"Issy, it's time to wake up. Is-cah!"

Iscah gave an irritated groan in response to her sister's sing-song voice, not moving from her warm nest beneath the sheets and down-filled comforter.

Ialda threw the curtains open and Iscah tossed in bed, burying her face beneath a pillow to block the light but she knew it was too late. There was no sleeping after being blinded.

Evil sibling.

"Stayed up all night reading again I presume," Ialda drawled, crossing back over to the bed and picking up one of the books.

"The Cambion War by Athrioclites? How do you read such dry subjects?"

"Whah?" Iscah mumbled, retreating from beneath the pillow to stare blearily at her sister. Ialda set it back down and turned for the closet as her little sister belly-crawled over to stare at the book in disbelief.

It was the very same one that had been lost last night. She glanced at the pile of books, noticing the journal was now missing. If it was here, where was the journal? A thought began to form in her mind as she eyed Athrioclites tome, snapping out of her theory at Ialda's sharp call.

"Yes."

"Yes? To blue or pink?" Ialda held up the two dresses, raising a perfectly arched eyebrow with a condemning smile. Iscah could feel the tips of her ears warming.

"Pink, please."

She handed her the blue dress.

Iscah scowled but acquiesced nonetheless, knowing her sisters' taste for fashion vastly exceeded her own. With a dramatic huff she wiggled off the bed and padded towards the luxurious stone-tiled bathroom, untying the ribbons that crossed the back of the dress she had fallen asleep in before pushing the shuttered door closed with her foot. She let the garment drop to the floor before tugging the blue dress over her head.

"Where are your servants, Issy?"

"Don't need them," was her muffled reply, searching for the bodice opening beneath the layers of chiffon. She finally found it and struggled through the narrow gap, getting stuck when it was over one shoulder and her neck. The bathroom door clicked open and Ialda gave a short laugh.

"A little help?"

"Why? You don't need it."

Iscah stopped struggling, glaring daggers through the material blocking the view of her sister. She heard the whisper of Ialda's steps as she went to the summoning rope and gave it a light tug.

"And you assume I know how to get into these dresses?"

Iscah managed to get her other shoulder into the fitted top, her hair a giant mess now as her sister merely watched in condescending silence.

In the main room that served as her receiving parlor and den a knock came from the door before the servants entered and rushed to rescue the girl from the attempts to dress, making her presentable in a matter of minutes before sweeping through the room to tidy it up.

She tugged at the crushing bodice that threatened to cut off her breathing before looking sulkily to her sister who stood by with regal patience.

"You've turned into a commoner," she finally commented, watching her squirm uncomfortably in the dress. Iscah winced at the blunt accusation and straightened her back, pushing a stray lock of hair behind an ear the servants had left down to frame her face.

Ialda sighed and stepped forward, untucking the wavy curl so that it fell to brush her collar bone.

"Father sent you the University to let you chase these dreams of becoming a mage for a while, not to forget you are a Highborn. He would not take it well to know you have put your books before your family's honor."

Iscahs cheeks turned a deep shade of red at the slight, opening her mouth to retort though shut it almost immediately, letting the implications of her sisters words sink in.

"Don't tell Daddy?" She finally pleaded, her sister's composure breaking down enough to roll her eyes.

"I won't have to if you don't start making yourself presentable. Those bags you call clothes have got to go," she replied, turning to head for the door.

Iscah frowned, following her. "They're comfy."

"And you must recall your guards," she added with a brief but perturbed glance down the hallway before moving towards the stairs.

"Why? They just stand there for hours, probably bored out of their minds. Besides, the half-demons haven't breached our wall much less our city for decades now."

"It does not matter. They did it once, those bloodless savages might try once more. Father barely escaped their assassins, who's to say they would not try it again?"

Iscah scowled, attempting to come up with a response that sounded better than something petulant.

"And wipe that look off your face, it makes you look uglier than usual."

"Ialda?"

"Yes, darling sister of mine?"

"You're getting fatter."

[https://i.postimg.cc/ht3bqpkV/blue-moon.jpg]

Even though spring had begun to make its presence known, the carriage ride to their home was cold as frost.

Iscah spent her time turned towards the window, studying the landscape instead of trying to make amends with her sister.

Tzarren City was not the only city the humans had built, but it was the most populated and oldest of them. The bones of the ruins their ancestors had rebuilt upon were now covered in the flesh of the living, and the city thrived as the seat of power of the Kingdom.

The tallest buildings orbited around the spires of the castle, the iron and stone foundations of the ancients allowing for higher structures than they knew how to build safely. Temples, government buildings, even the University had garnered the remainder of the those resiliently sound bones, and had created architecture that was continuously evolving as they rediscovered lost technology and spell craft.

From their prestigious residences the high class and prominent merchants flourished, their back gardens ending at the cities first wall built long ago. There the buildings sloped down in size, until farthest from the center single-story homes and rows of businesses with stretched tarps guarding their wares from the sun and occasional rainstorms lay.

The only areas that the differences in hierarchy weren't visible were the main streets of brick and stone. An impressive array of shops lined the wide road that encircled the exterior of the ancient first wall and the four thoroughfares that quartered the city into cardinal directions, creating a hub-and-spoke system of neighborhoods and streets.

Even then, the city planners had kept defense a priority but incorporated it in a brilliant way. Houses sat back to back, offering their owners and renters the space for front gardens only, and at every intersection of the four mainways heavy gates of iron customized to represent the neighborhoods tasked with their upkeep sat tucked between the buildings on well used tracks.

Closest to the towering wall encircling their city the poorest lived on land originally used for animals waiting for the slaughter. Now most of the mud churned plots were covered by houses built from whatever materials their tenants could cobble together between the pens they worked, some never leaving the shadow of stone through the entire day.

A whiff of the misery and they passed through the northern double gates, out into the picturesque countryside that gently descended away from the crest the city resided on and offering a view of the blue sea crowned in mist that lay to the east.

Stretches of farms, fields, orchards, and pastures broke apart the land, smatterings of forests randomly disrupting the fingerprint of humanity like a nod to what once was. Most of the produce that fed the citizens of the city were grown in the local region, though specialty items arrived from the territories on a nearly weekly basis.

Their carriage slowed at one of these woodlands, and turned onto an even, gravel row lined with trees so old they formed a continuous arching canopy for them to drive through.

As they pulled up to the round driveway lined with meticulously kept landscaping Iscah spied Ialda's husband on the steps, speaking with their father and mother amicably.

Iscah squealed with delight at the sight of her parents, jumping out of the carriage and nearly tripping over her skirts to throw herself into her father's waiting arms with childish abandon.

"Iscah!" Her mother's voice cracked like a whip and Isren set his daughter down, both wearing the same sheepish face as they turned towards the woman whom looked like an older version of Ialda. Glittering hazel eyes narrowed at the both of them before resting on her daughter.

"That is no way for a young woman to act," she continued.

Clearing her throat Iscah floated her arms out and swept up the edges of her dress before dipping into a graceful bow.

The woman nodded approvingly with her hands clasped at her waist, satisfied with her daughters manners before Iscah approached her and set a wet, noisy kiss on her cheek. She ignored the indignant huff, grinning beatifically at the lovely woman as she checked to make sure her dark gold bun hadn't been mussed.

"So my darling Hermit," Isren began, linking arms with his favorite daughter as the group moved indoors. "Have any dashing students caught your eye?"

Unauthorized reproduction: this story has been taken without approval. Report sightings.

"As a matter of fact Father, yes, there has," she whispered back conspiratorially, cupping her hand close to her lips as if she did not want the others to hear.

"Athrioclites."

Isren gave a woeful moan, tossing his head back and clutching at his heart as if it had been struck.

"My future son-in-law is as dry in writing as he is in body!"

As they entered the grand foyer a group of servants bowed low, stepping forward to take the two girls traveling cloaks and gloves, while yet another stood at the ready with a tray of warm mint tea in miniature silver chalices.

"Wait, Issy is being courted by someone?" Ialda interjected from behind them, clapping her hands in delight.

"Yes, a scholar!"

"Oh, you're jesting. Issy! You can't marry a book and have children!"

Iscah smiled in gratitude as she took the last of the tea, turning to follow the group through a sparse but elegantly decorated reception room and past a set of double-doors that spanned from floor to ceiling.

"Sure I could. We could have children books."

"Iscah."

"Or perhaps novellas."

"Iscah!"

"Baby Diaries," added Isren as they entered the ostentatious dining room meant to accommodate well over forty guests.

"Father!"

Isren shared a wink with his youngest, and Iscah giggled as they took their seats at the far end of the room where sunlight spilled across the floor and furnishings. Further down the table bouquets of early spring flowers scented the air, creating an optical illusion that made the oversized table feel shorter than it was.

The servants descended upon them with platters of food, the smell of fresh cooked eggs, herb-fried polenta, smoked boar belly and seasonal vegetables cooked in lard trailing in their wake.

A plump woman with a smile from ear to ear entered with a basket, setting it next to Iscah and giving her a quick kiss on the cheek.

"Missed ya mah girl," she whispered, flicking the linen covering the mound of still steaming pastries aside to the girls delight.

"Not nearly as much as I've missed you Agatha. Can you not take a break and come to the city to teach the University cooks your skill?"

Agatha laughed heartily, flour floating into the air from the wild curls pinned atop her head.

"Well then, it wouldn't be much of a break now, would it?" She called as she left them to their brunch.

Conversation dwindled as they served themselves from the selection of food, Iscah ignorant of the glances cast her way by both parents as she hummed in delight with each bite.

Iscah listened with growing boredom as her sister chatted with their mother about the latest court gossip while the two men planned out a forthcoming hunt after they had eaten their fill.

"I'm sorry?" She replied in a knee-jerk reaction when she realized her father had asked a question.

"Has there been any progress with your entry to the Balenciai?"

"Oh," her shoulders visibly rounded. "Yes, well. Last week I conjured a fireball that lasted a few seconds."

"Oh my, a record," Ialda quipped, feigning appreciation. "Did you blow anything up in the process?"

"No!" She slumped further in her seat. "Yes. I burned off almost all of the Head Mage Allen's beard."

"Still can't control it?" Her father asked.

Iscah pushed a lone buttered pea morosely across her plate in silent response.

Isren nodded sympathetically, but her mother spoke up in the awkward silence that ensued.

"Oh, we're all thinking it. Iscah, it's time you abandoned this fantasy and take on a more genteel role. You're supposed to be a lady of the court, not a court jester!"

"Naomi, that's no way to broach the subject."

Iscah looked up from her dejected stare at the table, looking from her mother to her father. "What do you mean, Daddy? What subject?"

He cast his wife an irritated stare before turning to address his youngest daughter, words catching in his throat before he sighed. Naomi stiffened at his faltering resolve, but remained silent.

"Iscah, you've been trying for two years now," he tried patiently.

Her father's resolve broke and he looked away, unable to meet his daughter's gaze as he quietly stated: "Your mother and I have decided it's in your best interest after this term you end your educational studies. Naomi has already made known that we are looking for candidates suitable to your stature."

"Oh father, that is a wonderful decision," Ialda breathed, gripping her husband's forearm and smiling from him to her sister who had visibly paled.

"Issy, it's wonderful, believe me. To be loved and to serve a husband is a true joy, and when you have children—"

"I'll be nothing but a mother," she finished for her sister sharply, not bothering to look up from her half-eaten plate of food that felt as if it was clawing its way back up her throat.

Both women gave offended inhales at her tone, but Iscah ignored them, her chair wailing against the marble as she pushed it back and stood. Turning stonily towards her father she bowed.

"By your leave, Father."

Without waiting for a response, she left her family to go home.

[https://i.postimg.cc/ht3bqpkV/blue-moon.jpg]

Iscah shut the door to her apartment and stood staring at nothing in particular for a long time before her attention went to her bed where the books remained untouched.

How could he?!

In a single day, her dreams of becoming something more than a court peacock had been dashed. So many nights as a little girl she had dreamed of becoming one of her favorite heroines. Smiting the evilest of the demons and half-demons that plagued their southern wall, taming a dragon or flighted beast to see what lay beyond their known lands. Be something other than just a name on the genealogical chart of her family that sired the next line.

Now she was to be sold off like livestock to the highest bidder and all but forgotten.

In less than two months she would no longer have access to the great library of the University, knowing that it truly would bring shame to her family and future husband for the public to see her dallying in anything other than court intrigues and womanly arts. That was Ialda's world, not hers. She couldn't stand the games and wholly sincere smiles that hid the poisoned words of the courtiers.

Her anger and frustration she had been holding in finally broke. If they were going to ban her from the beloved library, she'd come to the court with a story for those harpies to chew on for weeks.

In two quick strides fell upon the pile, sweeping it with some effort onto the floor and kicking at them as viciously as she could in slippers until she was out of breath.

Far from giving in to her exhaustion she picked up the massive book she had already ripped a page in and tried to throw it across the room, succeeding in whacking the back of her hand mid-throw against the lavishly carved column of her bed and sending Athrioclites skittering across the carpet instead of against the wall.

"What is it with this book!?" She shrieked, clutching at her hand that was smarting and bleeding from the small gash she had received from the sharp edges of wood. Watching to see if her hand was about to swell and bruise she walked over to retrieve the book, some of her anger doused as she focused on the pain. Around her the lights flickered momentarily, and she paused.

Mote lights never wavered, they either glowed at varying levels associated with how much energy was fed to them. If they went out, it was rather quickly as the energy fed through the wires was cut, setting them into a stasis they'd remain in. They had not responded naturally in the library, and they were not acting normal now.

Chewing on her lower lip Iscah went to the desk where she had set her mote-lantern and checked to see if the crystal used for power was disconnected. That solved why it hadn't come back on, but not necessarily why the tiny floating puffs that turned energy into light had flickered.

A fat drop of blood pattered noisily on the desk, and she stared at it hard for a moment before looking back to Athrioclites historic documentation lying prone on the floor.

Slowly she went back to the book and knelt beside it, dabbing her index finger in the blood trailing across the back of her hand and swiped it across one of the pages. The paper soaked the liquid into itself and dried almost instantly, the lights faltering and dimming, acting more like dying flames.

She watched as the blood faded away completely before the book shifted in the failing light, turning into the small black journal she had read the night before.

The opened page was the single entry, and beneath the writing the fingerprint glowed faintly as if it were an ember. Reaching down she hesitated a moment over the print before touching her finger against it.

The light expanded outward like flames consuming tinder, lighting up the runes circling her fingers and they slowly began to orbit in opposing directions. Iscah wasn't even aware the lights had gone out in the room, watching in awe as the letters picked up speed until they became blurred rings, expanding to the edge of the page before suddenly realizing she was looking down into the book as if it had depth. She gasped and tried to pull free but her body didn't respond, a coldness that rivaled the bitterest of winter days whooshing across her body before she plummeted into the blackness.

What's happening? Why can't I move?! A light? Wh—

Blue Moon [https://i.postimg.cc/ht3bqpkV/blue-moon.jpg]

Bright sky and wisps of ebony hair snatched away by a howling wind. She took a deep inhale of the cold, metallic-edged air, and its talons could not sink into her body. Her soul warmed her, enflamed her. She rode on that power and the elements could do nothing to stand against her.

Turning her head she brazenly studied the side profile of the Lord Commander. The man was aging well. Already in his forties he was barrel chested and lean, black hair that was clipped at his shoulders barely salted with grey hairs. The fox tails that circled his neck to keep the biting chill at bay shivered in the wind though he remained stalwart, his face a mask of frustration and anger.

"We're losing," he finally confessed as she joined him at the ridge, and her gaze turned to the scene that they overlooked from their panoramic view.

Below the mesa bodies littered the once-grass covered fields, the mud churned red with blood where a corpse did not cover it. The Cambions had been driven off again for the day, but they were playing defense now, and it was only a matter of time.

Already the dead were being collected and organized into pyres. It was better than leaving them as meat for the Demons and the Halfling Cambion spawn to feast on.

Saraf kept silent, knowing there was little she could say to ease Isenius's fears. Already her coven was giving so much.

Too much.

"There's a way we can change the tides of fate," a familiar voice replied from behind them. She glared venomously at Naon as he approached, confident smiles and blue eyes flashing. Isenius turned to give the warlock his full attention.

"The demonic world holds the key to our success."

"Like your ancestors assumed when you went to war with the Mages?" He swept his hand out towards the enemy swarm that was made up of demons and half-demons alike that they now faced, and were losing to. "What guarantee do I have that you won't do more damage than what they already caused?"

"Our predecessors were—"

"Naon," Saraf purred warningly, but he forged over her.

"—Were fools to give free reign to them," he finished, pulling out a dagger that had been sheathed beneath his cloak.

Goosebumps pricked instantly over her body, the hair on her nape rising at the sight of it. Too large to be considered a dagger but too small to be a short sword, the entire weapon was made of a single piece of bone, the blade double edged. Runes of binding and power ran up the center of the bevel, ending at a simple guard where a tuft of red hair that turned a brilliant, pure gold in the sunlight hung. The hilt was wrapped in ancient leather, so old it crackled beneath Naon's grasp.

"Where did you get that," Saraf breathed, stepping forward, horrified and entranced all at once.

"The warlocks weren't entirely unsuccessful, Lord Commander, at controlling all the demons. One was enslaved, bound to his own bone."

"Orias."

Isenius looked from Naon to her, gauging, calculating, before turning to view the land below. His lips pressed into a thin line at the carnage, finally addressing the two. "We continue the assault. I'll resort to your particular vulgar forms of demonic magic over your dead bodies."

Saraf's relief was short lived at Naon's secretive, arrogant smile as he bowed.