The raucous laughter and music faded into the background as Jasper followed his aunt into their home. Save for the occasional servant who scurried past them, staggering under a half-dozen platters of food, the manor was all but abandoned. She led him down the hall, through the foyer, and to the far side of the manor before she stopped before a small, unassuming door.

A key appeared in her hand, and she slipped it into the door and turned it to the left until it clicked into place. A row of glyphs manifested above the frame, and she reached up her hand. “Look away,” she commanded and Jasper did. A moment later, he heard a loud clank as the bolt sprang free.

“Alright, follow me.”

The room beyond the door could be charitably described as a chaotic mess. It was a large space, far larger than the apartment Jasper had possessed back on Earth, and was dominated by a hearth wide enough to park a car on, from which a merrily burning fire illuminated row upon row of cluttered work tables.

He stared curiously at his aunt’s work as she wound her way through the tables. There were hundreds of hastily scrawled plans, a host of strange plants, unknown minerals, and glowing potions, and he passed at least a half-dozen unfinished weapons.

“Are these all your projects?” Jasper stopped to examine a pair of strange-looking gauntlets. They seemed to be made from finely spun silver that was almost as flexible as cloth, but their front and back were embroidered with a tightly woven circle of glyphs. If he didn’t know better, he could have almost mistaken them for mittens.

“Be careful!” His hand was snatched away from the gauntlets with an iron grip. “You don’t want to touch those, I promise. And yes, everything here is mine.”

Wringing his hand out, Jasper peered closer at the silver mittens. “Why? What do they do?”

The elf frowned. “Unfortunately, not what they’re supposed to. I intended them to be a birthday gift for one of S̆anukkat’s friends, Nūrilat. She’s a pretty girl - one of the ones you danced with tonight?” Her voice raised in a half-question.

Yeah, I remember her all too well. He shrugged his shoulders. “She was the one I was dancing when the horns broke.”

“Too bad.”Disappointment flickered in her face.“Anyways, her family lives not too far away from a S̆addu’â stronghold, so I wanted to give her something that would provide a little bit of protection, just a simple barrier spell.But the woven silver proved rather hard to work with, and I messed up the glyphs.”

The few wrinkles that creased her eyes disappeared as her face lit up with excitement. “It was quite a fortunate mistake, really. Most of the time if I make a mistake, the glyphs simply don’t work but, every once in a while, I get lucky and create something new by accident - a glyph that doesn’t work as intended but does do something.

“Unfortunately, I haven’t quite figured out what that is. Body parts that get a little too close get sheared right off.” She waggled her fingers dramatically. “Ask me how I know.”

“Nothing missing that I can see.”

His aunt offered him a wry grin. “Thanks to the court healers, I’m afraid. Anyways,” she turned away from the table bearing the gloves and beckoned for him to follow. “How about we look at a project that didn’t fail.”

The table she’d led him to was far less cluttered than the others.Save for a few papers scattered across its surface, its only occupant was a glaive.Crafted of wrought steel that had been shined so bright it almost looked like silver, the blade had a gentle curve that ended in a sharp spike.Both sides of the blade were covered in an intricately interlaced series of blackened, almost sinister-looking glyphs.

The shaft was similar. A bit shorter than the one on the glaive he’d previously owned, the weapon’s shiny haft was covered by the same black glyphs.

“Can I touch it?” He asked hesitantly, remembering the unfortunate gloves.

The elf laughed. “That’s kind of the point, isn’t it? Go on.”

The blade swished through the air as he gave a test swing and he smiled.The size felt a bit awkward, but he could feel the power and sturdiness of the weapon.

“Do you want to resize it?” his aunt asked. “Say karû to shorten the haft or warku to lengthen it. Feel free to test it against the table - I’ve got dozens of them.”

“Karû,” Jasper commanded, and a faint silver light emanated from the black glyphs as the steel shaft retracted into itself, leaving him with a sword resembling a particular hefty falchion. He tested it out again, and this time the balance felt perfect. The blade slashed through the air in quick succession of cuts before Jasper slammed it into the wooden table. The metal sunk deep, and frost spiraled along its edges as the glyphs engraved on the blade activated. He yanked it out with satisfaction.

A case of content theft: this narrative is not rightfully on Amazon; if you spot it, report the violation.

“What was the other command again?”

“Warku.”

As smooth as silk, the shaft spiraled down unto it stretched a good three feet above his head.

“Longer than I expected,” he commented as he lashed out with a sample stab.

“If you want the haft to stay shorter, just repeat warku and it will stop. But I wanted you to have the option to use it as a lance,” his aunt explained. “I know most of your fighting has been in small parties thus far, but fighting in formation with thousands of troops is a very different thing. I suspect you’ll find yourself participating in a cavalry charge or two. At least I did.”

“You served?” Jasper asked as he fiddled with the glyphs until he shortened the shaft into the perfect length for a glaive. “In the Royal Guard?”

“No, not in the royal guard - or at least, not the one you meant.” A small, sad smile flitted across her lips. “Before I married S̆arrābī, I served in Yammaqom’s army. I didn’t see much action - my skills as a craftsman were in too high of demand - but I did participate in one campaign.”

“Really?” He leaned the weapon against the table, his fingers brushing against it almost reverently, and glanced over at his aunt with renewed interest. “I didn’t realize the elves were involved in any wars currently.”

“They aren’t.” Her response was curt, her tone uninviting, and Jasper winced as he realized he'd hit a sore spot. Oops.

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to pry,” he apologized.

After a long beat, the ferocity in her eyes faded and the elf's lips twisted in a wry grin. “No, I'm the one who's sorry, Yas̆peh. It was a perfectly reasonable question, just one that brought back memories of a time I do my best not to think about. If you really want to know, you could ask S̆arrābī.”

Jasper shook his head. “It doesn't like something I need to know." He reached out a hand to stroke the magnificent weapon she'd crafted before continuing. "Thanks for making this. A weapon like this - even with my newfound wealth, I imagine it would strain my resources.”

The elf patted his hand fondly.“Don't worry about the cost - it was very important to Abī that you were well-equipped before you left.He’s quite worried about sending you off, you know?”

“He is?”Jasper blinked in surprise. “My uncle doesn’t strike me as very sentimental, except perhaps when it comes to you and S̆anukkat.”

“Ah, Yaŝpeh," she sighed, "I don’t think you really comprehend how important your mother was to Abī. Her mother died when she was barely a babe and their father was never very involved, leaving Abī to pretty much raise her. He was devastated when she ‘died,’ always placing the blame on himself. And he was so, so angry when the king ordered him to declare you his ‘nephew.’

“But now that he knows you really are Da’iqta’s child?” She laughed, though there was little merriment to be found in it. “If S̆anukkat wasn’t pregnant, I think he would have insisted on accompanying the troops to war, just to keep an eye on you. That’s why I offered to make this weapon. Do try to stay alive, won’t you? I don't want my husband to have another loss to mourn.”

“Believe me,” Jasper assured her. “I’ve already died once and I’m in no rush to do it again.”

“Good.” Jasper started as the elf clapped her hands loudly. “Well then, shall we go rescue your friend? She’s probably about to drown under the sea of gifts her admirers have brought her.”

The next morning, Jasper sent a letter to the Seraphs letting them know he had returned to the capital. Kas̆dael had told him they were growing impatient, but as one day slipped into another with no news from them, he began to wonder if she had exaggerated.

The days passed quietly. In the mornings he visited the barracks to watch the S̆addu’â train. Jasper didn’t entirely trust the royal guard to treat the mountain Djinn fairly but, to their credit, they trained the guards with as much rigor and fairness as their own recruits - even if they did have a scowl on their face every time they were forced to look in their direction.

He participated himself most days, having received little formal training in fighting other than for those few short weeks at the Hargish guild. As a mage, he didn’t necessarily need to be a master of weapon combat, but he was determined to pick up what pointers he could with his new weapon - it was too nice of a gift to be squandered.

The evenings were usually spent with either Ihra or Tsia, as the two girls rarely spent much time together, or with S̆anukkat who stopped by to chat surprisingly frequently. In such a manner, two full weeks flew by before he even knew it.

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Then one afternoon, shortly after finishing another one of the S̆addu’â’s cook’s interesting concoctions - this time a salad garnished with what Jasper could only guess was a medley of pickled flowers - a knock sounded on the door.

He didn’t answer it of course - that’s what maids were for - but a few minutes later a tall man with the shoulders of an ox eased his way through the door frame. Abnu.

The Seraph’s usually cheerful visage was an inscrutable mask as he stepped into the room and bowed lightly toward Jasper, and an awkward silence stretched between them as Jasper struggled to respond.

The last time they’d seen each other had been at the duel with Abdīlu. While Jasper didn’t feel any guilt for what he had done to the man - Abdīlu had tried to kill him - he imagined it was just as awkward for Abnu - he had set the man’s uncle on fire, after all. Are we still on speaking terms?

After a moment’s hesitation, Abnu hefted himself into a seat opposite. “Well, you didn’t ask me to leave, so I’ll take that as a good sign. Sorry about my uncle - I really did try to talk him out of it, but, well…” The Seraph trailed off. “Our people can be a bit stubborn when it comes to tradition.”

“Tradition?” Jasper arched an eyebrow. “More like attempted murder.” He saw the man wince, and he decided to rub it in. “But it would be totally unreasonable for me to blame you for what your uncle did, wouldn’t it? I can’t imagine blaming anyone for something that happened years before they were even born.”

Abnu’s cheeks burned, and the man hung his head. “Aye, I get your point loud and clear. But you’re still willing to work with us?”

Jasper nodded. “As long as you don’t try to kill me again, I’m game.”

The Seraph perked up. “Good, good - I’m glad we can put it behind us.”

“But,” the word rang out throughout the room. “That doesn’t mean I don’t have a bone to pick with you. What the hell happened with Laylah, man?”