Crimson and Gold

The golden rays of the sun sneaked through the carriage window, filling the interior with a warm, cozy light.

The weather was especially good that day. The summer heat was significantly more bearable. There was even a pleasant breeze sweeping through. The white, fluffy clouds were moving slowly across the cerulean sky.

Despite the pleasant weather, the mood in the carriage appeared rather gloomy.

Saria rested her head against the window frame and, with an absent gaze, followed the slowly moving patches of shade cast by the clouds.

Ever since returning from the cult’s meeting, she had often lost herself in her thoughts, rarely speaking, even though it had been days since.

Lysandra heard about everything that happened. Every detail of the weird illusion Saria had experienced.

On the evening when she returned to the Palace, the Princess experienced firsthand how much that experience affected her lover. It was the first time she had seen Saria so terrified.

Both of them barely slept that night. One was tormented by the scenes from the labyrinth, amplified by the power of dreamland. The other kept watch, making sure to wake her lover up whenever the horror caused her to yell in her sleep.

Even though Saria knew that what she had experienced was an illusion, a trick played on her by someone with unclear intentions, she couldn’t rid her mind of the gruesome image of Lysandra’s corpse.

“Are you thinking about what happened?” The Princess gently took her lover’s hand and caressed it with her thumb.

Her voice snapped Saria out of daze. “I was wondering who exactly that Lord Agrios is and what his intentions are.” She turned to Lysandra and stared at her without a word.

Ever since that day, whenever she saw the Princess’ face, that horrible image appeared before her eyes. Saria began challenging that visage by looking at her with more intention, with more scrutiny. She had to prove it to her heart that the woman she loved was alive and well right before her.

Fortunately, this method was giving good results, and now she was struggling with this issue less and less.

“I asked around, and nobody knows anyone of that name,” Lysandra said. “I don’t recall any house of Agrios existing, not now or in the past. Someone of this kind of status should stand out, but there are no mentions of him.”

“It was most likely a fake name. I just can’t understand what his goal was…” Saria groaned and ran her hand through her hair in frustration.

The memories of her emerging from the labyrinth began playing in her mind.

“My deepest apologies, but it looks like you lost the bet,” Lord Agrios chimed, as Saria collapsed to her knees at the entrance to the garden maze.

Her lungs and throat were burning from the strain, each gasp of air was both soothing and painful. The muscles in her legs were shaking, making it impossible to stand up. Her head felt clearer, yet the confusion remained.

At least her powers returned. She could sense the people around her, hear the whispers of their blood. Each voice sounded unique, telling her secrets about the lives it powered.

Among the crowd, three heartbeats stood out the most. Three hearts the closest to her.

Saria didn’t notice it before, maybe due to her own carelessness or perhaps the weird experience she just had sharpened her senses, but the three lives before her didn’t belong to ordinary people.

While she couldn’t tell exactly who—or what—they were, there was a note of extraordinary power hidden among the stifled murmurs of their blood. It was the most notable in the man claiming to be Lord Agrios.

This aura reminded Saria of someone she met a while ago, but she didn’t realize it at the time.

Seeing that she was still in a daze, kneeling on the grass, the man put away the coin he was playing with and slowly helped her up.

Lord Agrios dusted off her dress in a few quick, careless moves, then faced her with a wide grin on his face. “As we agreed on, my doves will stay with me, but don’t worry. I won’t leave you empty-handed. I’ll give you something you were looking for.”

His index finger tapped on Saria’s nose, then lifted her chin, forcing her to look directly into his cunning eyes. “I really had a lot of fun playing with you. I learned so many interesting things.”

The man’s gaze shifted to Saria’s forehead. “Now I can understand why she’s paying so much attention to you,” he said, brushing his thumb against the spot where the mark of ‘Asura’s Mercy’ once appeared.

The whole time, Saria couldn’t utter even a word. She felt hopeless, confused, and exhausted to her core. Too many things happened too fast.

It was one of those days she got a painful reminder that, in the end, she was still just a human. No matter how unique her powers were, how strong her body was, eventually the breaking point would come, even for her.

Lord Agrios didn’t seem to mind her silence, one could say he was outright enjoying it.

With the same unnerving grin, he slipped something in Saria’s hand before turning to the twins standing a few steps away. “Come on, girls. The party is about to turn very boring, so it’s time for us to go home.”

The women cast one last worried gaze on Saria. In their marigold eyes, she could see sadness and acceptance, but also a hint of sympathy and gratitude. As if they wanted to let her know that they appreciated her effort, even if it didn’t bring any change.

Once the three people left the courtyard and she was finally alone, Saria looked at the piece of paper Lord Agrios slipped into her hand.

On the white, expensive parchment was written one name in bold, confident strokes.

Kain of Itles.

***

“Kain of Itles? Yes, I found him,” the old Magister said, hunching over the long scroll.

A small orb was flying right above his head, emitting bright light.

“He was accepted at the Academy as part of the Elemental Circle due to his innate pyromancy…” the elder continued reading. “Ah, yes, but then he wished to transfer to the Circle of Evocation. He was specializing in Chaos magic.”

In accordance with the rules devised by the Council of Wizardry and Mysticism, every magic user—innate or learned—had to register within thirty days of their magic manifesting for the first time, or within seven days of acquiring the graduate diploma from the Academy.

The information was collected by the local Magic Academies and later transferred to the Main Registry of Magic, supervised by the Council.

Each Academy was obligated to store the information on a mage for ten years after their passing, after which, the only copy would be in the Main Registry.

The system wasn’t perfect, often putting a lot of pressure on the Academies to keep the information available at any moment for many decades. With the number of mystics—people born with magic—increasing every year and wizardry becoming more available to ordinary citizens, the Academic archives were becoming one of the most overworked divisions.

The Archives of the Magical Academy in Argopetri were the best proof of that.

Books and scrolls stacked on massive piles reaching the ceiling, rows of shelves put so close to each other that hardly one person could fit between them, papers spilling out from the drawers that could no longer be closed.

All that in a big, circular room that took the entirety of the twenty-second level in the tower where the Academy was located.

Due to the fragile nature of the medium they were working with, the windows in the archives had to be kept shut throughout the year.

Even Saria struggled to keep herself from coughing from the stuffy air filled with dust.

When her throat itched for the tenth time in the span of five minutes, she suddenly felt a big dose of sympathy towards the elderly Magister in charge of the Archives.

“He asked to be transferred? Why?” she asked, clearing her throat.

The Magister pushed the half-round spectacles on his nose and shrugged. “It’s not unusual. Pyromancy, as one of the core Elemental Magic, is quite common, even more so in these parts of the world,” he explained.

“The general nature of this type of magic makes it a well-rounded tool, useful both in combat and daily life, but that also means that it is much harder to stand out. Wielding more niche, harder to master magic could make finding a job much easier, potentially for better pay.”

Those born with magic weren’t required to go through the Academy, but it was slowly becoming more common among younger people to strive for better qualifications.

Lysandra passed a handkerchief to Saria, who was fighting with all her might to stop herself from sneezing, then turned to the Magister. “Can you tell us anything more about him?”

“Let’s see…” the Magister leaned over the scroll and studied it with a serious expression. “His academic results were quite impressive. He seemed to be a natural when it came to Chaos magic, but…hm…” the Magister’s voice trailed suddenly.

“Is something wrong?” The Princess watched the elder’s expression shift.

“It looks like Kain never actually graduated from the Academy. He was expelled before he could take the final exam.”

“Is it specified why?”

The Magister grimaced, looking at the writing in his hand. “Occult. He was discovered cultivating the Dark Arts. The Academy has a strong policy against forbidden magic.” The Magister chewed his words, then muttered to himself. “Such a promising talent. What a pity.”

A thin crease appeared above the high bridge of Lysandra’s nose. “Are there any records of where he could be now?”

“Yes,” the Magister answered, putting away the scroll. “The Memorial Hall at the temple.”

“I’m sorry?” Saria stared blankly at the man, wondering if all the coughing and sneezing had made her lose her hearing.

“Kain of Itles died in a tavern scuffle almost ten years ago.”