Hunting Grounds - Writer's Galley

There is an old saying that I heard during my lifetime; Yuk Ol Fusan Ju. Rage is a beast to be tamed, not released. Throughout my journey, that was the sole reason why I existed. Hiding in shadows, gathering information through whatever means necessary, murder, I did anything to focus my anger at the one person who destroyed my life. Yet, the more I reflect on these events, I questioned whether or not claiming his life would satiate me.

Taking the life of Edward James had been the only thing I wanted. To feel my sword slash through his neck, watching his blood spill onto the floor while gasping for air, watching his eyes become hazy until his soul left his disgusting vessel, I wanted that more than anything. I continued to hold onto rage, letting it fester until it became stronger. Hate, anger, pain, these things manifested into an alternate persona, The Hunter.

While I became The Hunter, nothing else mattered to me. Echoes of frightened screams from my victims were music to my ears, seeing blood drip brought a smile to my face, intimidating mighty foes brought me joy. Back then, the road towards Hell was my chosen path and I did not care.

How young and foolish I was.

He was here, the Hunter knew that. The dead embers from yesterday’s fire were plainly laid out before him, blackened twigs placed together tightly. No match lied around, no flint either. His target must have used the dried twigs and create friction for a fire. An old smell lingered in the air, the distinct odor of musk, a hint of tobacco from a pipe and sweat. The target was getting nervous, anxious and afraid. One thing was certain though, the bastard covered his tracks effectively.

Clever.

The Hunter did not mind, there was more to tracking than following a trail of bread crumbs. It indicated to him that catching his target would not be simple, though he never expected it to be easy. He removed a scroll from his pocket and rolled it out. A small map of the area displayed his current location and distance to the neighboring towns. The Hunter scanned the map, noting every detail meticulously and referred back to his knowledge of the towns and his target.

Edward Madison James, a slave master who amassed large profits through cotton and invested large sums of money in liquor, stocks, land and weaponry. He is currently 45, has a wife and two mistresses located far away from his plantation. One lived in Weston, the other in Arid, both towns were near this location. Edward may be afraid, but he is far from stupid. He’s on the run, he would assume his tracker would go to those towns and find him easily. The only town left was Swan Dive, an elegant name for a town that did not deserve it.

The Hunter rubbed the right side of his face, feeling the large black scar. It served as a reminder of the past, a past he wished never happened. He was dressed in a long, flowing black cloak which reached his ankles. A black scarf and bandana covered his face and head. All that could be seen were the trademark yellow eyes. Beneath the cloak, The Hunter was equipped with two swords and a belt filled with poison daggers, smoke bombs, Molotov cocktails, rope and a small mirror.

He removed the compact mirror and stared into it.

“Show me Edward James.”

The mirror’s surface crackled with magical energy, struggling to display a clear picture. The Hunter saw the old bastard; he could hear him as well. Gasping, erratic footsteps, he was hiding somewhere without lights. A sandstorm began to brew; The Hunter could not hear anything else. He replaced the mirror in the belt and began his trek again.

Wind blew harshly across the desert, sand swept and swirled, the temperature began to drop as the sun went down. It won’t be long before he had to stop somewhere and reconvene his search. But he refused to stop, afraid that he would lose his target. He had not eaten in over a day and struggled to fight off sleep. The Hunter knew he had to stop, his body demanded it. His legs trudged through the sand, sinking lower into the sand as if it were mud. Sluggish, tired, unable to focus clearly. How long would he have to wait before his swords claimed James’ head?

Finally, his legs caved in and his body followed. The pure comfort of darkness accepted him.

Sand swirled violently through the night. Large mountainous dunes slowly eroded, sand pushed upwards and spun around like a flying disc. Any stars shining in the sky could not be seen through the thick veil of earthen dust, Mother Nature chose to be a fickle bitch this night. The temperature dropped rapidly, biting winds spreading a wintry chill despite being in the middle of Aradyne’s Kingship, a summer cycle on other continents. Within the Dried Sea desert, small caverns were spread out in clusters, housing separate tribes or outlaws from faraway towns. During the morning, cacti were easy to spot amongst some game, the most common source of sustenance were the Cackmeri or Vulstens. At night, predatory animals scoured the land for dead prey and could camouflage their skin and patiently waited for some unsuspecting animal. Other predators hid beneath the sand.

A gargantuan Warworm erupted from the sand.

The crusty and cracked, shifting beast opened its mouth, revealing rows of sharp teeth and a long digestive tract leading to its tail end. It roared loudly, scaring any animals in a two kilometer radius. Warworms did not possess eyes, instead they relied on their sense of hearing, vibrations in the sand and heat signatures. In front of it lied its prey, the unconscious hunter. The jagged mouth hung above the hunter, drooling in anticipation. This beast was tired of eating the stringy meat of Vulstens and instinctively remembered the juicy, savory meat and crunching of bones from humans.

It could wait no longer.

As it reached towards the unconscious man, something slammed into its hide, violently pushing the beast back. It roared again and aimed its jaw where it was struck. There was no movement in the sand, no sign of heat and any sounds were masked by the roaring winds. Confused, it rotated itself, distracted by what could have hit it. During that time, a floating black phantom-like figure moved towards the hunter and looked down. The figure extended a hand and waved it. The hunter disappeared and so did the phantom.

The Warworm growled lowly and sunk back into the sand.

She sat inside one of the small caverns, her eyes closed in meditation. Beside her lied the hunter, still unable to move. Her body levitated in the cramped space while she mentally scanned his internal structure. High body heat, slow heart rate, dried throat, it seemed this man was in a state of shock and would be comatose for a short period of time. She checked his belongings as well and found no food or water, must have finished his supply a day or so ago. The woman frowned. Although she possessed a great amount of power, even she had her limits in terms of how long she could last without physical sustenance. The option of tossing this unfortunate soul was tempting, he had nothing she needed.

But she kept him inside the cave and moved to his mind for scanning.

“Ilfodo Zakar Firo…Ilfodo Zakar Firo…” she chanted.

A swarm of incoherent memories tackled her mind, a swift stream of images sliding past her mental sight. What language was this? What is happening? A loud scream echoed in her mind and felt a burning sensation on the right side of her face. She immediately stopped her mental scan.

Drenched in sweat, a migraine washed over her with fatigue. She touched her face instinctively. How curious, perhaps she could see why she felt that sensation if she removed the scarf on his face. The woman moved towards him, hesitantly at first, her hand reaching forward.

The Hunter began to move and grunted.

Alarmed, the woman moved away and used an invisibility spell. He slowly began to rise, both legs wobbled from the weight. Where was he? Why is everything so dark and rigid? The Hunter felt blind, weak and slightly afraid, though he would never admit that to anyone, including himself. Instinctively, he reached for his belongings and found them secure. He sniffed the air and his ears rose beneath the scarf and bandana. Someone else is here.

“Show yourself!” he yelled. He gasped for air and struggled to stand up straight. No response.

“Were you trying to rob me? Did you honestly think you could run from me!”

He staggered forward, following that unfamiliar scent. What could it be? Perspiration mixed with…something floral? If it was some sort of perfume, he definitely would have known and recognized the scent. But this smell, it drove him crazy that he couldn’t figure it out. He could have deduced that perhaps it was a female scent, but anyone could wear perfume these days.

Out of the darkness, she cancelled the spell. The women slowly levitated towards him. She was afraid, no doubt about that. What drove her was curiosity.

The Hunter heard a low breeze coming towards him, no footsteps. The smell grew stronger. He could smell the pheromones, indicating the fear in whoever was coming towards him. He wanted to draw his swords and attack, but he lacked the strength. All he managed to do was drop his arms and wait for the figure to come closer. He felt something touch his lips.

The woman kissed his lips and a tingling sensation travelled between them. He had no strength left to protest. After a few seconds, she removed her lips from his.

“Why did you…Who are you?”

“I found you outside and brought you here. I thought you were dying.”

That voice, so calm, so sweet. He pushed himself to stay standing.

“Who…are you?”

“My name…well, where I’m from, I’m called Kina.”

Kina, what a strange name. Then again, she kissed him so he suspected she was strange also.

“I know your name too…you are Atticus Clear-Moon, yes?”

How could she know his name? Nobody in this world knew who he was, he made sure of that. How did she-

Atticus collapsed again, completely spent. Before his neck could hit a stalagmite, Kina grabbed a hold of him and slowly lowered the man to the ground. Her curiosity needed to be satiated, she had to know why she felt that burning sensation. Her hands shook while she removed the scarf and bandana. She waved her hand and produced an orb of brilliant, white light.

Strange. Kina expected to see a sinister looking, ugly man. Atticus was beautiful, earthen brown skin that felt slightly coarse to the touch, long flowing silver hair tied in a ponytail, thin eyebrows and cracked lips. She noticed that his ears were long and almost pointed, clearly not human. What struck her the most was the right side of his face.

A large, black brand.

Kina could not remember seeing something like this before. Her fingers traced the brand, starting from the top right corner of his forehead to the middle of the cheek.

E…J…

Swan Dive, a small town close to Arid’s borderline. Due to the lack of structural support from the sandy ground, Swan Dive was primarily comprised of large tents. Each tent had different shapes to indicate shops and living spaces that belonged to residents. Of course, safety was not a guarantee in this place, unless you had good coin. Since sandstorms commonly occurred, people often hid in the caverns below their tents at night. This space served as the front of Swan Dive, reserved for lower class citizens.

The back was a different story.

The tents existed close to the main gate, a massive iron wall stretching towards the west. The gate marked the edge of the desert land and hid a metropolitan city filled with grandiose buildings, different types of exotic foods from multiple villages within the continent on display, stables contained thick skinned Lacems and Roehes, restaurants, hotels, clothing stores, what more could anyone want? The motto for this segregated portion: Right price, right place.

Merchants shouted out their prices, trying hard to get the attention of the wealthy citizens passing by. Sometimes the merchants would be very aggressive, grabbing people from the main road and leading them to their stands.

“Come, my friend! I have more amazing trinkets at my station!”

“Would the lady like a pretty necklace? A pretty necklace for a pretty lady!”

Unbeknownst to them, a black phantom like figure passed through the shadows in silence. It carried the knowledge of the town, moving towards areas that had what it needed. The phantom heard nothing, lost in its own mind. The phantom felt itself dissipating, not much time left. While merchants clamored desperately for money, it swiped a few things from each stand, collecting food, water, and a book or two. Satisfied, the phantom disappeared into thin air, returning back to where it came from.

“Ilfodo…Zakar…Firo…”

Her soul returned to her body, whatever she collected stacked up beside her. Kina allowed herself to sit on the bumpy cavern floor, unable to cast any more spells. She looked at Atticus, still unconscious. Raw fish and meat sat beside her, looking more and more delicious by the second. The woman did not know about cooking or about what was edible, she only wanted to eat and drink. Before Kina could take a bite from the fish, Atticus grunted and struggled to sit up.

“Please do not overexert yourself, Atticus.”

He said nothing. Kina walked towards him and sat down beside him.

“Here, eat this.”

She removed one of his throwing knives from his belt and carved out a chunk of fish. Atticus tried lifting his arm but it refused to move.

“Why…help…”

Kina did not answer immediately. Instead, she decided to feed him and spoke.

“You nearly got consumed by a monster outside. I found you, brought you here and wanted to know where I was. So, using my magic…I scanned your mind for information.”

Atticus growled and tried to move.

“Allow me to apologize for that, reason has no room when it comes to survival.”

She scanned his mind, he did not like that at all. To know that this stranger can simply probe his brain for information was alarming, not because it was an invasion of privacy but how that information could be manipulated. If he could, Atticus would have killed this woman in her sleep and leave. Anyone with this kind of power was not allowed to exist, that was how he used to think. Yet, this woman saved his life and is taking care of him, what should he do? Atticus gave up thinking about it, a waste of energy that he could be using to recover. While he ate, Atticus felt his strength return little by little, a slow, snail like climb towards top form.

Initially, they said nothing while the winds outside began to pick up, brushing sand inside the dry, slightly humid cavern. They sat in the middle of the cylindrical tunnel, avoiding the blinding light while staying cool in the shadows.

A few twig like Vulstens flew around outside, these beasts resembling large vultures. Long, curved beaks colored in dark blue and purple, black beady eyes and white feathers to reflect sunlight. Cackmeri crawled around on the surface of the desert sand, their skin camouflaged to match the sand. Cackmeri always stood together in groups, migrating from place to place and can easily adapt to multiple environments. These small, nearly transparent skinned creatures were a mix between armadillos and serpents, slit eyes and stubby legs with long tails. Their snouts drooped underneath their necks, curled up until a body of water was found. The scattered Vulstens cackled in the air, their flight path guided towards the upcoming towns, where they could find remnants of food without much trouble.

While she fed Atticus, Kina made sure to nourish herself as well. Her physical energy began its return but her magical power exhausted. Hidden behind her hood, the third eye in the center of her forehead stayed shut, waiting patiently. Strands of her dark blue hair came out from her hood, spread apart wildly. Her tired lavender eyes needed to close, she had not slept in days. Kina fought against her fatigue, her struggle almost pointless. Kina felt the need to stay awake, she needed to find a way back home, if she fell asleep, would she die? Would she never see the pearl white sun of her home again? Would she ever see her family again?

Kina could not fight off sleep anymore.

Her body began to fall forward. Atticus, feeling in much better shape, caught her and wondered. This was the perfect opportunity, he could end her life and feel secure. He could take the supplies and run, go back to tracking down Edward James…

He placed her unconscious body on his back, wrapped her arms around his neck and gathered all the supplies. It was nightfall outside, brisk winds flowed inside the cavern. Atticus knew the risk of traveling at night in the Dried Sea Desert. If hypothermia did not kill, some predator would. Still, the longer he stood in the cavern, the more time he lost for his quest. He was not even sure if Edward James was still in Swan Dive anymore, he didn’t know how many days he spent with the strange girl.

Atticus walked outside the cavern, allowing the chilly breeze to raise his awareness. To most people, the nights in the Dried Sea desert stayed pitch black and venturing outside at night was foolishness. He, however, felt nonplussed. As a half elf, Atticus possessed an ability only elves had, infrared vision. He blinked once, his normal round shaped pupils changed into vertical almond shapes, focusing on the shadows. The Hunter could see everything that gave off heat, seeing the world in multiple colors at once, surrounding all forms of life. Atticus walked forward, his arms seated in the folds of Kina’s legs to keep her in place.

The Warworm rose again.

The gigantic beast roared, familiar with the body heat and movement patterns of the hunter. He was unable reach for his swords or projectiles, the idea of leaving Kina on the ground to fight quickly vanished.

It attacked.

He dodged to the right, watching as the Warworm sunk into the sand. Atticus focused his sight on the ground. Immediately, he caught sight of a shift about a meter away. No doubt that monster will attack from below. Atticus shifted Kina’s body to his left shoulder, his right hand grabbed onto a few Molotov cocktails. He shook the bottles filled with alcohol, wetting the rags sticking out from the opening.

One meter away.

Atticus placed his explosives on the floor, quickly rummaged through his pocket and found a pack of matches. He struck one and lit the rags.

Now.

Atticus jumped away, the Warworm’s mouth consumed the Molotov cocktails. It roared and lunged at him. Suddenly, a flash of colors erupted inside the Warworm, close to its center. Glass shards struck into the spongy, soft, inner flesh. It tried to roar again but, instead of a thunderous noise, blood spewed from its mouth. Atticus wanted to think that a few cocktails would kill his foe, the damage seemed significant enough. Unfortunately, it would not. His foe was in pain and no doubt stunned, but it would take more than a few crude explosives to kill it.

Atticus dashed away from the Warworm and headed towards the tents in front of Swan Dive. The Hunter knew that these people would have a way to defend themselves against these types of monsters, a better option than trying to fight with extra deadweight. He took one look behind himself, it sunk back into the sand. While he ran, Atticus readjusted Kina’s body on his shoulders.

During the mad dash, Kina’s third eye opened.

Atticus felt a surge of power flow within him. A strange yet warm strength.

Do you accept?

He stopped running. The Warworm was coming closer.

“Accept what?”

My power.

The Warworm arose again, barely a meter away. It wanted to feast.

“Yes.”

He did not know it but, his left eye changed color from his normal yellow color to lavender. He outstretched his right hand, the monster lunged forward.

Our power is united.

“Ilfodo Zakar Firo!”

An invisible force stopped the monster in mid-air. Scared, it struggled to move. Part of Atticus’s mind wanted to kill the Warworm, the urge to succumb to the darker portion of this magic was strong. It appealed to Atticus’s mentality, kill or be killed. This invisible feeling wanted to be released, to display its full potential. Yet, he heard another voice, urging him to do otherwise.

He shoved his hand forward. The Warworm’s body flew backwards through the air and slammed into a far off body of rock. It was not dead.

Suddenly, he felt his left eye start to burn. He screamed until its original color returned. That powerful feeling melted away, transferring back to its original vessel. Though Atticus did not know about it, the third eye closed.

“What was that?” he thought.

Never has he felt something like that before, so strong, so foreign.

So tempting.

Was this what it was like to cast magic? For that quick moment, Atticus felt almost godlike. He knew that with a single clench of his hand, that monster would have squeezed itself to death. Imagine if he could use that power freely against his enemies. Nobody could stand against him. Atticus smiled wickedly. The possibilities of magic were endless!

Then, he felt something tug at his heart. How could he think so cruelly when the monster only acted upon instinct? It did not know about good and evil like other beings, it simply wanted to survive and continue on with its life. What right would he have to kill an innocent animal out of malice?

He dismissed these conflicting thoughts, an internal debate about morality caused nothing but doubt to fester in one’s mind. One thought became more ubiquitous, he used magic and he never learned how to. How did he do it? Where did that powerful force come from? Why did his eye burn when he stopped? Too many questions, not enough answers. Atticus withdrew from this pensive trance and resumed his journey, keeping the unconscious girl on his back while he walked.

It was the beginning of dawn when Atticus arrived in front of Swan Dive. In one tent off in the distance, he left the witch in the care of one of its citizens. Threats were easy to convey, especially when you’re an experienced killer. He found a desolate area away from the tents, a barren wall unguarded and out of sight. Atticus removed a rope and hook from his belt, tied them together and began to spin the rope in mid-air. The centripetal force from the rope increased until he threw the hook in a set path. The hook clutched at a groove in the gate, he tested the strength of the rope until it became taut.

He began ascending the gate.

He measured how many strides to take while climbing and found footholds to keep from slipping. At the top of the gate, he sat in a crouched position and stared at the extravagant city. Somewhere in this place was the man he sought, it had to be true. The idea of using the magic mirror came to mind but was quickly dismissed. The Hunter despised relying on that magical artifact, it would only dull his senses unless it was an emergency.

Atticus dropped down and landed on his feet lightly like a cat. After looking around for a moment, he began his rapid dash. He moved silently, gracefully. Anticipation rose in his chest, that feeling always occurred whenever he felt a kill would be achieved. No other soul moved about at this time, no guards to patrol the city and maintain safety. An open, metropolitan playground for Atticus to utilize to the fullest extent.

While his feet continued their trek through the shadows, Atticus wondered about what happened just hours before. That surge of awesome power, the ability to tame an enormous beast with a simple gesture, how did it happen? The presence he felt, that ghost like voice, a verbal contract between both parties, what could it all mean? In the subconscious of his mind, he wished he could feel that strength again. Lost in thought, his body took over instinctively, leading him closer towards a place he suspected Edward James would be.

To his left sat a two story wooden inn house called Tiger Lily. Adorned with birch wood and light color varnish, the outside shined dully in the rising sun. From what Atticus knew about the place, it was spacious and easily filled approximately sixty tables, each made of the same wood as the inn itself. Equipped with a bar, high stools, drinks only the rich could afford, soft dark green carpeting, cozy leather recliners and couches, grandiose fireplaces which were always attended to, the first floor seemed like a place for weary travelers to sit back and converse with strangers while having a drink or two. He felt a little curious, wanting to confirm the information he received months ago himself.

“What are you doing back here?”

Atticus immediately snapped out of his thoughts and turned towards the voice. He felt shocked, nobody should be out at this time. And even if there were, Atticus would have known already. How?

“You’re not from here, are you?”

Standing before the hunter was a tall, muscular looking man, dressed in a brown tunic, shortened trousers and sandals that were strapped around his feet. Short black hair, light emerald green eyes, the man stood tall, armed with a large, pearl white great sword on his back, arms folded.

He said nothing. He made a quick analysis of the man and the current situation. Atticus decided against running, that would only cause unwanted noise. Confrontation was also dismissed, he came too far and refused to be found out.

“I’m looking for someone.”

“Who would that be?”

“Do not concern yourself. Once I accomplish my objective, I will be leaving.”

The large man did not like the sound of that. He drew his sword with one hand. Atticus drew his swords in response.

“Whoever you are, I will not allow you to commit murder.”

Atticus began to shift his body slowly back and forth, his scimitars still parallel to the ground. The large man stood ready, gripping his enormous sword with both hands and turned the blade down at a forty-five-degree angle. He bent his knees slightly, waiting for an upcoming attack.

Atticus dashed forward.

The pearl white sword swung upwards, its long blade tried to catch the hunter while he moved. He shifted his body away from the sword and slashed with both blades into the large man’s right bicep. One gash appeared, a slight cut to the toughened skin. The large man wondered about it for a split second, until he caught the hunter moving again. He swung the large blade in a horizontal slash, his opponent responded by ducking underneath. Atticus slashed at the same spot again, deepening the cut and caused more bleeding.

So that’s what he’s doing!

He adjusted his fighting style accordingly. This man could not be taken lightly. Whoever he was, he must be a skilled sword master and struck with deadly accuracy in a few spots. One disadvantage the large man knew was his sword, it was long and wide, but had more blind spots. His opponent had light weight swords and because they were shorter, controlled range easily. Still, the large man did not falter. Instead, he went on the offensive.

Atticus dodged each slash, slowly moving closer towards his opponent. He saw multiple openings and devised strategies for each one. Then, he started noticing a shift in the sword’s speed. For some reason, it was going slower. Why? The large man could not be out of stamina at this point…

As soon as Atticus took another step, a large fist slammed into his stomach. It felt like a cannon blast, the force pushed him back as he struggled to stay on his feet. The hunter underestimated his opponent, he should have known that he would fight differently to even the playing field. He had no time to recover, the giant white blade came down towards his head. Atticus had to react immediately.

He rolled to the side and sprung from his feet. His scimitars slashed into the right shoulder, plunging deep into muscle and bone. The large man involuntarily released a grunt of pain, his arm temporarily immobilized. Atticus jumped back two feet from his opponent to regain his stamina. Both of them were breathing heavily, wondering who would attack next. The hunter cursed himself, he should have aimed his swords at the throat! How long would this idiotic duel continue?

“You’re pretty good…you handle those blades really well.”

Complimenting his opponent? Was this some sort of method to drop his guard? Atticus raised his scimitars again and analyzed the scenario. One arm would not be able to move for long, he needed to seize this opportunity now. He rushed in, blades at his side. The large man grabbed onto his sword with the left hand and waited.

Atticus stood near his opponent and looked as if he would swing. The large man took the bait and swung horizontally. The hunter ducked and threw three poison throwing knives into the bleeding right shoulder. The poison took effect quickly, slowing the man’s speed to a crawl and caused drowsiness. By the weight of the gigantic white sword, the man fell onto his back. Atticus took advantage of the situation and moved forward. His blades formed an X around the man’s face.

“Any last words before you die?”

The large man smiled, exposing his white teeth.

“Good fight…”

What? No begging for mercy? No insults? Atticus hesitated.

Kill him now! He’ll get in the way!

No! This man is not like the others!

Who cares! He got in our way, he has to die!

No he does not!

Atticus’s mind fell into a confusing stream of thought. Where was this idea of mercy coming from? He would’ve killed anyone before without remorse, without a care in the world. Why now?

Slowly, he removed a vial of golden liquid and placed it near the man’s lips.

“Drink.”

If he could shrug, the large man would. He figured perhaps he was going to die anyway; this would probably end it all now. He drank the cool, golden liquid and closed his eyes. He fell into a deep sleep while Atticus removed the poison throwing knives from the open wound. It was deep, but would heal after a few days. He ripped off a piece of cloth from his tattered cloak and wrapped it around the shoulder and applied pressure. The gash on the right bicep would heal faster and required less attention. Atticus stared at the mighty blade, laid beside its master, waiting to be used again. Atticus saw the color return to the large man, restoring any energy he lost during the duel. It was at this point that Atticus decided to resume his quest.

He lost precious time already and the sun rose above the horizon, bringing the welcoming light and warmth of a new morning. The Tiger Lily inn awoke with stifled yawns, shuffling of feet and clattering dishes in preparation of breakfast. Atticus did not have much of a choice, he needed to enter the inn. For a brief moment, he spared a gaze towards the large, sleeping man.

“I must be getting soft,” the hunter thought.

Kina awoke inside the small white tent and rubbed the crust from her eyes. She looked around and wondered where she was.

“Ah, finally! Awake she is!”

She turned her head and spotted a short, wrinkled ugly man dressed in a long gray tunic enter the tent. Thin graying hair fell from his head and his face was covered in liver spots.

“Who are you? Where am I?”

“Near Swan Dive, you are. Food, you need?”

He brought to her a small clay bowl filled to the brim with this disgusting, bubbling, dark green broth. She had no idea what was in it and did not want to ask. Kina expressed her thanks and began to drink from the bowl. The dark green liquid felt like slime and crawled its way down her throat. The urge to spit out everything and discontinue tempted her.

“Feel your strength return, yes? Broth is good for magic.”

“How do you-”

“No questions. Restore your strength first, yes, this you must do.”

Kina kept silent while she drank the cold broth, feeling her power return swiftly like a river traveling down a massive mountain. The old man noticed a dark aura expand from the witch and kept a keen eye on her. He did not do it because of that idiot hunter’s threat, mind you. No, the elder had a hunch, a honed sense of intuition that always proved correct. He felt the pulsation of power, a magic familiar to him, one he had not seen in hundreds of years.

Kina stopped drinking and stared at the old man. He couldn’t be speaking her native tongue, could he?

<Surprised? Know much, that I do.>

He did not move his lips once, only allowed his thoughts to connect with hers. The old man established a telepathic link with her, yet she did not accept the gesture. Her black aura began to grow more.

Kina saw a blazing white aura emit from the old man, its strength subduing hers easily. Kina struggled to maintain her mental strength, sweat dropped from her forehead while the elder simply stood still, eyes closed in a sleep like trance. Instantly, the light and dark energies snuffed each other out, though she knew it was not because of equal strength.

After he said those words, the old man vanished, leaving Kina to her thoughts. At first, she felt a wave of fear crawl along her skin, cold and raw. How long had it been since she heard those words? Old, forgotten memories slowly fell into place, a domino effect which she fought hard against.

Her mind returned to the awesome structure of the Black Obelisk Castle, the strongest fortress in all the planet that housed her lineage. Torches spanned across near endless corridors, blue flames roared from their respective places. In this place lied the crossing of multiple realms, a place filled with diverse forms of life, projections of possible futures displayed for the king to view. The circular throne room was occupied by the grand court officials, seated in a circular stone table and wore golden masks. King Arios Nerkad sat on his throne, his figure dwarfing the rest. A powerful muscled figure dressed in special armor, a shining violet sword rested on his left side, Arios immediately quieted the court with a wave of his hand. His ashen skin blended with the darkness, his piercing crimson eyes reinforced his image as a patient predator, waiting for an opportunity to strike. None met his gaze, they bowed their heads in reverence.

One representative stood up.

The lone mage slightly shook but continued.

<Today, we ask if you have chosen an heir to your throne, so that your family continues to lead, as is customary.>

Arios stared at the council, rage slowly rising.

Arios moved his head, regarding every member of the council. They had a point, he needed someone to take his place in the event of his passing. Much to his dismay, he could not procreate a male child and his rage resulted in the execution of Queen Sura. His back slid down the throne chair slightly, he propped one leg on top of the other and continued his train of thought. Only a man like Arios could rule, women were only needed for their presence and nothing more. They have their designated purpose, to birth children and act upon the will of men. An idea came to mind.

<Yes, your majesty.>

None in the council asked, and even if they did, King Arios walked through the throne room and refused to listen to the crippled magical government. Some officials hesitated to leave while others were more than happy to have the business concluded. Their leader, Yurt, walked slowly out of the room, pondering the decision his ruler made. He never truly approved of Arios’ barbaric methods, a warrior king indeed. Still, Arios provided decorum and a strength bolster to their military, a necessity in these times of strife. While the king kept his focus on the adrenaline thrill of battle, Yurt and his colleagues continued working on the crippled social classes, passing policies which benefitted their people and ushered in a Reconstruction era. Ilfodo needed this reprieve from the two frontier war. Thankfully, Lorgoth decided to sign the Imperial Treaty instead of genocide but, Ilfodo lost a war against Hujik, a dwarf planet filled with resources that subsequently claimed its independence. Due to the severe loss, Ilfodo cannot gain access to the highly sought foodstuffs for trade and needed to find a new planet soon.

<Master!>

Yurt turned his head and saw the youngest member of the council approach him. Her mask was removed.

Yurt chuckled. Of course, how could he forget the name he gave to his pupil?

<My apologies, Kina Riversong,> he said with a smile.

<Tonight, same place as always.>

<Good. I look forward to it.>

Kina smiled at her master and vanished. She reappeared in her private chambers, her walls neatly filled with shelves of books organized in alphabetical order. Each book she read multiple times, a constant boredom that pervades her private life. There was no challenge in reading philosophy, law, economics, and understanding these concepts was simple. Her grimoire stood alone on its large pedestal, only a small portion of those spells she truly mastered. There was something to sorcery which she loved, how ubiquitous magical forces were in this world, especially in this castle. There was more to sorcery than just reading, it was about being one with magic, developing a whole hearted connection to something larger than life, a key link to enlightenment. Mastering complex spells and honing her skills provided the much needed challenge she constantly sought, a reason to learn more than what her misogynistic father would allow.

She sat down, her grimoire in hand. Kina looked through previous spells and lectures her master assigned her to. During her early days, she thought learning sorcery would be simple like everything else. Kina was intelligent, a quick study, reading spells and casting them must be easy.

First attempt led to the unintentional destruction of the first magical institution, the University of Grae Nakub.

Never in her life had she felt surrounded by immense power, never had she seen what magic could create or destroy but on that single day. Once the school crumbled, Yurt displayed such concentration, focus and control over his abilities. In a span of seconds, the school was reconstructed to its former glory. To Kina, it felt like being a witness to something extraordinary, something that words could not describe to its fullest extent.

<Kina, you must understand, magic is a force that we cannot simply read about in books and make assumptions. It takes more than looking at text to fully understand sorcery. Come, sit on the grass for a moment.>

She did as she was told, unsure as to what sitting on grass would do.

<Now, close your eyes.>

Kina obeyed, still wondering what would change.

<What? How can I->

She frowned and squeezed her eyelids shut. At first, the young witch could not understand what Yurt spoke about. Behind her closed eyelids, a swirl of colors danced, a kaleidoscope of visions incomprehensible until they slowly faded into darkness. Different sounds collided in her ears, a piercing cacophony which Kina struggled to ignore. A faint whisper echoed nearby, somehow audible above the other noises.

Her mind snapped back to the present, a premonition hazily played out. A shadowed figure sat on a gigantic chair, its head rested on one fist. The fingers of the other hand rose and tumbled like dominoes on the armrest, as if the person was bored or perhaps anxious. Slowly, its head turned to the right and watched a more diminutive person step forward. Clearly frightened, the messenger knelt down.

The premonition ended and left Kina nauseous. She staggered to her feet and fought the urge to vomit. Sweat dripped down her forehead, her breathing stagnant and raspy. Kina closed her eyes and gradually recovered from the wave of sickness.

“Not now…I must be calm.”

While taking in deep breaths, her magical energy returned once more, revitalized and strong. At first, she recognized something different about the magical flow, it wasn’t her own energy anymore. Something had fused itself to her. What could it be?

Her third eye opened once more.