Sorcerer's Shadow

Reflecting on my current knowledge, I don't believe my memory is deceiving me.

One instance, when I was around seven years old, my father caught me talking to Alarus and frowned.

"Are you not fond of cats, Papa?" I asked.

"No, it's not that," he replied dismissively.

In the background, I faintly remember spotting Vost-pa observing the interaction, his face adorned with a subtle smile.

Humans practice Sorcery, Imperions excel at Wizardry. As someone skilled in both arts, a rarity in itself, I find myself able to distinguish between them. One notable difference is that Sorcery seems more enjoyable. For instance, if a Sorcerer could perform a blink (a feat seemingly impossible, but I could be mistaken), it would demand extensive preparation, rituals, chants, and a complete immersion in the intended outcome, culminating in a spell-induced rush of emotional satisfaction.

Selendis, one of my enforcers and a proficient Wizard, simply asked, "Ready?"

I responded, "Yes."

Nonchalantly, he raised his hand, my office evaporated from around me, and I experienced a sudden, gut-wrenching shift.

* * * *

There was a time when my father reprimanded me with a slap for something I did. The exact reason eludes me, but I'm certain it was justified. This wasn't the first time he'd punished me this way, but this specific incident remains etched in my memory. I must have been around seven or eight.

I remember gazing at him in surprise, shaking my head. His eyes widened, potentially with a hint of fear, and he stood frozen, staring at me. After a brief moment, he turned away and retreated into the other room. He might've wanted to question my reaction, but he refrained, and I remained silent. I was quite young at the time, so a lot of this is reconstructed from my memory, but I remember feeling that my reaction unsettled or confused him. My thoughts at that moment were something along the lines of, "Is that what you consider hitting? That barely hurt. I endure much worse every time you send me to fetch bay leaves from the market."

* * * * contemporary romance

Initially, I didn't register my surroundings, primarily because I was overwhelmed with a wave of nausea. Imperions don't experience this side effect from blinking, but I, along with every other Terran I know, do.

I kept my eyes shut and willed myself not to vomit. The brandy, in retrospect, may not have been a wise choice. I risked a brief glance and found myself in an open courtyard; the realization that I was hovering in mid-air made me shut my eyes again. The surface beneath me felt solid despite the circumstances. Taking a deep breath, I cautiously reopened my eyes.

The grand double doors of the castle loomed about fifty yards ahead of me. Tall, towering walls enveloped the area. I pondered why Drevolan would need walls surrounding a levitating castle. Daring to look down, I saw a sea of red-orange clouds, the same view mirrored above me. A cool wind caressed my face, carrying a subtle smoky scent. The courtyard seemed devoid of life.

I scrutinized the perimeter and noted towers strategically placed at each corner. The walls, towers, and the castle itself were constructed from the same ebony stone— likely obsidian— beautifully carved into figures engaged in battle, a hunt, or simply adorning the walls. Quite the show-off, this Drevolan.

In one tower, I spotted two guards, their attire reflecting the black and silver emblem of the House of the Dragon. One held a spear, the other a staff, presumably Wizards serving as guards.

His affluence was undeniable. The spear-wielding guard caught my gaze and saluted. Returning the nod, I yearned for Opal's presence as I advanced towards the imposing double doors of Nocturne Castle.

* * * *

Viewing my past from a third-person perspective, it's apparent that my upbringing was surrounded by violence. This notion seems odd, as I had never consciously recognized it, yet my earliest memories are tainted with a dread of Imperions. I lived above my father's inn, situated in a region devoid of Terrans—humans. I spent the majority of my time in the inn, eventually aiding with its upkeep. The memory of fear every time I left the inn, frantic chases through narrow alleys, and assaults from Imperions resentful of humans, or even from fellow humans who deemed us too ambitious, remains vivid. The latter—beatings from other Terrans—occurred sporadically. The first incident occurred when I was around eight. My father had gifted me a Vorgan House uniform. That day is memorable, not only for the assault, but also for the rare display of my father's happiness. Excited by his cheerfulness, I paraded around in my new attire until a few human kids around my age, well, you can imagine. I'll refrain from the details.

Surprisingly, I recall pitying them because I had been assaulted by Imperions, and these unfortunate, feeble Terrans couldn't even match the brutality of the Imperions.

* * * *

My boots echoed against the void beneath me, a disconcerting sensation. Things grew more unsettling as I neared the doors and identified surrounding markings as Sorcery symbols. I nervously licked my lips.

When I was about ten feet away, the massive doors effortlessly and soundlessly swung open. The absence of even a squeak was extraordinarily disconcerting. Instinctively, I ran one hand through my hair while adjusting my cloak's clasp with the other. This subtle movement allowed me to skim over various concealed tools I carried—surprises are better given than received.

My attention swiftly diverted from the doors as a figure stood poised in the doorway, showcased as if framed by the lofty arch. She bore the fine, fair skin characteristic of the House of Serevia, garbed in the house's white and green in a fusion of gown and sari. Her eyes shone a vivid blue, her hair was a light chestnut, and her beauty was striking even by human metrics.

Her voice was gentle and melodious, "Welcome, esteemed Vorgan," she addressed (presumably choosing a term less offensive than 'Terran'), "to Nocturne Castle. I am Eldara. We have anticipated your arrival, hoping to make your stay pleasurable. I trust the Blink wasn't too jarring?"

As she concluded this unexpected oration, she bowed in the traditional Serevian style. I managed, "Ummm, no, it was alright."

done.co