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Wyñ ~ why-n-ya
Siatlheim ~ see-uht-l-hem
Biguñ Wëa ~ be-goon-ya-wey
Sanstre ~ san-stre
♛

"WHAT'S the status at Bascua?" Terrwyn asked. Her pale gray eyes hadn't left the Roveñya since she'd settled into her seat.

"The district leader will be a part of our plans. That was after I told him how he would end up if he didn't... support me as best as he could," the Roveñya said as her eyes scanned through piles of documents that sat on the table.

They found themselves in the office of The Roveñya, a sophisticated space draped in deep, velvety black hues that seemed to drink in the light from the resplendent golden chandelier overhead. The room exuded an air of elegance, with the orbs of crystals perched on the wall catching glimmers of light and casting a warm, inviting glow throughout. The walls stood proudly adorned with a large map of Wlerden etched into one wall and the others a rich tapestry of plaques and awards.

Every plaque, meticulously polished to a brilliant shine, sparkled in the soft light, their inscriptions bearing witness to significant milestones and transformative initiatives that had changed the fabric of neighborhoods and uplifted countless lives. It was Terrwyn who came up with the idea to put them here in this office to serve as a sanctuary of inspiration and leadership.

"What do you plan to do about The Grand Prison situation?" Terrwyn inquired, her voice laced with curiosity, but her attention quickly shifted to the Roveñya's hands. She noticed the way the veins stood out prominently, pulsing just beneath the surface of the skin for a fleeting moment, as if they were straining against an invisible pressure.

"The Reviwina have their names all over this," the Roveñya said, her voice clipped and with an edge of frustration. "But we will snuff them out. They didn't know of our spy within and that was how the Red Guards got wind of their operation, but I'm working in hand with the Commander Vlatkavan and he says he has it under control."

"And you will let him have control? How many times do I need to tell you? You are the Roveñya. You should take control before the world rips everything away from you. How do you think I got to where I am now? Do you think it was by giving anyone but myself control? This carelessness will cost you someday."

A knock came from out the door. Upon the Roveñya's approval, the door opened, and in walked Sergeant MicAlister. He was in charge of a squad in The Red Guard that kept tabs on various gangs and groups that worked with magic.

"Greatma, Roveñya," he greeted with a bow. "We have highly credible intel that the Infildrans who work closely with Wyrione spies have planned a meeting," Micalister reported.

"And?" the bitter voice of the Roveñya asked when Micalister's pause stretched on.

"And we have reports that they have contacted who they've invited, who they believe is Wina don SiatJan. She was part of the prisoners that escaped and now they've called her to this meeting."

"How credible is this information?" the Roveñya asked, her stern eyes assessing the sergeant.

"Our spy is my very own son and he can not lie to his father because he doesn't know how."

Silence reigned until the Roveñya spoke, "Where will the meeting be held?"

"In the city of Wanir, Grieon."

"Infiltrate the meeting and find out their plans. Then—"

"Lin Roveñya," came Terrwyn's voice, and the Roveñya's lips pressed shut. "Considering the recent... incident at Cosdn, I suggest we bring every one of them. The public is in great panic and we need to show control and power. Something a public execution will do easily," the elder woman said and Micalister sputtered.

Terrwyn saw the crack in the Roveñya's ever-composed expression, but it didn't even last till the next moment.

Micalister looked at the Roveñya and with a nod of her head he said, "Yes Greatma." He turned on his heel and left, closing the door gently behind him and shrouding them in deafening silence.

"Spit it out, Dovelyn," Terrwyn said, not looking away from the door.

"Why should we go that far? We don't know for sure if they all have magic and so far, we only imprisoned those who have—"

"It is Wina don SiatJan. She who must not live. She who threatens your power. Those are the Avnar's words, not mine."

Terrwyn sighed and rose to her feet, gathering her gown in her palms as she moved away from the chair. When the Roveñya didn't respond she added, "This is what you must do. No buts. No doubts."

Terrwyn's pale gray eyes settled intently on the Roveñya, who wielded the gold gem. And like every time they didn't see eye to eye, Terrwyn always saw the look of defiance. But as seasons passed, that fiery spark of rebellion had withered, diminishing until only the faintest flicker remained. One that Terrwyn could barely discern, almost lost amidst the shadows of resignation.

Content with the progress she'd made over the years, Terrwyn excused herself from the room, a triumphant smile playing softly on her lips.

♛ ♛ ♛

HER body felt like it was encased in stone, heavy and unyielding, yet there was a peculiar fluidity lurking beneath the surface that she couldn't quite comprehend. The familiar heat she recognized flickered deep inside her, an ember of warmth, but it writhed and twisted with an unsettling presence. Something dark and insidious crawled beneath her skin, a sensation that made her feel as though she were a marionette jerked to life by strings unseen.

Discomfort consumed her; it was the only sensation she could firmly grasp amidst the chaotic swirl of unfamiliar tingling that enveloped her. An urgent desire to scream welled up within her, to claw at the persistent itch that tormented her from every angle. Yet, her muscles, as if paralyzed by an unseen force, refused to heed her frantic commands.

"Shh," she heard.

When she tried again, her mouth moved, and she almost didn't recognize the voice. "Where... where am I?"

"You're safe. What were you thinking, threading those lands on your own?" the voice asked.

Lands? She'd been fighting a SiatJan. The memories flashed in the darkness. The rucksack.

"Bag... where's... where's my bag?"

"It's with me."

Her heart raced like a wild drum, and her eyes snapped open wide. She drew in a breath, sharp and electrifying, before bolting upright. The stranger before her and the dimly lit room swirled, blending into an indistinct whirlwind.

"Where's the bag? I need it—where's the bag?" Panic laced her voice, her head whipping back and forth, ignoring the searing pain that shot through her with each movement.

"Hey, hey! Keep yourself calm. Red Guards are swarming around and they could sense you at any moment. My charms can only hold them off for so long," he urged.

"Bag?" she repeated, the single word echoing in her mind like a desperate mantra. The figure shifted, momentarily dimming the haze around her, and she focused harder on the scene unfolding.

She watched the man open a drawer to bring out the familiar bag. In a flash, her hands lunged for it, snatching it from his grasp before he could even offer it up.

With trembling fingers, she unzipped the bag and reached inside, her breath hitching as she uncovered the familiar sparkling dust. In an instant, clarity surged through her—her heart slowed from its frantic beat, but then the searing pain crashed over her like a wave, heavy and unforgiving, as reality set in, blending relief with agony.

She closed her eyes and groaned as a stabbing pain sparked in her shoulder. She looked at it to see it bandaged. A glance downward revealed a bra top, a stomach wrapped in bandages, and the rest of her body shrouded in a slightly damp, blue sheet. She raised it to find herself almost nude, save for the underwear she wore and a bandage around her right thigh.

Her eyes shot up to the stranger, ready to demand an explanation, but she froze at the sight of his face. A ghastly, engorged scar ran from his hairline, across his eye, and to his ear as if painting a roadmap of violence. Her eyes settled on the scarred white eye. Could he still see with it?

"It's not pleasant, I know. A daily reminder of my negligence. Here," he said and handed her a cup of water.

"How... how did you find me?" her voice came out hoarse and cracked.

"You're not the only one who has business in The White Castle. That treacherous place," he muttered the last part to himself but hadn't been silent enough.

"I... I need to get to The White Castle."

"Drink. You need water, you've been yelling in your sleep."

Her wary eyes glanced over his outstretched hand that held the cup, yet she left him hanging.

"How can I do that when I don't even know your name?"

The stranger smiled, shifting the scar where his lips tugged up.

"I recall when someone asked me that some time ago." He raised the cup to his lips and took a sip before he made sure he showed her as he gulped it down. "My name is Ares. Now drink before you lose your voice completely."

The water flowed over her tongue like the warm embrace of the first sun after an endless stretch of cold, dry winter. She savored the refreshing sensation as it glided smoothly down her throat. Once she finished, Ares gently placed the cup on the small table beside her. She regarded him with cautious eyes, taking in his figure as he leaned against the dresser, his hands casually tucked into the pockets of his faded jeans. His hair was tousled, rebellious strands sticking up as if caught in a playful breeze.

Her gaze drifted away from him, exploring the cramped confines of the room. The space was minimalistic, furnished only with a sturdy dresser and the bed upon which she perched. Two walls beside and opposite the bed had a window framing the outside world. The third wall was dominated by a worn, brown door that seemed to guard the mysteries beyond.

Outside, the faint sounds of distant voices mingled with the muted blare of horns echoing from the street, far enough away to feel almost dreamlike. The receptors in nostrils worked again as the faint scent of ground beans and telower juice wafted through them. Through one window, she glimpsed another building rising against the skyline and a bustling street where people strolled in animated conversation. It dawned on her that she had returned to the city—but how?

"What business did you have in the White Castle?" she asked, her voice steady despite the uncertainty bubbling beneath the surface.

The castle was often teeming with red guards, fierce warriors, and all those part of Wlerden's intricate governance. Yet the absence of a commanding uniform or the imposing figure of a district commander left her perplexed. No district commander or Regional would ever live in such a place. She knew because it was within the laws of Wlerden that they got good accommodation upon receiving their mandates to serve.

"I could ask the same about you. But I would tweak my question because why would a wielder like you be struggling through Siatlheim to get into The White Castle?!"

His words brought her eyes back to his, and she found them settled on the bag. She gripped the rucksack tighter.

"Do you know a way in?"

He let out a mirthless chuckle. "You were brave enough to go by yourself then, so go on just how you were going to get in before."

"Did you save me because I'm a—"

"You are Endoni?" His answer came without hesitation.

"Are you?"

There was a beat of silence that dragged on, dotted by the faint chatter of life and the bustling of rides that drifted in from the window.

"No."

The words were like a whisper, and if the room hadn't been silent, or if a horn had blared at that moment, perhaps she wouldn't have heard them.

Concern and curiosity found its way to her face, etching in her pursed lips and slanted brows.

"How did you lose your powers and remain alive?"

It was the way he hesitated. As if even he was still trying to come to terms with it. He'd been quick to respond to her question on saving her, a trait that would be common to all Endoni alike who instinctively looked out for each other.

"I make deals. Some good, some bad. Some I pay the price and some others do. Let's just say, even on the brink of death, one can be saved."

Her mind soon went back to the young girl who had trained fervently with her. "How?!"

He brought his hands out of his pocket and shifted off the drawer that he leaned on. "You should get some rest. When you're—"

"There's someone that needs saving. Can you help me?"

She didn't know what he saw on her face to make him register shock, nostalgia, and pain.

He swallowed. "I thought you wanted to get into The White Castle?"

Whiscanter was miles away from Vunmarc and she'd have to take the treacherous journey back to save the young girl's life if she was still alive. After all, it had been months. She glanced down at the rucksack in her hands. So long as it was with her, it was safe, but could she say the same for Salome? The last communication she'd had with her mother, Davina, lingered in her mind. Just before she had crossed the formidable gate marking the boundary between the city side of Wyna and Siatlheim, the desolate expanse that surrounded The White Castle, her mother had ominously informed her that Salome was still trapped in a deep coma.

She peered back at the scarred stranger.

Siatlheim was a vast land spanning miles around The White Castle. She remembered the feeling of isolation that enveloped her as she flew for miles high above this barren land, but eventually, exhaustion had set in. That was when she had resorted to walking, her steps echoing in the eerie silence, where not a single tree or dwelling broke the stark landscape. The only landmark she had fixated on was The White Castle and its imposing presence. But somehow, he'd saved her. He must have done so with a means she didn't know of.

Gema took a deep breath, steeling herself before she rolled her dice and chose an option.

"You got me out of Siatlheim," she stated, her voice steady despite the uncertainty swirling in her mind. "How quickly can you get me to Vunmarc?"

The stranger's eyes narrowed in response, the flicker of emotion she thought she had glimpsed moments before now replaced by an impenetrable facade. It was as if he had assumed a new persona, one that was guarded and unyielding. "Nothing good or bad comes without a price."

♛ ♛ ♛

WHEN Karyn looked at the sky that night, one moon appeared larger than the other.

Not long after she'd resolved with Nigel and Elowen, Ashe had barged into her room and immediately dropped to her knees with a hand over her heaving chest when she saw Karyn.

"Forgive me, Lin Silverein. I could never forgive myself if something happened to you in my care. I shouldn't have taken you out without enquiring about your lock—"

"Hey, hey," Karyn said and rushed to join her in a crouch. "It's alright. I met Nigel and Elowen, or rather, they found me."

That was when Ashe's teary eyes rose to meet the other two people in the room. Her lips stretched to a grateful smile.

"But we have to tell you something."

The words brought Ashe's eyes back to Karyn before Karyn led the woman to sit on the bed and narrated everything to her.

"I know of them," Ashe said after Karyn finished her recounting of the stranger who'd dragged her into an alley.

"You do?" Elowen asked with wide eyes.

A slight smirk found its way to Ashe's lips. "I'm not in charge of information dissemination for nothing." The smirk dropped when she added, "They're not good news. I've heard reports of them having links with Wyrione, but none of it is conclusive."

"So you don't know enough about them either," Elowen surmised, and Ashe agreed with a nod.

The woman's eyes flitted over to Nixon. "You agreed with this?"

"We agreed to ask you to follow us."

"When?"

"At the end of the week."

"Elsh! I won't be available. Nigel and I have business at Whiscanter. But Cosima could go and I couldn't think of anyone better."

Karyn frowned and Ashe must have noticed it because she added, "If there is a way to break that connection without compromising your values, then we must take it."

That was how they found themselves in a desolate part of Wanir, where the wind howled like a feral beast, whipping through the air and scattering sharp shards of sand in a relentless frenzy.

There was only one place where cold water ran in Wanir - Biguñ Wëa. Which was why anything cold became gold under the sweltering heat of Wanir. But what should have been a thriving oasis had become a lifeless stretch of land, ravaged by unstable terrain and the insatiable drain of magic.

Biguñ Wëa, the southernmost point of Grieon, felt almost like an isolated island, bordered on almost all sides by Sanstre, a treacherous stream of swirling sand they had to navigate with extreme caution.

It was Cosima who led the way, expertly charting a course through the perilous dunes, yet their struggles didn't end even after crossing the sand trap. Bundled in double cloaks, triple masks, and thick boots, Karyn, Cosima, and Nigel pushed forward, battling against the mountain of sand that threatened to swallow them whole.

With every step, it felt as though gravity itself was conspiring against them; the sand clinging to their legs like chains, determined to keep them bound to the earth. Each breath became a Herculean effort and gave a slither of air because of their triple masks. After Karyn suggested teleportation, Cosima easily dismissed it as an attempt equal to suicide, given how unstable the terrain was and, for one to spellport, they had to have established a spell for the place they were teleporting to.

Ahead of them stood a lone structure—their goal—amidst a graveyard of cracked stone walls and eroded pillars. Once a vibrant community filled with homes now lay nothing but shattered wood, reduced to ruin by the smashing weight of endless sand.

She tried not to speak, groan, or scream as they trudged on with clenched fists and grounded teeth until Nixon's trembling hands rapped on the door in three successive knocks. But Cosima, driven by urgency, took a step back before launching her boot against the door with a resounding kick, forcing it to yield.

The trio burst into the dimly lit room just as Nigel slammed the door shut behind them, sending vibrations through the air. They were so intent on ripping off their masks that Karyn barely registered the suffocating dampness until she inhaled deeply, her breath hitching as her eyes widened at the chilling sight before her.

A solitary lamp hung from the high ceiling, its flickering light casting dancing shadows across the bare walls. In its glow, Karyn discerned five hooded figures, each draped in thick cloaks that were sharply divided down the center: one half pure black, the other a stark white. They stood rigidly in a straight line, their posture unnervingly precise, with an eerie stillness that seemed to echo the tension in the air. The windows flanking her were tightly boarded up, the wooden planks securely nailed in place, leaving no other point for entry—or escape. However, her gaze drew to the window on her left, where a menacing hole had been crudely chipped away, large enough for a fist to fit through. The sight sent an uncomfortable shiver down her spine, compelling her to look away before the anxiety it sparked could suffocate her.

The room was bare and devoid of any furniture, with nothing but shadows playing tricks and the thought of having to remain standing after plowing through piles of sand worsened the ache in Karyn's legs.

"Well, well. If it isn't the girl with many names," the man at the center proclaimed, his voice slow and smooth. "Princess. Silverein. The lost royal, and finally, Wina don SiatJan," he said, his voice dripping with a sinister familiarity.

As she searched the labyrinth of her memory for the source of that voice, Cosima's commanding tone sliced through the tension. "This discussion can only go further if we can see your faces as clearly as you can see ours."

With a synchronized fluidity, the man in the center raised his hands, prompting the others to follow suit, pulling back their hoods like curtains revealing a stage. Karyn easily recognized the man on her far left—Fabien, the messenger from the alley.

But then her gaze locked onto the man in the middle, and her blood ran cold even underneath her layers of clothing and the memories came as she stared at a face she could never forget. A face that formed her formative years. One that had remained calm and present during the storms of her adolescence, filled with bullying and anguish back in Emerfield.

Uncle Jack.

"And have this reunion not proceed, no?" he said with a chilling smile. "All that walking would be a waste, wouldn't it?"

Karyn didn't focus on Cosima's subtle glancing at her and Nixon's sharp turn of his head. All she did—could do—was stand still like a statue.

"You've matured into the very person I wanted you to be. Except you're on the wrong side of the divide."

"How?" was the first thing she could say.

"The journey didn't end simply because you left Emerfield. No, it only began." Gone was the nasal tint that always grated on her nerves. The absence of that quality alone almost made him unrecognizable. "Or did you think that was the end of us? We've been with you since your parents stepped into the town, searching for a means to get rid of that which you have lurking in you. A source of The Faceless. One can almost say you are a moving portal to their land. Marvelous, isn't it? Not only do you have their source, but you were also born on an auspicious day for The Faceless."

The wind outside picked up, filtering through the wooded windows and adding to the silence that followed the man's words. The air felt tight as Karyn's heels ached for a reprieve. Yet she kept her ears sharp.

"There is only one way to remove it, but along with the darkness, we have to remove the light within you."

Her lips parted and her voice came out strained when she asked, "You mean the gem?"

"Yes."

Beside her, Nixon shifted. "Wouldn't that come with a risk?"

"There's always the risk of death when one tempers with Old Magic."

"You plan to use Old Magic?" Cosima's question held a hint of suspicion as Nixon bristled on her other side.

"You can only fear what you do not know or understand. The people only know Old Magic to be used for evil, but just like every magic, one can use it for both good and evil. It just depends on the purity of the intention of the person wielding it. It is, after all, what was used to embed the gems into the wielders."

The pause after letting the man's words seep into the silence before he continued. "I can see the good shining within you. I've always seen it and though it frustrated me to no end, I know you want to do what is right, but what exactly is that? Is it ascending the throne with a power you have yet to fully understand? Is it removing an extra source of power the stars have blessed you with?"

Blessing? How could he call it that?

"This is nothing but a curse that has plagued me for as long as I can remember. You don't know how much it has stolen my nights, and now it's starting to seep into my days, my sense of self, and the lives of those I care about. I've lost so many people because of this—how can you see it as a blessing?" Her voice wavered, not from fear, but from the weight of her pain and sorrow.

Here stood this man who'd watched her grow in a mentally traumatic environment of his scheming and yet he spewed words with no concern or care for the deep scars he had left behind. He'd wormed his way back into her life and was already looking to stick his claws in her like he did throughout her life at Emerfield.

"Perspective is a powerful tool. You call it darkness. We call it power."

The harrowing memory of David's last moment tortured her day and night and even after she would part with this darkness, no amount of light could relieve her of the guilt that mounted within. If that is how much pain and guilt that came with power, then she wasn't sure how much power she could shoulder.

"We came here to find how to remove it, not to listen to whatever fantasies or riddles you may have," Cosima finally said.

"They are not fantasies, but truths. If I told you there was a way to use it to better the lives of Wlerden, would you listen?" When Karyn said nothing, he continued. "Among your names is Princess. You will be queen someday. Surely the good of the people would triumph over any other... feeling you may have."

"That's it," Cosima said, her solid voice with a tone of finality. "We're leaving."

"Wait." The single word from Karyn's uncle did nothing to stop Cosima in her tracks. Rather, it was Karyn's words. Karyn could almost visualize Cosima's frown deepening, and though she couldn't see her directly, the energy shifted as the lady pivoted toward her.

"Go on."

She caught the twitching of her uncle's lips in a ghost of a smirk before he raised his chin.

"What is the problem of Wlerden? The magic drain."

"And the SiatJans," Cosima quickly added, now facing the men.

Her uncle merely nodded before he continued. "And how do you intend to solve that?"

"She isn't obliged to tell you." Nixon took a menacing step forward, but the men remained unfazed.

"You don't know. Fine, I'll tell you a way. You hold a source of The Faceless, which is automatically a source of magic. Raele runs on magic. A different kind to what Wlerden is used to, but it is still magic all the same."

"Are you suggesting we take their magic?" Karyn asked, the question sounding vile in her throat.

"The Faceless are sensible. All you need to do is ask."

"And what will they ask for in return?" Cosima asked, the edge of irritation clear in her voice.

"That is for the princess to decide if it is worth the millions of lives that suffer from the magic drain. People are dying every day, Lin Silverein. Would you not be a good ruler, by—"

"You, of all people, will not tell me how I would lead. After you'd watched me grow up under an abuse, you consistently allowed. You wanted me to grow up traumatized and internalize that trauma to become as vile as you are and destroy my nation. Now you talk of me putting that same nation first."

A steely expression overtook his features.

She didn't have to listen further to know where he was heading. Making a deal with the Faceless was what got Zack's parents to where they were now—wherever that was. Wlerden was a land of light and pride. She hadn't seen Raele, but if the cold dreadful feeling she had every night when she stared into the darkness under the hood was any indication, then she could bet Raele was darker than the feeling one Faceless always elicited within her.

"I will get this Din Rae out, or nothing else. And if you can't help, then I believe this conversation is over."

"Karyn, if you will just—" Whatever her uncle had to say would remain unknown to Karyn as an arrow whizzed by. As fast as it soared, whistling through the air, louder than the howling wind, she saw it in slow motion when it pierced through the hole in the window and straight through Fabien's skull. The man dropped with a thud at once and before any of them could react, the wall on her left exploded into fragments of wood and rocks.

The sheer force was enough to send them all flying. Her back burned as if dozens of tiny insects stung her all over. The world spun as something sharp pierced her nostrils. Tiny speckles and thick smoke assaulted her nose at once. Her hands fumbled with her masks as she brought them back to protect her nostrils. A loud ringing resounded through her ears as her vision searched for something to focus on in the blurry haze it now saw.

When her eyes could finally distinguish her hands on the sand, she pushed herself up to her feet. The world zoomed back in focus and flashes of red figures encircled them ready for a battle.

♛

ITNC: Whiscanter, the home of the White Castle, the birth of the SiatJans, and the origin of the Silverein. Welcome to the beginning.

Next stop: WHISCANTER

♛

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The Sparkling Authoress,
Mis. A
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