Darkness surrounded Esmund, his body light and weightless. The void before him was endless, drowning out any figures that he was hoping to see in the thick veil. He tried to move his arms, but only ended up flailing around aimlessly. Esmund blinked, or at least he thought he did; his head pounded in confusion. His thoughts echoed throughout his mind as he anticipated someone or some would answer. The boy sat motionless for a moment, attempting to make sense of what he was witnessing. an image of Zaikel holding back a massive dragon’s fiery breath flashed into his mind: Zaikel, standing resolute, holding back the fiery breath of a massive dragon. He remembered the sorcerer’s outstretched hand, the desperate grasp, and then… nothing. Esmuind looked down at his bandaged arm, his fingers brushing it instinctively and grounding him momentarily.

  A faint sound broke the silence–a low, steady hum. Esmund’s head snapped up, and the void began to dissolve. Shapes emerged from the shadows, blurry at first, but quickly sharpening into the contours of towering shelves and ancient tomes. He couldn’t place the exact location, but it was clearly a library of sorts, the scent of parchment and ink heavy in the air. And there, at a carved maple desk, sat a familiar figure.

  Zaikel sat hunched over, inspecting the open pages of the book before him. The desk’s ornate carvings caught the golden light spilling through a nearby window, emphasizing its antiquity. Next to the book lay a letter, its royal seal torn. His eyes flicked briefly to the King’s signature granting him access to the restricted section of the library before finally picking up the book, ready to return it.

  The room was still, save for the faint rustle of pages as Zaikel turned them. He let out a massive yawn before stretching, flexing his fingers and arching his back against the chair. The melted remains of a candle sat in a wrought-iron holder, its flame now extinguished. A satisfied smile crossed his lips as he closed the tome and traced the spine before him. Zaikel stood up before gently slotting the dusty book into its missing place on the shelf.

  From his cloak, Zaikel retrieved a small notebook and quill. He dipped the quill into the inkpot on the desk and scribbled his thoughts, his focus unbroken. He was mid-sentence when the room shook, his hand paused, and his sharp eyes scanned the room as he muttered, “What the hell?”

  The words echoed in the library’s silence just as another, more intense quake rippled through the room. Zaikel’s balance faltered, causing him to instinctively brace himself against a nearby bookshelf. His hand slipped as the tremors intensified further, yanking several books loose. They tumbled to the floor with a resounding thud, their pages ruffling loudly against the wood.

  Zaikel cursed under his breath, steadying himself. Something was clearly off and he moved immediately towards the entryway. He burst through the iron door, his cloak billowing behind him and the sound of the castle alarm blaring in his ears, The sorcerer made his way through to the carpeted stairs and one floor. Outside he could hear a massive roar, “A… dragon? Here?” He asked himself, panting slightly. Zailkel stopped suddenly, the carpet below him buckling, as he overheard the shouting of the royal guards around the corner.

  “Hurry up you lot! We’ve got a major breach! A massive flying creature and a cloaked man have infiltrated the castle!” Captain Reina had her sword drawn, her armor shimmering in the dimly lit hallway.

  “That’s all we have for information?” Scoffed one of the subordinates.

  Captain Reina turned on him, her face inches from his, “That’s all that we’ve had, it’s only been five minutes! Now move!” She and the rest surged forward, their boots thudding against the carpeted floor. Rounding the corner, they came face-to-face with the man matching their description. Captain Reina’s eyes narrowed, “You there! Stop! You’re under arrest for crimes against the Kingdom!” She pointed her steel sword at the man in front of her. There was no way she was going to let this person before her escape.

  ”You must be mistaken!” Zaikel said coolly, sweat beading on his brow. He glanced at her sword and then back to her.

  ”Oi, don’t be so cheeky. We have orders and you match the description of who we’re looking for!” Captain Reina retorted.

  Zaikel swallowed hard, unable to produce a response. The captain made her way closer every moment until he could feel the sting of her cold sword against the bottom of his chin. “I can prove it’s not me!”

  Captain Reina’s blade pressed closer, her voice like ice, “Oh really?”

  Zaikel slowly opened his cloak, reaching his hand into the inner pocket, “I have a letter from the King–” He knew the letter was supposed to be there. The sorcerer stopped himself, his expression faltered as realization struck:

  ”So, ?” the Captain said slyly, her grip tightening on the hilt of her sword, “Unfortunate.” She shifted her stance, her blade flashing as she swung in an arc, aiming to wound him. Captain Reina’s swing stopped as she smirked, believing to be victorious, the sound of her cold steel ringing in the hall. Her smile quickly faded as she began to struggle, staring into the eyes of the man before her: apologetic, yet determined. Her sword was caught mid-air against an invisible force and his hand was held up. Captain Reina winced, turning her head slightly to face her subordinates, “Get him you fools!”

  Zaikel’s jaw tightened as two guards surged forward, swords raised. He sidestepped the first strike, the tip of the blade grazing his cloak, then ducked beneath the second. His barrier faltered momentarily as he released Reina’s weapon to evade. The guards pressed their attack, their swings wild with frustration. Zaikel countered swiftly, his movements precise. With each strike, his hands stopped inches from the guards’ armor, but the shimmering runes glowed brighter. A concussive force burst from his fists, slamming into the dense steel and knocking the wind from the guards. Their swords clattered to the ground, the metallic ring echoing in the hall. Both men crumpled, dazed but unharmed. Zaikel straightened, his breathing steady, though tension radiated from him. He didn’t want to hurt anyone, but their determination to brand him an enemy left him no choice.

  Captain Reina lunged, her sword raised once more, but Zaikel was quicker. With a calculated shove, he threw his weight into her chest, knocking her back. She staggered, cursing, as Zaikel bolted down the corridor, his cloak whipping behind him. “Don’t lose him!” her shout reverberated through the halls as the sorcerer raced ahead, her voice drowned by the rising chaos. The remaining guards scrambled to block his path, but their hesitation gave him just enough time to slip past, weaving through the maze of stone corridors. Finally, he climbed up one last flight of spiral stairs, his legs aching slightly, Zaikel stopped mid-step as he heard an unfamiliar voice above, his footsteps echoing in the corridor.

  “How can you do this?” screamed an older man, the voice trembling with rage and despair. Zaikel slowly climbed up the stairs, his boots making the faintest sound against the polished stone steps. He craned his head around the corner, catching a glimpse of the room beyond. The room was small, the windows streaking sunlight in from the outside and there was a desk, its books scattered about along with a tipped over bottle of ink, the feathered quill on the desk next to it soaked along with pages resting upon the surface. The double door behind the desk was open slightly, although it appeared to have taken damage, as though something–or someone–forced their way through. Despite the damage, Zaikel made his way to the door and peered through the crack. This room was far grander, its walls lined with suits of armor standing in a silent guard. Stained glass windows depicted scenes of valor and triumph, their colors glowing in the filtered sunlight that painted the stone floor in hues of gold, red, and blue.

  At the center of it all stood a tall man with emerald green eyes, his shoulder-length, jet-black hair dangling from his head. Around his body was a sleek mahogany obsidian-hued cloak, embroidered with–something Zaiekl couldn’t see. Upon his head rested a golden headpiece, its six upright prongs in a hexagonal pattern and fitted with various gemstones on the tips.

  Behind him loomed a massive chair, its high back carved from dark wood and upholstered in luxurious red velvet. It towered above him, commanding attention, but the man before it seemed no less regal.

  “Because, my liege,” there was a slight pause, “You are simply unfit for helping the citizens of Arten.”

  Zaikel could barely see another person in the room besides the King. He watched in silence, waiting for a proper chance to intervene.

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  “What do you mean, Arwel? I’ve done my best–” the King started, but was cut off as the man before him hastily approached him, hoisting him up by his throat.

  “You’ve done nothing,” Arwel’s tone was stone cold, “The citizens are living in crowded housing, the market is in shambles!” He watched as the King struggled in his grip, unable to respond. The doors behind him opened, and he scoffed, tossing the King to the side, his crown bouncing against the floor and cracking the gems, “Who might you be?”

  Zaikel stood in the entryway, “That’s none of your concern. Leave the King alone!” he shouted. He watched as the King lay sprawled out, cape draped to the side, but breathing.

  Arwel’s eyes narrowed, “You’re in no position to speak to me that way!” He raised his arm, aiming his palm at the King.

  The King picked himself up slightly, his breath hitched and arms shook with each moment. He looked at Zaikel, “H-help..” was all he could mutter before several bolts of electricity engulfed him. Arwel laughed to himself, a wicked smile on his lips as the King was now charred to a crisp, dead on the floor.

  Zaikel stepped back slightly, his hands turning into fists, the runes on his hands glowing. He raised his right hand, and in a throwing motion, sent a fireball crackling towards Arwel. The fireball zoomed through the air before being slapped and run into the floor, singeing the floor with black soot.

  “So, you’ve come to die, have you?” Arwel mused.

  Zaikel didn’t answer, instead sending another barrage of fireballs, their orange glow casting flickering shadows across the throne room. His opponent dodged each one with ease–sidestepping, weaving, and finally catching the last with an outstretched palm in front of him, the embers crashing like waves onto the floor below.

  “You think such trivial magic can be used against ?” Arwel sneered. Then, his attitude changed. Heat bloomed in his hand and there was no time to react. The fireball erupted in his grasp and smoke curled from his fingers as he staggered slightly.

  Zaikel smirked, but his expression quickly faded once he noticed his opponent didn’t even so much as have a mark on him,

  “A clever little trick,” Arwel admitted, his voice calm. Lightning crackled to life in his palm, “But you’ll be dead before long!” He kicked off the carpet on the floor, the wool rolling over on itself from the sheer force before he vanished.

  The sorcerer barely had time to react as he held up his arms crossed in front of him, the runes on his hands glowing once more. A force like a thunderclap slammed against the air before him and Arwel’s lightning-charged palm crashed against his invisible barrier. The sheer force sent shockwaves through the air. In a quick motion, Zaikel dropped the barrier as Arwel retracted his attack and sent one of his fists into Arwel’s chest. He felt the impact of the blow connect, but quickly realized that Arwel merely caught him, his grip tightening as he twisted Zaikel’s wrist.

  “You… bastard!” Zaikel hissed, searing pain lancing up his arm. The runes flared hot, and for a split second, Arwel recoiled. Zaikel tore free, stumbling back, breath ragged. Quickly Zaikel returned his attention to his opponent whose hand was beet red and curled inward slightly; he stood there briefly before disappearing in a puff of smoke. “Where did he…?” Zaikel murmured, his heart pounding in anticipation. The air behind him shimmered. He turned–almost too late. Arwel revealed himself midair, ready to strike the sorcerer, who swiftly dodged.

  Arwel hovered in place, his face twisting in disappointment. He snatched Zaikel’s arm, struggling for a brief moment before tapping into the well of magic within and hurled him across the room. He watched as Zaikel crashed hard against the floor, the bottles that hung from his belt shattered and the shards cut the fabric of his robe. The dusty carpet slapped against his body until he finally stopped near the throne, “That can’t be all you’ve got. Get up,” Arwel spat coldly.

  Zaikel shakily placed his palms on the floor and slowly pushed himself upright. His face was battered and scratched, his body ached, “Far from it,” he spat down at the floor while maintaining eye contact. Zaikel wiped his mouth to remove the dust. He knew that he had to stop this man from his plot, but magic had its limits. Sooner or later one of them was bound to run out of stamina, yet he felt it was going to be him before his opponent. A loud roar emanated from outside and he turned his head quickly in the same direction, a sharp pain slicing against his left arm.

  “Distractions, distractions,” Arwel’s tone was a condescending one that stung Zaikel to his core. He juggled a small dagger in his hand, an eerie glow emanating off of it. He swiped in an arc and the dagger cloned itself four times over, hovering above Arwel’s chest in front of him.

  “H.. how?!” Zaikel stammered, clenching his teeth through the pain. He held his arm with his opposite hand, attempting to cover up his fresh wound. He focused his eyes, searching Arwel’s aura for an answer, “You’re.. just human. Not born of magical prowess. That shouldn’t—”

  “Oh but it is possible. I am mere proof that one such as I can outclass a sorcerer!” Arwel flicked his wrist, sending the daggers towards Zaikel.

  Zaikel scoffed at the attack, cutting into the air before him with the side of his right hand, golden particles flared, illuminating his face as the first two daggers collided with the wards he had cast. The third tore clean through the back of his cloak, leaving a hole wide enough to slip a hand through. The final dagger sped towards him, but he misjudged its location. The steel cut his cheek and sliced off a tuft of hair. His heart stuttered as he felt the cool air against the fresh wound.

  “Running on fumes, are we?” Arwel snickered.

  The sorcerer clenched his hands into fists, unable to respond. His eyes darted to a suit of armor nearby. With a sharp motion, he reached out to the sword it carried. The blade barely moved, caught in the gauntlets. Zaikel poured more magic into the pull, the sword tore free, toppling the armor in a metallic crash. Its pommel slammed into his grasp. He staggered under the weight, adjusted himself, then charged. The sword trailed behind him, humming with magical force. His opponent dared not move, remaining perfectly still. Closing in, Zaikel swung hard, power surging through the saber. It sliced the air, narrowly missing Arwel. “Damn you!” he growled, twisting into another strike. This time it slid against the back of Arwel’s left hand, sparks flying as if scraping against the floor. The pit of his stomach dropped as the man before him struck him in the chest, the pain rippling throughout his body. Zaikel spat the saliva that pooled from his mouth to the floor, sweat dripping from his brow. he stared down at his left hand, the blood from his wound streaking down, covering the runes and dripping to the floor.

  Arwel sneered, unable to control his confidence, “You fought a losing battle. Now die!” He held out the palm of his hand, a mystifying orange and purple sphere with electrical jolts flashing around it, manifested itself.

  Zaikel trembled; his energy was gone. There was no escape, he figured, He made a slight smile, he closed his eyes, ready to accept his fate. The sorcerer’s heart ached as tears formed in his eyes, his body forcing a cough. Zaikel shuddered, his body growing cold and the sting of the warm blood on his arm against his cool skin was of no help. He recalled his promise to Esmund, Zaikel placed his right fingertips against the cool floor, the blood from holding his arm smearing. He exhaled, focusing the energy in his fingertips to send out an invisible pulse in search for the boy. His vision turned into black and white as the echo reverberated through the world; its path zigzagged through the castle, into the streets below. He could make out the shapes of people, trees, and feel the heat of the flames engulfing the city. The dragon soared overhead and he felt the weight of its anger crushing everything in its path. The pulse found its way, highlighting Esmund with another individual, a girl—but who she was he wasn’t sure of. Zaikel watched as the two ran from the flying beast, the buildings around them shattering as the talons of the creature slammed against the brick. His focus was broken as a newfound resolve filled him from within, refusing to give in, . Zaikel gritted his teeth, swinging a desperate punch with his left arm, catching Arwel off guard in his overconfident demeanor. His fist collided with Arwel’s wrist at the last second, sending the attack past his shoulder and exploding into the floor behind him. The castle shook and Zaikel lost the remainder of his balance.

  The suits of armor lining the wall vibrated violently—one toppled over, its helmet bouncing across the floor before settling. Flames swallowed the carpet, smoke curling upward as soot blackened the stone floor. Zaikel stood, coughing as dust rained from the ceiling. Smoke choked the air, and he covered his mouth with a trembling hand. Quickly he touched the floor once more and sent out another pulse of magic in search of Esmund, his lungs burning, After a few seconds of what felt like forever, he could see Esmund with the girl from before. Now they were in a dead-end alleyway with the ferocious beast lingering near. He snapped back to the moment, breaking the spell. His body now completely drained of stamina. Zaikel let out one last cough, bloody saliva splattering onto the floor before him. He bit his right thumb, blood dripped from the appendage, Zaikel slammed his right palm to the ground, the runes glowing faintly. The strain on his body was apparent: fingers curled in slightly, his brow sweating, and tears formed in his eyes as his chest erupted in the most amount of pain he had ever felt. He could sense Arwel’s presence in the room watching him from afar. It didn’t matter, though, his last resort had to work. Zaikel’s eyes widened as a fiery jolt of pain surged from his hand, igniting the runes into an intense white-hot glow. His chest heaved as he felt his soul was shredded like ribbon into several fragments. The air around him billowed and his cape flew around him as he picked his hand back up. With a final surge, Zaikel slashed the air and vanished. Darkness swallowed his sight.

  Esmund lingered in the void as the image before him echoed before fading out. The boy blinked twice before shutting his eyes. A cold, wet droplet hit his face and he shuddered, slowly opening them. His vision was blurry and his head pounded. In front of him was Zaikel, sat cross-legged and hunched over in the grass being tended to by Lillie’s healing magic. Another cold droplet struck his cheek before he realized it had started to rain. He watched as Zaikel peered over at him, Lillie following his gaze, both of them smiling—Zaikel in more of a half-smile due to the searing pain.

  “So, you’re finally awake,” Zaikel mumbled.