The Library of Fairholm: a cathedral-sized building filled with tomes both modern and ancient, a paradise for those scholars who could not afford to travel all the way to the capital of the kingdom, where the Academy of the Arts made its home, or the Isle of Heaven’s Reach, where the Magic Tower pierced the sky even after all these centuries. Perhaps the Science Institute in the republic or the Akashic Annals of the theocracy might have more to offer someone studying the workings of the world or its rich history, but both were far beyond the reach of the typical scholar living in the Landsgrace Kingdom. And so it was that the Library of Fairholm was frequently full of scholars and would-be scholars, reading and discussing their readings with one another.

On this day, one young man barely into his twenties had commandeered one of the smaller tables, various books and papers strewn about on its surface. While his manner of dress was fairly mundane – sturdy leather boots, tough brown trousers, a green double-layered cotton shirt, black fingerless gloves, and a gray cloak that was currently draped over his chair; garb typical of a traveler – his personal appearance was anything but. His skin was tanned from the sun, save for a burn scar on his left forearm and a large laceration scar under his left eye; his hair was a rich red with shocks of bright purple; one of his eyes was crimson and the other violet; and a purple lightning tree covered his right forearm. His unusual look drew many a curious eye, but none approached him, for such wild figures tended to belong to those who had been marked by magic.

The fact that the lean young man also carried an odd-looking sword served as an additional deterrent. The weapon, kept bare in his belt, was clearly well-crafted and well-cared-for. It had an ornate partial basket hilt that wouldn’t fully cover the hand and a long, thin, slightly curved blade. The style, known as a lightblade, was not normally seen in Landgrace, originating in a country far to the north known as Kirilana. How one had made its way into the young man’s hands was surely an interesting tale, but even those curious were wise enough not to pry.

Rai Flamme, for that was the man’s name, muttered quietly to himself as he read, moving around books and writing notes on loose papers, clearly lost deep in his work. So focused was he that it took him a moment to realize he was no longer alone when a woman sat down across from him and peered down at his writings. He looked up, blinking in surprise as he quickly took in the woman’s appearance. She was tall – as tall as his own six-foot stature – with long blonde hair and piercing green eyes. Her skin was pale, but not unhealthily so, and her gray scholar’s robes struggled to contain her bosom. She appeared to be nearly a decade his senior.

Physically weak, but with a strong bearing, he noted. Curious about my work, and utterly unconcerned for how I might respond to her intrusion. Also, I feel like she probably has back problems with a chest like that. Her robes are gray, but there’s golden embroidery near the neck, and there’s a bird stitched onto the left shoulder. That means she belongs to a school. I think it’s a wren, which would mean…

“Can I help you, Miss Grovesfield Scholar?” he said aloud.

She met his gaze with a smile. “You recognized my attire. You must be well-educated if you can identify what school I belong to based on so little information. My name is Eliza Rynze. I couldn’t help but be curious about you. You do stand out. I found myself wondering what it was you were working on and decided to see for myself.”

“The Tower Era.”

“Pardon?” she said in surprise.

“The Tower Era. You know, the ancient, nearly mythical, period of time when mages peacefully ruled over the world from their towers, magic was commonplace, and technology was far more advanced? I’m researching it. More specifically, I’m trying to locate ruins from that era. I’m a bit of everything when it comes to scholarship, but ancient history and magical technology are my passions.”

“Hm. Some scholars deny that the Tower Era ever really existed,” Eliza pointed out. “What do you say to that?”

“That they’re ignoring the evidence. True, concrete proof is hard to find, but that’s mostly because any actual objects from the Tower Era have either lost their powers or immediately get squirreled away by collectors instead of being studied by actual scholars. There’s plenty of circumstantial evidence, and more than one partial ruin has been discovered.” Rai steepled his fingers. “Deniers are quick to decry any evidence as fake or as something else entirely, but that’s just them allowing their beliefs to cloud their judgment.”

“You don’t say. You don’t seem to be affiliated with a school, judging by your clothes. Who are you, mysterious scholar of the Tower Era?”

“The name’s Rai Flamme, itinerant scholar and wandering combat mage.”

“And swordsman?”

“I’ve trained with this sword, yes. I’m aware that’s unusual for a mage, but the weapon holds quite a lot of sentimental value for me, and there’s little point to carrying around a weapon like an ornament.”

“I see. It’s a strange-looking blade. Where did you get it?”

Rai smiled sadly. “It’s a memento. Its previous owner was a young mercenary who was very important to me.”

“Did he die?”

“She. And yes. I’d prefer not to talk about it.”

“My apologies. So, any luck with the ruins search?”

“I believe so, though I won’t be certain until I’ve checked where I think they are in person. I’m not the sort to hire others to do my fieldwork; I do that myself.”

“You are an interesting man, Mr. Flamme. I’m sure you have many stories you could tell.”

“Perhaps, but this is neither the time nor place to talk about my various adventures and misadventures. Besides, I’m still relatively inexperienced. I only awakened to my magic four years ago at the age of seventeen, and while I have been a student of history and investigator of magical items since I was a child, I wouldn’t have called myself a true scholar until after my awakening.”

“Speaking of your magic, how advanced are you as a mage? I know that magic spells are divided into tiers called circles, ranging form Zeroth to Sixth.”

“I’m a Second Circle Mage.” Rai leaned back in his chair and looked up at the faraway ceiling. “There are different kinds of mages, you know. I’m a Soul Mage, also called a Touched Mage.”

“You mentioned an awakening, so I figured as much. It’s a bit unusual; scholar mages tend to be, well, Scholastic Mages.”

Rai smiled wryly. “What, people with innate magic ability can’t be scholars? Only those who study the science of how to bend reality to their will?”

Eliza chuckled.

“Well, I’ll let you get back to it, then. I have things I need to do, too.”

She stood and walked away.

The smile dropped from Rai’s face.

What was that about? he thought, brow furrowed. There’s no way that was just due to idle curiosity about what I was studying. For one thing, she didn’t press the subject, but instead started asking about my sword and magical proficiency. And she didn’t stay long, either. My intuition is telling me that woman is bad news. I’ll need to watch my back when I head out to find the ruins. Sitting straight again, he looked around, but the woman was already out of sight. Well, I need to wrap things up here anyway.

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He returned to his work, and an hour later he had packed away his notes and personal journals in the leather satchel he wore at his side. He stretched, popped his back, and cracked his knuckles, then made his way down to the ground floor. Alert though he was, his attention was on his path forward rather than what lay behind, so he failed to notice the two cloaked figures that followed him out of the library and into the street beyond.

Squinting against the light of the evening sun, Rai merged with the crowd traveling from work to home or (like him) to tavern. Fairholm was a busy city, even into the night, but there was little chance of his tails losing track of him; though he walked in no special manner, he split the crowd like the prow of a ship split water, others (whether consciously or not) giving him a wide berth in response to his appearance. By the time the three of them reached the tavern-and-inn bearing a hanging wooden sign with a picture of a dragon, the Dragon’s Respite, dark clouds had started moving in. The weather seers had predicted a night of rain which despite a cloudless day now seemed sure to come.

Rai stepped into the tavern and inhaled deeply the odor cocktail of sweat, stew, and alcohol, stopping briefly as he was assailed by a sudden wall of sound. The tavern was nearly filled to capacity with men and women from all walks of life, and between the warm lighting – a combination of magical lights and candles – and the friendly voices, the place had a lively, cozy, happy atmosphere. A smile appeared on his face as he glanced around the room, seeing people eating, drinking, chatting, and even gambling, as well as a pair of musicians playing string instruments on a small stage against one wall. A majority of the occupants were human, but a not-insubstantial number were elves, dwarves, or gnomes, and there were even a couple beastfolk.

City taverns always remind me of you, he thought, directing his words toward the former owner of his sword. You were always so at home in taverns. Ah, Mizeiya, I miss you. Four years and thirty-three days since your death, and my heart still longs for you just as strongly as ever.

He approached the counter

“What can I get for you?” the bearded dwarf man on the other side said enthusiastically.

“A bowl of stew and a mug of Dragon’s Marrow.”

“That’ll be three silvers.”

Rai placed the coins on the countertop. The dwarf swiped them into his apron. “Let me just get you the alcohol and we’ll bring out the stew in a moment.” The dwarf grabbed a wooden mug and a bottle of amethyst liquid, using the latter to fill the former and handing the beverage to Rai, who thanked him and made his way to a table occupied by a trio of men playing cards. The stew arrived before the men had even finished playing their current hand.

Rai savored the both the meal and the beverage, then joined the others for a few hands before heading back outside. Upon opening the door he was greeted by a downpour, but he simply strode out into the rain unconcernedly. The water was repelled by his clothing, satchel, sword, and body as though they were coated in a hydrophobic layer. This was one of the many benefits he had discovered by mastering the zeroth circle spell called “Tricks,” which was capable of a multitude of minor feats of magic; it was a spell with little power but immense versatility. And like all zeroth circle spells he was capable of casting, it could be used infinitely and indefinitely due to its drain on his magical energy being countered by his natural regeneration.

The streets were far emptier now than they had been earlier, thanks to the weather, but they were still lit by the magical lampposts that dotted their sides. With a thought, Rai summoned a fist-sized orb of white light to hover by his shoulder to brighten his path further, courtesy of another zeroth circle spell known as “Floating Lights.” Humming softly, he continued on his way, unaware of the soaking-wet individuals following him from a distance.

The trip to the Swallow’s Nest – the inn at which he would be spending the night – was uneventful. He greeted the night receptionist upon entering the building, then immediately headed to his room, where he unlocked the door with the iron key that he removed from his satchel. Once inside, he locked the door again, then entered the side chamber to use the toilet – the reason he had chosen this inn rather than one of the tavern/inns; only the more expensive inns boasted actual toilets, which magically eliminated waste, rather than having chamber pots. When he was finished, he used another of Tricks’ myriad functions to cleanse his body and his clothing, then removed his shoes, cast a quick spell, and climbed into bed. He was asleep in moments.

Hours later, in the dead of night, a quiet sound, nearly drowned out by the rain hitting the roof, window, and side of the building, came from the door. This sound continued for several seconds before ending with a click. After a few moments of silence, the door slowly creaked open, just wide enough for the two cloaked-and-hooded figures to slip inside the room. One crept to the desk, where Rai’s satchel rested; the other slowly approached the bed, drawing a long knife from the folds of their cloak.

The knife-wielding figure stood beside the bed and raised the knife.

Rai’s eyes snapped open.

The knife plunged downward. Rai rolled right off the bed on the opposite side and rose to his feet, the blankets falling away. He raised a hand.

“Crackling Ray,” he cast, thrusting his hand forward. His eyes lit up with sparks of violet electricity, and a wrist-width-thick cord of violet lightning shot out from his palm, striking the attacker in the chest. The assailant jerked back as the magical lightning energy surged through their body and danced on their cloak.

Rai turned toward the other intruder, who had just grabbed his satchel.

“Drop it.”

The thief pulled out a knife of their own and lunged at him. He twisted his torso and the blade missed him by an inch.

“Shocking Palm,” he said, slamming his palm into the thief’s shoulder. As he moved, his hand trailed violet lightning, and the moment he made contact a burst of energy leapt from him to his target, surging through and around the thief’s body.

The initial attacker came at him from the left before he had fully centered himself again, having circled around the foot of the bed. Nevertheless, adrenaline aided Rai in parrying the blow with his left forearm. Pain lanced through him from the large laceration, but the blade failed to hit his torso where it had been aimed. Gritting his teeth, he took a step back, toward the wall adjacent to the head of the bed, and cast another spell.

“Force Armor.”

For a brief instant, a shimmering, rippling barrier of red and purple appeared around him like a second skin before vanishing from view. When the thief stepped forward and tried to stab him again, he was able to block with his right arm, receiving no injury as the blade simply skittered along the invisible armor. The other attacker followed up, their bloody blade aimed at his head; he leaned aside and the knife merely grazed the forcefield guarding his left cheek.

“Lightning Fan,” he cast, spreading his fingers and turning his right hand palm upward. A spray of finger-width miniature bolts of violet lightning shot out, catching both intruders. They went down spasming.

Rai sat down on the bed, breathing heavily, his gaze going between the fallen intruders and his bleeding left arm.

“Thieves and assassins. I guess that Eliza, if that was even her real name, is part of an organization going after Tower Era ruins. Hellfire. Why do the crazies always seem to wind up crossing my path? Now I have to figure out what to do with these two; I used nonlethal lightning magic, so they’re not at risk of dying, but they’ll only be out for a few hours at most unless I zap them again. Well, first, I need to take care of my arm…”

He looked down at the bed. “Oh, gods damn it, I bled on the bed. Well, if I’m going to have to pay for the sheets anyway, might as well use them to make a bandage.”

With a heavy sigh, he stood up and retrieved his utility knife from his satchel and began cutting the bottom sheet into strips, fashioning a makeshift bandage and tying it to his arm. Then he put his sword in his belt, put on his satchel, and knelt beside the intruders.

“Let’s see if you’ve got anything worth looting, shall we?”

Rai’s eyebrows went up when he removed the hoods; he had assumed that both assailants were men, but one of them was clearly a woman. He didn’t regret what he had done, though – they had both tried to kill him, and more importantly, take his valuable research. Searching through their pockets revealed a pair of coin purses filled with silver, enough between the two of them to cover a full night’s stay at the Swallow’s Nest and then some. They had nothing else of value, unless one counted their knives, but both had ouroboros tattoos around their biceps.

“Hm… the mark of the snake which devours its own tail. Perhaps a sign of the organization they belong to?” he muttered. “Now… what to do with you? If I hadn’t cast an alarm ward before going to sleep, I’d be dead, but I can’t bring myself to kill you in cold blood. But I’m nowhere near strong enough to drag you down to the entrance, and it’s the middle of the night; I doubt the city watch would come running even if I could contact them. And with the rain, it’s unlikely that anyone will go run for them anyway.”

He eyed the blankets.

“I guess I could zap them again to keep them out longer and tie them up. Not that I’ve ever been great at tying knots. Worth a try, though. Once I’m done, I’ll alert the front desk, then go back to sleep.”

He yawned. The sooner I get done with this, the better, he thought tiredly, the post-fight weariness finally setting in. I’ll have to take it easy for another day to heal up before I head out. That’s unfortunate, but I can’t start an expedition when I’m at less than my best.