Lake Illory shimmered in the rising sun. The center of the lake cast in shadow as the silhouette of Caster’s Sanctum stretched to the shore. Crooked towers pierced the sky: lights that shone in eight colors danced atop the highest spire. Sections of the Sanctum jutted from the base in ways that were far from structurally sound, or even possible. Clearly built using the very magic that dwelt inside.
A small town had been built at the water’s edge. Thatch roofed huts gathered within the shadow of the ancient structure out in the distance. With any luck, Vincent would be able to find someone willing to ferry him to the island at the lake’s heart. If coin was an issue, there was always the supplies he had been given from Xander that he could sell. And if that weren’t enough, then he could always part with the horse and cart given to him by the old Abbot.
“Sorry girl,” he gently stroked along her side. Where he was going a horse would be far from useful. Even if he could get her to the island, there was no telling if it would be an ideal location to keep her. While their time together was brief, Vincent couldn’t help but feel a hint of sadness at the thought of leaving her behind. Magius Monastery had been a second home to him, and the acolytes and teachers a surrogate family.
Making his way down into the valley below, Vincent felt his heartbeat rapidly grow. Excitement—or perhaps just nerves on end, he was nearing the end of the first step in his journey to find the tears. Memories of the mage only furthered his desire to reach the Sanctum. Could he hope to become that powerful himself? Whoever that had been had been practically invulnerable against someone at the skill level of Vincent. And that made him want to reach that height of power. Untouchable against those who only understood the basics of magic.
Reaching for the pendant around his neck, his thoughts then shifted to the dragon. Was May’uri able to watch him through the trinket he’d given him? Had he seen the battle between Vincent and that mage? What if he had been the dragon from the old mage’s story? Could it be possible there was someone out there stronger than May’uri? A Primordial Pure Dragon: no, it had to be impossible.
He wants me to enter the Draco Mirror Chamber. Since his dream where the dragon contacted him, Vincent had searched the books he’d been given for any information he could find on that place. Nothing had been written in the tomes he’d been given. Making him wonder if there was anything about it written down anywhere. One worry that had filled his mind was what to do if those gathered at the Sanctum refused to allow him into the Draco Mirror Chamber. May’uri was far from merciful. Meaning that Vincent would have to find an alternative way into that place should he be refused.
Sneaking around a mage’s sanctuary, he laughed. Far from a thief, he doubted he would manage. Stealth was far from the only obstacle to keep him from going wherever he pleased within those walls. Mages rarely named locations if they didn’t hold some significance or secrets. Knowing that they had collected whatever they could find that was made from dragon parts, a place called the Draco Mirror Chamber was sure to be guarded. If not by people, then there should be some powerful magic to stop intruders from stepping within.
Despite the relative small size, the stables just outside of town were well stocked with plenty of available stables. And they were more than willing to make a purchase of Vincent’s horse. Paying twenty gold for her. While not close to what one might expect to fetch for a well-bred steed such as her, Vincent was not ready to try and haggle for a better payment. Not when he had other things that held much more importance.
“Anything else I can help you with?” the man running the stables asked. Shockingly, he was not much older than Vincent himself. Likely having inherited the stable earlier than expected due to unforeseen circumstances.
“As a matter of fact,” Vincent said. He swiped his coin off the counter and pocketed it in one swift motion. “I’m looking for transport to the island at the center of the lake. Do you know where I might find someone willing to do this?” If Vincent were any better with magic, he would have just formed a bridge of ice to make it across. But since that was not an option, he hoped this stable hand could point him in the right direction.
“Kol’dar’s Tomb, eh?” the man combed his goatee. “You must be a mage to want to go there.”
“Kol’dar’s tomb?” Vincent questioned.
“Ah, right. You’re an outsider so you wouldn’t know. You see, the lake, as well as the island at its core, were created when a dragon was felled here long ago. The dragon Kol’dar. Our ancestors had worshiped the dragon. Wandering the countryside, always trailing after the dragon. So, when he was put to his final rest, our people settled in the same location. So that their savior could always watch over them, even in death.”
“That’s quite the tale. I assume the people who live here now don’t worship the dragon as their ancestors did.”
“Some do. Others have moved to new deities. Most folk around here aren’t religious at all. Saying that the gods never did anything for them, so why should they give praise. I myself still give my praise to Kol’dar from time to time. After all, no Kol’dar, no Koldarrel.”
Koldarell, a strange name for a town if one did not know the origins of why they had given it such a name. Not that Vincent expected anyone to know there was a town neighboring Lake Illory. No map he’d ever seen showed the town, and there was no mention of it in the tome that spoke of the Caster’s Sanctum.
“Now then,” Vincent stirred the conversation back, “about finding someone to take me to the island.”
“Ah, yes,” it seemed talking about the history of his home had caused the man to forget what had started the dialog. “I suppose you might find someone willing to take you down at the Raven’s Perch. Folk around here don’t usually take to crossing the lake. Even those who aren’t religious consider it to be sacred. Might be hard to convince anyone to take you. Might be easier to wait for the water to freeze over in a few months. Though, even then you would struggle before the mages thaw it with their magic.”
Vincent tried to pay the man for the information, but he seemed more than willing to give it over freely. Part of it might have been thanks to the near impossible nature of the task at hand. But Vincent had not been deterred. If he couldn’t find someone to sail him across, he’d build his own raft. Swim the distance if need be. But he was not planning to give up on reaching the island just because the people considered it a holy site.
Following the suggestion he’d been given, Vincent made his way down to the Raven’s Perch. He had been expecting a tavern when he arrived, but it was instead a place where people could bet on bird races. Feathers covered the floor, the sound of fluttering wings played out continuously.
“Twenty gold,” spoke the burly man behind the front counter.
“I’m not here to bet,” Vincent explained. “I’m here to—“
“Twenty gold. It’s the door fee.”
“I have to pay just to enter? What kind of robbery are you pulling here?”
“Twenty gold, or get out. No other options.”
“I’ll pay for him.” The voice belonged to a tall, slender woman with silver hair beneath a tricorn hat: a blue doublet over a black poet shirt, paired with black trousers. Perched on her shoulder was a crow whose beak had been snapped. A wooden carving had been attached in place of the missing half. “It’s your lucky day, don’t you think?”
“Thank you,” Vincent gave a curt bow before he tried to walk into the seating area.
The narrative has been illicitly obtained; should you discover it on Amazon, report the violation.
An extended arm kept him in place. “Manners, boy. You just received a blessing from the notorious Captain Chandra, aren’t you interested in why I would do such a thing for a stranger?”
“Not really,” Vincent answered. “Please, if you wouldn’t mind letting me through. I’m in a hurry.”
“You really have no manners,” Chandra laughed. “I think I’m starting to like you, but you are angering me at the same time.” With her free hand, Chandra drew an old flintlock from her side. Not a common sight in Caembra. Proof she must have come from a far-off land, or have come from wealth. Either option explained her attitude toward Vincent at the time.
Seeing no other way out of the situation, Vincent leaned against the counter. Arms folded before his chest. “I’m listening.”
“Good.” Chandra twirled the pistol before holstering it. “Now then, as I said, today is your lucky day. I could use your help with a job.”
Raising a brow, Vincent cracked a smile. “And what makes you think I’m qualified for this job you want to run?”
“It doesn’t take much to recognize a mage,” she bluntly answered. “And parading around with that dragon pendant does little to hide your association with magic.”
“You recognize dragon scale?” Vincent dropped his arms. Eyes narrowed. “What is this job you need my help with exactly?”
“Straight to business. Now I’m really liking you, boy. I’ll make this simple. You recover a book for me, and I’ll take you to the Sanctum, and even vouch for you to gain entry.”
He’d never said anything about the Sanctum to her. Her knowing his goal was all the reason he needed to take up a defensive stance.
“Temper,” Chandra laughed. “You young mages are always so quick to jump to conflict.”
Someone tapped Vincent on his shoulder. When he turned to look, it was Chandra standing behind the counter. When he looked back, she was still where she stood. Her duplicate hopped over and stood next to the original. “You’re a mage. Then why do you need my help?”
“I don’t need your help.” Both Chandras were spoke in unison. “This is your initiation.” One copy of the captain slid into the other. Fading from existence. “Recover my book, and you will be one of us.”
“And what if I choose not to do this for you? What if I find someone else to take me across, or just find my own way over?”
“I’d be impressed,” Chandra laughed. “More importantly, I would worry for your safety when you come knocking on our front door.”
Following the directions Chandra gave him, Vincent found a small cave not far from Koldarell. Torch in hand, he stepped through the wound in the earth. According to her, at the end of the cave he would find the tome she left. If he were to only go off of what she had told him, it would be nothing more than a straight path forward to find it. But it couldn’t be so simple. Not if this were a test to see if he was worthy of stepping into the Sanctum. Clearly, there would be something to block his advance. Traps, puzzles: monsters summoned by members of the Sanctum might be tucked within the narrow stone chamber.
Light poured in from just up ahead. Extinguishing the flame he carried, he ran to find a vast jungle ecosystem illuminated by crystal embedded into the cave ceiling. Impossible. From the outside, the hill in which the cave was formed had not been large enough to hold a secret jungle of his size.
To even reach the jungle itself he would need to cross an old rope bridge overlooking a vast canyon. Raging waters crashed into sharp rocks below. Death awaited him if the bridge was unable to hold while he crossed.
If Vincent had taken the time to learn to use air magic, there was the chance he could clear the chasm with a single jump. The thought of trying to use a burst of fire magic to propel himself forward—using fireworks as an inspiration—seemed tempting. But he didn’t trust himself to create an explosion strong enough that would leave him unharmed. Leaving the bridge or earth magic as his only options.
Loose rocks tumbled below as he planted his feet at the edge. Deep breaths to get the magic within circulating. Stomping his foot down, Vincent threw his arm forth in a jabbing motion. Dust clouded as a slab of earth jutted free of the cliff-face. Only stretching about a quarter of the way. Repeating this action, he managed to extend the platform only a few feet further.
Chunks crumbled from the underside of his platform. It wouldn’t last much longer. Extending it any more would pose too much of a risk. With what he had made, he would still need to rely on more magic to cross the gob if he still refused to trust the bridge.
Vincent steeled his heart as he stepped back. More breaths, then he sprang into a sprint. Fast as his legs would carry. Waiting until he reached the edge of his platform before taking a leap of faith. Stone collapsed down below, his initial platform carried to the tides below.
Midair, Vincent focused the energy within. Jerking his arms back to will the earth on the other side to spring out and catch him.
It had nearly come close enough to catch him. Gravity took hold and dragged him down. Mere inches from solid land. Fingers caught the edge. All momentum stopped as he held on for dear life. Pain rang through his shoulders, arms weakening from impact.
While he had stopped himself from falling, he was in no condition to pull himself from his perilous dangling position. To make matters worse, the structure of the edge was ready to give out from under him. Hanging feet flailed. Vincent had always used his arms to control his magic, but in this desperate moment, he hoped that the earth would obey his feet as well as his hands.
Blood rushed through his veins: the drumming of his heart echoed in his ears as his hand slipped. The strain on both arms had been too much for him, but with it now on a single arm, he had no choice but to let go.
Knees buckled as he landed on solid earth. Whether he had pulled it from the cliff, or if he had just not noticed it before, he cared little. He was safe for now. The ground beneath him stable enough to take a moment’s rest. Does everyone have to do this? He laid on his back and closed his eyes. The ebb of his stomach irritated both his arms and legs. Barely into his test, and he was nearing his limits. Probably could have used the bridge.
“Right then,” he forced himself back to his feet. Creating footholds in the cliff wall was much easier than ripping entire slabs free. And though he still ached, Vincent climbed from the protrusion that had saved his life. On his way back, he would be sure to try the bridge over repeating his daring feat. For one so new to magic, he still felt pride and accomplishment in what he had managed to do. Sadly, no one would ever know of the exploits within this cavern. At least, not the ones that took place before reaching the jungle. Vickery pride kept him from admitting he nearly died due to his being too stubborn to use an old bridge. It was stubbornness, right? It hadn’t been fear that directed his choice? He considered arguing the difference to himself, but gave up as it was a waste of time.
Maybe that was the full test, he hopefully joked. Danger could be around any tree, so he made sure to focus mostly on what he heard rather than what he saw. And what he heard was nothing but silence. I don’t like this place. It was too late to turn back now. He was dedicated. Chandra would have that book, and he would have entry to the Caster’s Sanctum. Should he live.
Vincent’s body ached as he teetered into the jungle. With each step came another burst of pain. Obviously he should stop and take time to rest. And Vincent would have done so if it weren’t for the fact he wanted to hurry and finish the task at hand. Rest could come after he was granted access to the Sanctum. But not before.
Further ahead sunlight shimmered through the canopy. Beams of light fell to illuminate what looked to be a sword trapped within stone. A red jewel replaced the pommel. They can’t be serious. Vincent had read of situations like this in stories when he was a child. Magical swords wedged into stone. Ornaments one would only think to be decorative being necessary to unlock secret passages later in the adventure. Did the masters of the Sanctum think so little of him? He chose to play along.
Taking the handle in both hands, Vincent pulled with all his might. Easily freeing the blade from its resting place. That was too easy … There was no time to celebrate as the earth began to rumble underfoot.
Earth mounded upwards, casting Vincent aside as what appeared to be a hand ripped free of the land. Followed by another. Stone continued to break free of the earth until a golem towered over Vincent. A singular blue crystal acted as its eyes. The moment it crossed paths with Vincent, the creature swung boulder-sized fist at him.
Dodging proved to be difficult after the failure at the start of the test. He managed to just barely maneuver himself out of the way. Dirt and rock showered him in a dusty cloud as impact craters were left behind.
Just as he had when building his bridge, Vincent went to use his earth magic. The golem was made of stone, so it made the most sense to try and stop it that way. Only for him to be met with the realization that his magic was useless against a living creature even if it was made from the elements.
Once again, he dodged just in time to stop from being flattened. If earth won’t work, Vincent gathered lightning. Directing it through the sword he still held, he targeted the blue stone.
Cracks formed in the stone as the golem collapsed. Showing its back to Vincent. The slot he pulled the sword from still visible in the boulder that acted as the golem’s torso. It took everything that he had left in him, but Vincent charged. As the beast began to rise from the dirt, he managed to leap onto its back. Holding on tight as it swayed from side to side, trying to shake him free. Sparks flew as he failed to insert the sword the first time. On his next attempt he got it in.
Stone eroded to sand, making for a soft landed. These tests are gonna kill me.