitimacy, but couldn’t help looking at her feet in shame as she spoke, “I was found as a child in the burning remains of my village and my home. My parents were nowhere to be found and I was on death’s door.” She recounted the story just like Mr. Greymoon had repeated a million times since she came to the Academy though she remembered only in dreams, “I was rescued and brought here due to my blue blood and the Herbology professor here Mr. Greymoon sponsored me through my studies.”

Blue blood was the standard identifier of a magic wielder. Those without a drop of magic in their body had Ironblood or the regular crimson you’d expect to see when the skin is split. Magic itself was passed down through the lineage and blood of the gods and manifested itself in the hue of blue that one possessed.

“Approach please and perform your offering.” Zaikos seemed to accept her reasoning and motioned to the chair. He assumed his place in the line of Theurgi ready to assess her. As he lowered himself to sit, the rest knelt at the same time across the zikai in practiced unison.

Ash shuddered as a wave of uncertainty and anxiety fired through her nerves, making her hair stand on end. One foot after the other and one breath after another, she reached the bowl and wrapped her hand around the delicate ritual knife that lay beside it. Her eyes darted to each of the proctors, wondering if her breakfast would make a second appearance in front of the most powerfully blooded mages in Ithaeris.

A cerulean drop welled on her palm, followed by another until they melded together and pooled in her palm as she slowly dragged the metal across her hand. She curled her fingers into a fist and watched as the drop fell into the offering bowl and spiraled into the water. The blue ribbons swirled and danced as they dissipated and she clenched her teeth not to hiss from the pain.

“Kenav ni daeresa, sirae ni beget” Ash murmured what she was instructed to say to tie whatever magic she possessed in her blood to the runes in the circle, “Gesen ve finivae da hesvenete beren”

Search my blood, judge my heart, let the flow of my magic be strong.

“Take your seat and we will begin”

Setting the knife down, she watched as her skin knit back together over the cut and moved to settle into the large chair. Her heart raced and her hands grew clammy with anxiety as the Theurgi’s cut their own palms and pressed them into the zikai in equal positions across the circle and began to chant in Eidharian. At first, she couldn’t feel anything and she wondered if it would even work on someone without magic, but before she could even finish the thought, a tingling sensation began in her fingers and worked its way up her arms. A rush of fresh panic gripped her chest, but the magic wrapped around her voice before she could call a stop to the spell.

“Casarae daeresa acknovi” Their voices melded into waves of shifting exhaustion that latched onto her body and fought her control to pull her beneath its surface.

Ash fought the waves with a panicked sense of survival, but her vision started to flicker and fade into a golden light that broke into a blackened river that stretched before her. The connection she felt with her body started to fade and her consciousness floated in the aimless darkened space, wild magic frothing the waves. Magic that felt like the ocean's current flowed around her and entwined between her fingers and wrapped around her waist before moving on down the river. Was this the edge of the Aether?

After what seemed like an eternity, her feet bumped into solid ground, though everything around her was still darkened and she could see little. A light slowly brightened above her and illuminated a dark space centered around her. She lifted her fingers to her face and saw a vague shimmering on the edge of her hands in an almost corporeal way. Glancing around, her eyes landed on a podium on the edge of the visible area with a large book perched on it with a quill in a bottle of ink to the right. Tilting her head in curious confusion and shuffling forward carefully, she peered forward until she could make out the name of the book.

“Viniae ba Saresh,” Ash read aloud to herself, “The Book of Blood.” The spine of the book was decorated with golden inscriptions that she could not understand and the cover was a thick leather that held ancient pages. This was not a book she had seen before and she was almost afraid to open it should it crumble into dust. What would happen with her test then?

Wait, when could she read the ancient script?

The letters were written in beautifully penned Eidharian, an old language that used to be the way to harness wild magic, but the gods had since restricted its use due to the Blood Mage of old. His ability to use the old language to pull power from the books fueled his magic and wrought destruction with it. After his defeat, only the leaders and soothsayers of the time who proved themselves could petition the gods to be given the words and their meaning.

Her fingers danced along the ridges of the ornate gold-plated corners while she wrestled her thundering heart back under control. She felt a tug on her heart and her mind that only intensified as she inched the book open. Several times she tested the connection and wondered as the pull weakened when she closed it and strengthened the further she lifted the cover open. Taking a deep breath, her fingers nudged the book all the way open and as she did, ghostly hands reached out to envelop her consciousness and drew her into its pages.

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She blinked her eyes open and a scene unfolded before her as she did. An elongated table fit for royalty with a wild boar in the very center and roasts of all kinds arranged in a line. There were more fruits and melons than she could name and various goblets of wine, juice, and milk next to two placemats on opposite ends of the table. A golden chandelier twisted and proudly hung above the table illuminating the great hall. The walls were covered in busts, war trophies, and achievements of the like with banners of conquered nations. There were no windows which she found odd, but not as odd as the hulking man sitting at the opposite end of the spread.

“I have long awaited you, child”

His voice sparked an odd recognition within her mind and she struggled to recall where she had heard it before. His face was obscured by a hood and all she could make out was the strong profile of his jawline and a curved, almost smug smile. The memory was so slippery and elusive that she couldn’t hold onto it.

“And you are .. who exactly?” Nerves shook her voice, but she did the best she could to steady them as she approached the table. The food was enticing and the smell assaulted her senses with gorgeous aromas, but the training of her Faerie patron Mr. Greymoon rang in her ears. Touch nothing and eat nothing in the realm of the Fae, we wouldn’t want you to accidentally become a Fae’s servant or be bound to one without meaning to.

“Names mean little, but in a show of trust, I will offer you my titles given by the thrones of old long ago. I am the Poet and the Bringer of Rain to the Aukian Throne, the controller of Thunder to Zaeshen I am the Commander of the Orias Scholars, and the Lord of Ambition to each. Each of these titles gives not a name, but deeds that were done that offer my sincerity in my dealings.” The Poet’s hand reached forward and grasped an apple in front of him and in the light she could see gnarled aged skin as if the man had lived long beyond his time. “Though I do not offer this knowledge for free. I offer you information and expect information in return, young one.”

“What is your price?” Her voice finding strength though she glanced around the room in uncertainty.

“Your name, child.”

She wrinkled her nose in distaste at the patronizing nicknames aimed at her age, but she obliged the man her name. He dipped his head in thanks and laced his fingers together.

So much for her Fae training.

“Is it not your own name that would hold the most meaning and demonstrate the most amount of trust to a stranger?” Ash stood fast and didn’t move another step towards the table, “Titles don’t tell me what your business is in this place and if you are part of my Mending”

The man tilted his head in contemplation and sat hard against the backing of his chair, the light from the chandelier illuminating more of his face. He was an aged man with white curled hair sprouting from his chin and jaw and his nose was low set and pointed. He was dressed in dark robes that hung heavily on his frail frame. Ash’s mind spun with confusion as when she came in she could have sworn his profile was much larger and stronger then this old mage in front of her just moments before. His eyes were the color of blue ice and his gaze sent goosebumps racing up and down her arms.

He did not answer her for some moments as his eyes seemed to size her up. “Do you know the story of Rhazien the Powerful?” He inquired in a gentle voice as he looked at her expectantly, “Does Cypress Academy teach his story or even speak his name?”

Ash hesitantly shook her head. She knew the name from whispers in the hallway and that he was a large part of the Theurgian War, but she knew nothing of the man himself.

“This story I offer without a price as it is one that should be known.” He cleared his throat and sipped the wine glass before continuing, “Rhazien was the brother of the first Aukian King, Khaseros. He was not born a dragon, but his mother had an affair with a local blacksmith who she truly loved, but since she did not possess much magic of her own, her son with him was powerless. A Null he would now be called. Rhazien grew jealous of his brother as the King was a cruel one who frequently used his brother as a joke and an example of weakness in front of his court.”

“He was able to learn how to siphon magic from the blood of the prisoners in the palace and hold an essence of the god’s magic in his hand. His power grew as he learned to siphon more and more from them, until he accidentally drained a man of his blood and gained the affinity of the prisoner for three days. It took a heavy toll on his soul and he wavered between the land of the living and the dead as it was forbidden by the gods, but somehow he escaped their notice.”

Ashaera had started to shuffle forward to the table while she listened without realizing it and had sat down at the opposite end of the table. The silver fork was in her hand and she was bewildered when she tried to remember when she picked it up.

“Years passed and he perfected his craft, keeping the effects of the Theurgi’s magic for up to two full moon cycles after siphoning their blood. It was kept a well-hidden secret, but he was to present his findings to the King as a weapon to use against Zaeshen in the war,” The Poet continued, “However, he fell in love with a siren named Faera who disapproved greatly of his craft, but loved him regardless. However, King Khaseros was tipped off of his brother’s dealings and while Rhazien was away, the King ransacked his home to find him and when he did not, he had his wife kidnapped.”

Ash inhaled deeply in shock and was so engrossed in the story, she did not realize she had begun eating the potatoes, roast, and vegetables on her plate. A servant to her left materialized out of the shadows to refill her glass as she finished it. “What happened to the wife?”

“She did not survive the torture session the King had commanded his Generals to do to get information about her husband out of her.” The man’s eyes misted as he spoke of her and had a faraway look to them. “However, they were able to get the location of Rhazien’s ritual space before she passed on and destroyed everything within. Rhazien was not there as his wife had left a geshen flower on the windowsill which signaled danger. He flew into a rage when he learned of his wife’s death from a guard who was loyal to him and slaughtered close to a quarter of the guards that the King had sent to retrieve him.”

Ash nodded along to the story as if she knew the details intimately and leaned forward to catch his next words. She wondered where the test lie in his words, but the story was painted so beautifully, she could want nothing more than to hear the continuation.

“The death of his wife broke Rhazien’s spirit and he wasted away in caves along the coast of Hedraes. The diety Tolmereth took pity on him and offered him a portion of his power to fulfill his vengeance for Faera. He was given the ability to draw on the magic well within books and he became the first Book Mage.”

“Book Mage?” She crinkled her eyebrows in confusion. These were not phrases she had ever heard being associated with magic or her studies living at the Academy, “Magic well?”

The Poet smiled softly and instructed her to look within herself, to follow the lines of magic through her body and to the well of magic that was within everyone. She felt silly closing her eyes and focused on following the veins of magic that flowed through her. However, every time she tried to find the well, the lines would blur and scatter to where she could not follow them. She gave a huff of annoyance and focused her gaze back on the old man.

“It takes time to figure it out, young one. Some wells are overflowing with magic and it is easier for the wielder to access which makes them more powerful. However, some are low on the amount given to them through their blood which makes their magic more difficult to use.” He gave her a knowing look and tapped his fingers on the table. “A Book Mage can access the well within a book to power their spells depending on the text that is read. Rhazien tried to utilize this power to overthrow his brother and get vengeance for his wife, but he was imprisoned and destroyed when he revealed the source of his bloodborne power.” The Poet explained with a hint of sadness in his voice.

“Why would the King destroy him because of his power?” The girl wondered aloud, now idly picking at the food on her plate with her fork. The course seemed to have reappeared fully in front of her when she was not paying attention and she blinked a few times in wonder before returning her attention to the man.

“Fear,” He murmured bitterly, his eyes cast to a crack in the stone floor. “They killed him too because they feared his unlimited ability to utilize any pool of magic attainable in specific books if he got his hand on them. If you wanted fire magic, use the Book of Flame. Wind? The Book of the Sky. As the prince, he had access to the Royal Library and they feared what he could do especially with as strong an emotion as vengeance.”

Ash breathed for a moment and remarked incredulously, “but the King is the one who should pay! He had Faera murdered when he could have just spoken to his brother.”

The old man did not reply for several moments and she began to wonder if he had fallen asleep, but when he spoke again, his voice was sorrowful.

“One would think that would be the conclusion drawn, but the King was not a Dragon to be questioned.” A similar pause to the one previously before he whispered loud enough that it carried to her ears with an eager expression, “Rhazien was not permanently destroyed, there is a way for Him to return.” He leaned forward in his chair and gripped the edge of the table with bony knuckles, his eyes alight with anticipatory hunger.

Alarm bells sounded in her mind louder than her thoughts and she stiffened. Awareness of her surroundings caused goosebumps to race up and down her skin and her breathing to turn ragged. Something about this situation wasn’t right.

The Poet’s eyebrows crinkled and the wrinkles in his face deepened as he leaned back in his chair and scrutinized her with a long look. “Something the matter, child?”

“If ... If Rhazien was defeated, why would I want to bring him back? Wouldn’t he just take out his vengeance on the world since Khaseros is already dead? He killed so many people, isn’t he better off not around and compelled to get vengeance?”

The old man chuckled and nodded his head to no one in particular. “Zorais, our beloved Lady Mother, has chosen well with you, little mageling. Your mind is sharp and your instincts are true. That would be the case if the Throne had not proven itself to be as corrupt as Khasero’s age.”

Mumbling a few words in Eidharian, the Poet waved his hand, and the center of the table rippled like the surface of the water and images began to materialize. Ash rose to her feet and peered at the flashing images of gore and horror that forced the contents of her stomach to rise up in her throat. An army of men bearing the silver crest of Aukian royalty cut down men, women, and children alike and burned villages to ash. Her hand crept to her mouth and tears welled on the edges of her lashes and her chest burned with grief as the images continued until she could no longer bear the carnage.

“What is this? Why would you show me this?” She gasped with her head still turned away and held the back of her knuckles to her mouth.

“It’s the last living record of years of Aukian cruelty that the Throne has painstakingly erased from memory and record. They were searching for the one born with the power to harness a book’s magic who was prophesied to bring about the return of Rhazien.”

“They ... murdered an entire village to prevent this book mage from being born? To stop his brother from coming back?” Her head swayed back and forth in disbelief. None of her history books or research in the Academy’s vast library even mentioned book mages, let alone countless slaughters in the name of the King. “We were taught that those villages were killed by Rhazien in his quest for power.”

The Poet curled his lip in disgust, “Liars every one of them.”

Ash’s mind was spinning at the information, but there was one question she couldn’t answer, “Why is this something you would tell me? Why not reveal it to all of Ithaeris?”

The ancient man tilted his head back and locked eyes with her. The next words he uttered shattered Ashaera’s carefully guarded facade into pieces even she couldn’t repair.

“One of those villages ... was yours.”